New Blog

I can't seem to figure out how to insert a hyperlink to my new website, but please try to cut and paste the following address to get to my new site. It is pretty cool. You will be taken to the welcome page. At the top of the site is a navigation menu. You can click on photo albums or blogs or whatever. Give it a try!

http://web.mac.com/nancybakey/iWeb/Life%20and%20Times%20of%20Nants/Welcome.html

Growing up in Somerville...Baby Dolls, Sugar Daddies, and a Pack of Marlboros

Jules raised an interesting memory in her comment about my "Letter to Ricky Schroeder" blog entry. I was going to simply comment back to her, but then I realized that this memory is simply too good to relegate to a comment column in a past blog entry. Some of my faithful readers might never find it there and will therefore never be able to join me in reliving a priceless childhood memory.

I must have been 7 or 8 years old when this went down. That would have put Lauren at around 10, Jules at 11 or so, Reesie at 6 and Fwiz at a mere 4 years old.

I received a baby doll for Christmas. Her name was "Baby Sandra." Matthew rechristened her "Baby Dirt-ra." (He thought "sand" was too gentle, so he replaced that syllable of the baby's name with "dirt.") We all accepted this and moved on as if the name "Dirtra" were the most logical progression from "Sandra." No complaints were raised, no argument put forth. Such was the power Matthew had over us.

I should mention, to my "new blog friends" that Matthew was our uncle who passed away at the tender age of 37 just a few years ago. He was my mother's much younger brother; he was only 10 years older than Lauren. He was very much like an older brother to all of my cousins and me. And he took this role very seriously...particularly the aspect of the role of older brother that requires inflicting torture and abuse. And yet, we all loved him!

Anyway, like all little girls, we often found the need to deface our dolls. Barbie dolls got hideous haircuts. Baby dolls were inked with tattoos of snakes, knives, daggers, and other such symbols, and rag dolls were used as practice for our future as coroners.

Dirtra, however, was a favorite target for some reason. She was pretty cutting edge back in 1980. When you rubbed her back, she giggled and cooed. She had a little hole in her mouth for a baby bottle (the milk would disappear when the bottle was tipped upside down).

Matthew discovered, for some reason that I can't explain to this day, that if he inserted his lit Marlboro into Dirtra's mouth and squeezed her belly, she would become filled with smoke. When he removed the cigarette, he would squeeze the belly again, and a stream of smoke would flow out of her mouth. In fact, since her mouth was rounded, if he just squeezed her in the right way, she would emit a series of perfectly shaped smoke rings. In these instances, she was more reminiscent of Betty Grable than a plastic baby doll.

But the fun didn't stop with turning my poor innocent dolly into a chain smoking louse.

On Christmas day, as per usual, we all convened at my grandparents' place. We used to each bring one favorite Christmas toy. I brought baby Dirtra, which was a departure from the ordinary because I had not even received her for Christmas. I had already had her for some time, but I really liked her.

Anyway, Jules discovered an absolutely massive Sugar Daddy pop that somebody had given to my grandfather. Wise move on behalf of the gift giver, who undoubtedly knew of my grandfather's ill-fitting dentures. Perhpas whoever gave him this gift was just trying to get him to eat the sticky confection and literally glue his mouth shut.

Anyway....

Somehow Jules discovered that if she lifted the 8 pound sugar daddy high over hear head and then made it reign down on Dirtra's butt with blunt force, Dirtra would react with a little giggle and coo, as if she had been gently rubbed and coddled. Well, this was too tempting. We all had to have a go. Even Matthew got in on the action. And yes, he probably WAS pushing 20 at the time.

We were all literallly lined up, having put Dirtra on the stand that usually held my grandfather's plaid beanbag ashtray so as to have perfect aim at her.

Eventually, Uncle Paul walked into the room and was HORRIFIED by the spectacle he saw playing out before him. Within seconds, my mother, Auntie Julie and Auntie Mary were descending upon us in sheer anger and disgust. I think a few of us even suffered Sugar Daddy blows. We all got busted, but I'm pretty sure I had the worst beating of all. After all, the thing was my doll. I probably should have tried to defent it. Instead, I was right in the thick of the action.

All I know is that, somehow, Matthew managed to extract himself from the situation right at the critical moment before Uncle Paul witnessed any of the violence. He had a gift for knowing when to get out of the room right before the real trouble came.

Poor Baby Dirtra.

Take Me Out to the Ballgame.

Below are a few shots of today's MCAS camp field trip to Boston's Fenway Park. With the way the Red Sox are performing these days, this isn't the prized real estate that it usually would be, but the kids had a fantastic guy. The tour guide was hilarious. At least the teachers thought so. Most of his jokes went right over the kids' heads. Just the way we like it!









Anyway, I have to get some errands done. I have about 3 tons of laundry that must get done. I have not had a chance to get any laundry done since my return from Croatia, so I naturally have piles and piles of it to do. I hate going to the laundromat, but if I skip it for another day, I'll be wearing a bathrobe to school tomorrow. And seeing as where it is the last day of camp and parents are coming for a slide show, I should probably not wear bedwear to school.

I also have to go over and take a look at Lauren's Mac. Her computer has been doing some strange things and she isn't sure how to deal with a Mac yet. I suppose it would be like an expert driver who has driven nothing but automatic all his life trying to suddently switch to stick. I know she knows how to use a PC, but the transition to Mac can be a little shakey at first. Of course, like those who drive stick vehicles and claim that the ride is vastly superior, I know that when she "shifts gears" to the Mac way of life, she'll never look back and she'll wonder how she made due with inferior PCs her whole computer using life.

When I first got my Mac, I spent a few hours on the phone trying to figure stuff out. I know, though, that with her two little kids, she just does not have that kind of time. So, I'll be her "Apple guy" and go over and hopefully sort things out.

Steve Jobs, you should just step aside, be-otch! I'm about to unseat you from your Apple throne!

Wicked Game

My friend, Gene, who works for a radio station and is constantly scoring tickets for all kinds of shows, offered Stephen and me a couple of tickets to tonight's Chris Isaak show. Other than the melodic and seductive "Wicked Game" I don't think I even know any Chris Isaak songs. But, since I really do LOVE that song, and since Gene and our other friend Meg were already on board to see the show, Stephen and I decided to get in on the act.

There ended up being an extra ticket, so my friend and colleague, Barbara, joined us, too.

I have to say that the show was EXCELLENT.

Isaak's voice is smooth, sultry and lighthearted all at once. His stage presence was electrifying and he clearly enjoyed every moment of his performance as much as the audience members did. He made several rounds of the audience, stopping to sing directly to fans, or to dance with the ladies. Toward the end of the show, he even invited about 30 women up onto the stage with him while he performed a couple of lively tunes.

The guy was actually really, really funny, too. He was possessed of that really witty, intelligent humor that makes an already handsome man seem absolutely irresistable. All the ladies in the audience felt the magnetism.

I am really glad I went to the show. I sometimes hesitate to go see bands if I'm not familiar with a wide body of their work. But, in this case, I at least know Chris Isaak and really thought it might be a fun night out. The show was at the outdoor Pavilion in Boston. The weather was mild and hey, the summer will be over before we know it. I'd be wishing I had taken advantage of a great outdoor experience like this.

I am tired, and dread having to get up early for school tomorrow, but I am very happy to have gone to the show.

Barbara pointed out that Isaak appears to be morphing into Kurt Russell as he gets older. He did bear an uncanny resemblance to Goldie Hawn's main squeeze as he crooned from the stage, but still, I just tried not to envision him playing Goldie's long lost husband in the box office smash "Overboard" and stayed focused on the singing.

I would strongly recomment checking out Isaak at a nearby venue if you have the chance. Of course, if you can get Gene to score you some free tickets, that would work even more strongly to your advantage.

Oh, the last thing I wanted to point out is that I was surprised by Isaak's bedazzled leisure suit wardrobe. As I said, I know very little about the guy, but I always picture him in that "Wicked Game" video, cozied up to some supermodel on the beach, much like a Calvin Klein perfume commercial. I always had that image and thought he would be sort of a stylish, sleek, Euro-trashy dresser. The suit, (which is the exact one as what you see pictured below) surprised me. The finale outfit was even more shocking. Black sequins. Pure shine, baby!

Unlike Rick Schroeder, Isaak has no half baked shit to shove up his ass.

If Schroeder ranks a 10 out of 10 on the half baked shit scale, I'd have to give Isaak a zero. Isaak was the real deal!

Silver Spoons Indeed

Lauren and I might constantly be writing about stupid stuff on our blogs, but don't let that kid you. We were actually very bright and very articulate children. Sadly, our intelligence has not advanced any into our adulthood. Rather, it peaked at the age of 9, along with our maturity level.

Like all kids, we had our favorite television programs. We, along with millions of American pre-teens, tuned in to "Silver Spoons" week after week. At first, we loved it. Alfonso Ribeiro. Joel Higgins, Erin Grey, Leonard Lightfoot. It is not every day that we get to see such an illustrious assembly of hollywood stars working together on one show.

In case you forget the premise of the show, Rick Schroeder plays an incredibly rich child whose father is inclined to give him anything he wants. Yet, in spite of this extreme wealth, Rick's character remains humble and level headed.

I know you at least remember the train tracks running through the living room of the house.

Anyhow, Lauren and I loved the show at first, but something happened in the later seasons to make us become disillusioned with Ricky Schroeder. I'm not sure what it was, but we surely were not going to sit idly by and let our poor opinions of the Rickster fester. We were going to give voice to our frustrations and annoyances. And what better way than with a letter addressed directly to the Rickster himself?

We holed ourselves up in our attic room, armed with pens, composition paper, envelopes and a few stamps we had stolen from my father's collection.

At this point, we began to author one of the most hateful poison pen letters I had read to date or have since read in the years that have lapsed between now and then. I wish I could quote the letter in its entirety, but too many years have gone by. I can, however, remember the sentence that ultimately ushered in our demise as Hollywood critics. It went, (verbatim):

"Listen, Schroeder, why don't you just take your half baked shit and shove it up your ass."

Keep in mind, folks, I was NINE years old.

Anyway, we wrote the letter, fully intending to mail it. This episode pre-dates the internet. We had to find the address and were not sure how to. But we had the letter tucked safely under my bed (or so we thought) until we were armed with the appropriate mailing information.

However, our plan to mail the letter was foiled when our mother found the letter during one of her infamous cleaning jags.

All I can say is that the confrontation was ugly. We were beaten senseless. We were deprived of many luxuries, like food, water and oxygen for many days. And we were reminded regularly of what a source of sham we were.

As a child, I thought my mother was overreacting. As an adult, I can understand my mother's horror. Her nine year old child, who was tested as reading on a pre-college level in grade 2, had decided to put her verbal gifts to use to write a harassing letter to an aspiring Hollywood heartthrob. She probably had envisioned me as the next poet Laureat of the United States. Instead, I was turning into Siskel and Ebert with a mean streak right before her very eyes.

Naturally Lauren played innocent. For she was even smarter than I. She had realized that if she simply helped dictate the letter and left it in my penmanship, she could avoid the shroud of guilt that would eventually fall about my narrow 9 year old shoulders.

Bitch!

I do not have children of my own, but Jesus, Lauren, Juanita, Laurita..can you imagine if you found such a letter written by one of your cherubs?

Travel Journal

Blogging is a big responsibility.

As is often the case with major episodes in our lives, we want to share at length, but the idea of setting about the task of finding the time to pen a decent recap missive can be daunting.

Such is the case with the trip to Croatia. Sure, I wrote about the engagement. And then I wrote about the nightmare trip home. But I have not even written about the trip itself yet.

I am going, in an effort to keep things as short and sweet as possible, simplify matters by hilighting the 10 best and 10 worst aspects of the trip.

As Charles Dickens once said, "It was the best of times, it was the worst of times."

Let's start with the best of times.

1. The engagement. Yes, I know. I already devoted an entire blog entry to it, but still, it is not to be outshined by any other fabulous moment of the trip.

2. My awesome friend, Lars, from Germany, came all the way from Hamburg, Germany with his friends, Thomas and Katherin, just to hang out with us. "The Gorgeous Lars" as he has long been called by yours truly, is one of the funniest people I know. I have now had the pleasure of meeting him in his homeland, hosting him in mine, and hanging out with him in Croatia! Here we are, pictured below.



3. Ice cold beer, which we consumed in mass quantities on a daily basis. I kid you not when I say that I drank at least one beer every single day. At LEAST.



4. The cool, refreshing waters of the Adriatic Sea. The picture below was taken on the first day of our trip. We were exhausted. We had been up for around 30 hours, but were determined to stay awake until a decent bedtime hour so as to avoid severe jet lag. The waters of the Adriatic were a bit rough this day, and we were sitting on a wall against which the waves were violently crashing and creating a really high spray. Here is Stephen and some French guy, Jose, whose restaurant we later dined at in Dubrovnik, getting a nice refreshing little splash.



5. The rocky beach near our favorite little fish restaurant in Cavtat. Going to the restaurant for a beer or two to take a much-needed break from our strenuous sun bathing.

6. The water taxi from Cavtat to Dubrovnik. The breathtakingly beautiful Dubrovnik harbor as the taxi approaches.



7. Dubrovnik is a walled city built in the Middle Ages. The walls are open to tourists and the walk around them is incredible. On one side, all you can see are the red tiled rooves of Dubrovnik homes. On the other side, the Adriatic stretches out as far as the eye can see. There is a little bar on the walls. You can go down there, have a beer, then jump right off the walls and into the Adriatic. Amazing!

8. Having a major cruiseliner (10 storeys) sail within 50 feet of us as we swam in the waters just off the Dubrovnik walls. We could actually HEAR what individual passangers on the ship were calling to us. The waves created by that thing were enormous! I had taken the picture below from the bar as we drank our beer. By the time we jumped into the water, it was close enough to swim over to!



9 Hot sun. blue skies.

10. Meeting fun people, like the Norweigan guys who joined us on a trip to the beach and then pulled out their iPod, plugged them into speakers and treated the entire beach to a rotation of their favorite 80s pop tunes.

It Was the Worst of Times.

1. The nasty-ass "sponge" bathmat in our bathroom in Cavtat. The thing would appear to be dry, but it was made of this spongey material, so when we'd step on it, it would ring out all over our feet.

2. In keeping with the bathroom theme...the TINY showers typical of Europe. In addition to being tiny, there is nowhere to put your shower stuff. No little shelf. No hanger. Christ, every time I shaved my legs I felt like I was performing in the Cirque du Soleil.

3. Rude tourists. I don't get it. I mean, when I'd hold the door open for people, they would walk right by and not even acknowledge. I mean sure, everybody there is a tourist and very few of them are English speaking. However, if you hold the door open for somebody, and then that person looks at you, smiles pleasantly and says something in a nice tone of voice, aren't you just going to be able to figure out that they were saying thanks in whatever language they speak? Nope. People here took language differences as an excuse to be rude assholes. Un a non-related asshole moment, in Dubrovnik, some French guy was entering a store. He turned, saw me, made eye contact as I reached out to take the door handle. Not only did he not hold the door, he actually FORCED it shut on me.

4. crowds everywhere.

5. Croatia is not as cheap as it was even two years ago.

6. Finding a decent room was somewhat more difficult than it was last time.

7. Three stormy days that we had. What's up with that? Croatia is supposed to have guaranteed hot weather every day!

8. The trip from hell home.

9. The lack of English books in bookstores. I ran out of all my reading material within two days of the trip!

10. The fact that we had to leave!

As you can well see, the far outweighed the good. I recommend Croatia very highly to anybody who wants to visit!!

Images of Croatia

Remember all those depressing pictures we used to see of Eastern Europe in our school textbooks?

Well...times, they're a changing.

Take a look at these...









You can see now why I always laugh when people ask me if I am going to Croatia to do volunteer work.

Back on Terra Firma...Thank CHRIST!!

OK, so I covered the most important aspect of the Croatia trip, which was, of course, the engagement. (By the way, we brought the ring over to Shreve, Crump and Low today and I will have the ring resized in just two weeks!)

Before I go on and chronicle the events of the fabulous trip, I HAVE to share the details of my return trip with you. This story is so F'd up that honestly, if you were telling it to me, I would simply not believe you.

We heard about the London terror plot one morning as we watched BBC World on our blessed satellite TV in the room. We were shocked! There are no direct flights to Dubrovnik from Boston, but there are any number of major cities through which the transatlantic connection can be made. Paris, Milan, Rome, Frankfurt, Amsterdam, Dublin..you get my picture. In the past, Stephen and I have traveled through any number of these cities to get ourselves to and from Europe. However, I've found myself disappointed with the big European carriers in my past trips. (Air France and Al Italia, in particular, are complete CRAP!)
I insisted, therefore, this time, that we travel either on American Airlines, or British Airways. We ended up with the best of both worlds as we booked flights through American Airlines, but the overseas portions of the trip would be operated by British Airways. Awesome.

This, of course, meant connections through the UK.

Naturally, when we saw the news of the terror plot, we were pretty horrified.

We called American Airlines to see if we could reroute our return through another major transatlantic connection. No go. Cheaptickets.com, through whom we had purchased or tickets and INSURANCE, refused to help us, telling us, "We can't seem to find your reservations." This even as I was looking at my reservations on the "my trips" section of their website.

So anyway, we resigned ourselves to travel through London. Every day we saw reports of massive security check lines. We understood that we might not even be able to take carry on luggage. We knew there would be no liquids, gels, cosmetics, etc. We knew that we stood a very good chance of having flight cancellations to suffer, interminable waits in lines, missed connection flights because of said waits, etc. We were prepared.

When we got to Dubrovnik Airport, we were shocked when they said they could check our luggage all the way through to Boston. On the way over, they had checked it to Manchester, but then made us pick it up to take it through security. Surely, we thought, they would make us pick up the bags in Manchester again (our flight pattern was Dubrovnik, Manchester, London, Boston) to thoroughly check it through England.

Score one for us.

We arrive at Manchester, expecting massive security measurs to be in place.

Nothing.

Some guy asked us to fill out a "landing card" which essentially asked our names, where we were flying to, and for a signature. He took a picture of us and then asked us whether we had any gel, liquids or cosmetics in our bags. We said no and this was good enough for him.

We proceeded to our gate without another ounce of security to deal with.

We braced ourselves for the worst in London. Like you here, we had seen the photos. We had seen the lines. We had heard that American-bound passangers would go through at least 2 check lines, each of which would last at least 90 minutes. We were prepared to sack out for the night in the airport as we only had a 90 minute layover.

We arrive at Heathro, deplane, and begin making our way to our terminal. With each corner we turned, we were expecting to encounter the endless security lines.

Nothing.

We walked right to our gate, where some elderly Indian woman patted me down (I'm not even sure if she was an airport employee, come to think of it), and asked me to remove my shoes, which she then very officially rubbed with a cotton ball that the promptly threw away.

That was the extent of the security. Oh yeah, and they unzipped my bag, all the while looking straight at me and asking me if I had liquid or gel. When I said no, they zipped my bag back up (never having looked inside) and told me to go sit and wait.

As you can see, the whole process was very exhaustive.

Anyway, it is best if I just give you the time chronicle of events from this point forward.

6:05 PM (England, 1:00 PM Boston) -- flight is scheduled to take off.

6:15 PM England (1:15 PM Boston) --They BEGIN boarding the aircraft.

6:30 PM UK (1:30 Boston) --surprisingly the seating of the passangers is complete. I think this is because you didn't have people carrying in entire sets of luggage as "carry-ons."

6:30-7:20 PM UK (1:30- 2:20 PM Boston) --Aircraft sits idle on the runway with no clarification from the captain as to the reason for the delay.

7:20 PM UK (2:20 PM Boston) -- We begin to taxi down the runway, but are told that we are 46th in line to get take off clearance.

8:00 PM UK (3:00 PM Boston) -- We take off. (We had been told that our flight would arrive in Boston ten minutes ahead of schedule, but we are now already nearly 2 hours behind schedule!)

10:00 PM UK (5:00 Boston) - - I am at the back of the plane, waiting to use the can, when I see a few stewardesses going over to a passanger who was ill. She looked to be around 13. One of the stewardesses came to the back and I asked her what was wrong with the kid. She said that kid had been in the airport for nearly 11 hours (cancelled flight) and had eaten only one slice of pizza. She then took several diet pills containing ephedra and was now sick. Gee, ya think!!!!

11:00 PM UK (5:00 PM Boston) -- We have, if all goes well, 3.5 hours left to fly) The pilot asks if a certified medical professional on board would be willing to step forward and help an ill patient. An elderly woman makes her way to the first class section (where they have now moved this girl and her entire family) to lend a hand.

1:00 AM UK (8:00 PM Boston)--The flight monitor tells us that we have just under 90 minutes until we land in Boston. We are practically doing a dance of joy. The pilot interrupts our celebration by announcing that we have to make an emergency medical landing in Halifax Nova Scotia, Canada, which is a stone's throw from Boston.

1:30 AM UK (8:30 Boston time) we land in Halifax and sit there for nearly FIVE HOURS while the following events take place.

1. The paramedics spend an extended amount of time on board treating the diet pill girl before taking her off the aircraft.

2. The pilot announces that the family's bags will need to be removed from the cargo hold as it is illegal to knowingly travel with bags known not to belong to anybody presently on board. Also, in light of security issues, it was best to remove it. This alone took nearly 2 hours. The pilot announced, eventually, after the first 90 minutes of searching, that London would be contacted to tell them exactly which bin the luggage had been placed into. After an additional half hour, the bags were found and removed. TWO HOURS!!!

3. The plane was, very slowly indeed, refueled.

4. The pilot announced that the vehicle which came out to refuel the plane (picture someting high, like a cherry picker) and faulty brakes and that the driver lost control of the vehicle, causing it to crash into the plane wing and damage the thing!

5. Canadian immigration authorities announce that they do not want us in the airport terminal and will not accept us. We were therefore stuck in the plane.

6. The pilot tells us that we will have a plane come specially from NY to Nova Scotia to pick us up and take us to Boston. The caveat is that it will be another 5 hours before the plane arrives.

I swear to God, if it weren't for people getting arrested and crap for losing their minds on planes, I think there would have been a mutiny.

7. Mercifully, that plan was not put into effect because some repair crew from Air Canada came over and fixed the wing and sent us on our way.

Jesus, I was ready to stick my arms out the window and start flapping at that point.

I don't know what the Uk Boston times were at that point. All I know is that we were meant to land in Boston at 8:30 PM Boston time and we didn't arrive in Boston until 1: 30 AM. So, our 6 hour flight turned into a 13 hour hellish ordeal!

Naturally, my bags were among the very last to emerge at the baggage claim and we had to wait almost a half hour to get a cab home.

But we didn't care.

We were out of that godforsaken plane!!!

Croatia..A very Engaging vacation!

On the thrid day of our trip, August 6, Stephen proposed to me on the quaint and romantic island of Korcula, pictured below.



We had gone to dinner and were sitting down in a cute little outdoor bar on the midieval walls overlooking the Adriatic Sea having a beer (of course, anybody who knows me and Stephen will hardly be shocked to see that beer factors into the equation) when Stephen reached across the table to take my hand. When my hand met his, he placed something round, metal and quite heavy into my hand. Before I even looked, I knew it was a ring. I asked, "Is this what I think it is?" Stephen confirmed my engagement ring suspicion and asked me, "Will you marry me?"

Of course the answer was YES!

My ring, incidentally, is fantastic! The band is platinum with alternating diamonds and sapphires. I told Stephen once that although I tend not to be a big jewelry person, I do LOVE sapphires. He chose the ring all on his own and it is perfect. I would have chosen exactly the same one if I had been there with him.

This is obviously a very exciting development!

Our next project is to go get the ring sized. It is currently a size 6, which is apparently "standard" ring size. But since I have hands that would make an NBA player jealous, it has to be sized out to a 7.5 or 8.

There are no dates in the works as of yet. We will probably plan to marry within the year. I'll keep you posted on any further developments.

The picture below was taken just moments after the engagement was made official!

Croatia....Here I Come!

There are only two things standing between me and Croatia right now:

1. My last day of summer school.
2. 17 hours of travel. (Including layovers)

At 5:00 tomorrow mornings (Boston time), I will be arriving in Croatia. It will be 11:00 in the morning there. I will be exhausted. I will feel gross after many, many hours in airplanes and airports. I will want to sleep, I'm sure, as I NEVER manage to sleep on planes. But I also know that the minute I step out of that airport in Dubrovnik, I will be eager to get myself to the hotel, showered, deloused and changed and then right out the door to the first outdoor bar where I will drink my first of many, many Croatian beers. And of course, my first dip in the Adriatic Sea will not be far behind my first sip of beer. And I'm sure there will be a lovely meal of grilled fish (that I will have seen the guy catch three seconds before) on the cards, too.

I spent many hours last night packing and repacking my bag. I was determined to bring my backpack and a small carry on and nothing else. I am going to try to avoid checking luggage. With flights going through New York, Manchester and eventually Dubrovnik, the potential for the luggage to become lost is too great. I know, I know, the airlines are usually good about getting stuff to you right away, but we'll be moving around a bit in the first few days of our trip. And when I think of having to wear the same clothing that I had on the plane for all those hours for several days, I get pretty skeeved out. Plus, I heard that British Airways were actually "handling" our flight, even though it is indicated as an American Airlines flight. Either way, I figure we'll be happy. I actually really like British Airways, but there is one slight problem...I have never traveled with British Airways that they have NOT lost my luggage. Why let that little tradition carry on?

Anyway, guys, I will try to check in on my blog and yours while away. There are certainaly plenty of intenet cafes. But I'm surely not going to be able to post photos until I get back . And believe me, there will be plenty of photos!

I hope you all keep well and stay cool in this heat!

Peace out!

I'm Melting...I'm Melting....

Boston, like most of the nation, is in the throes of a pretty major heat wave. I know, I know, the west coast has been baking for two straight weeks now, but still....we New Englanders are just not accustomed to this kind of heat.

I LOVE the Summer. I LIVE for the heat. All winter long I bitch and moan about the cold and pine for the summer.

It pains me, therefore, to admit that even I, the biggest fan of summertime heat, was a bit uncomfortable at times yesterday.

Come to think of it, I don't think I spent more than 20 minutes in the AC yesterday.

My school doesn't have AC. The windows also don't open and there was a dead mouse in the doorway when I walked into the classrooom, but those are just little asides.

After school, I had to walk to Davis Square. Actually, I could have taken the bus, but I just started walking. From Davis, I walked to Harvard Square to take care of a few last minute errands. I waited in Harvard Square for the bus, but it just never came, so I had to walk home. I was dreading the very evil ascent up the street to my place. It was pretty dreadful. It took me about 20 minutes of just sitting in my apartment to stop sweating profusely. Granted, I continued to sweat, but less profusely than when I scaled the K2-like ascent to my apartment.

I could not let myself sit too long, however, as I had some laundry to do. And you guessed it...laundry requires a trip back to the bottom of the hill and the requisite climb back up. Oh, and of course the laundromat has no AC.

I'm usually the first one to complain about the fact that we are so cold all winter and I fail to see the logic in immediately freezing everybody out with the AC as soon as the summer rolls around, but I was so desperate for a little AC yesterday that I actually walked to Target to go in and cool off. The thing that struck me when I was walking across the parking lot to go into Target was the fact that the pavement was actually giving a little under my feet. I think there was some slight melting going on. Amazing.

Anyway, when I got into Target, I was going to buy a second memory card for my digital camera, but the AC must have kicked in just in time to release me from my heat induced insanity. Why would I spend 50 dollars on an electronic product at Target after what they put me through when I tried to return a clearly mismarked Dora the Explorer computer game. In case you missed that entry, they asked me in all seriousness if I would be willing to return my Mac and get a PC so that I could play the game that was marked MAC on the outside box and PC on the products inside.

When Stephen gave me the camera for my birthday last year, he bought the wrong memory card at Best Buy. Not only had I opened it and lost the packaging, but we were about 6 months past the 30 day return limitation. The guy at the customer service counter at Best Buy was like, "Yeah, sure. Whatever. Take whatever memory card you need." When I asked the guy if I had to come back through customer service with the new card, he said, "No, its cool. Don't worry about it."

Needless to say, I'll go to Best Buy today.

Some Target manager working the electronic section of the store came over to ask me if I need help. I made sure to tell him about my decision to buy the thing at Best Buy and then I took off.

Anyway, back to the heat thing....see, my mind is truly clouded over.

I went back to the laundromat, picked up my stuff and climbed the Everest that is my street.

I took a cool shower and then went out with some friends for a couple of beers.

I'm not sure if that was such a great idea. I'm not hung over or anything, but in weather like this and after all my walking around in the extreme heat, I should probably be drinking water exclusively.

My father offered to let me stay at his place in the AC last night, but I wasn't sure what time I'd be back from my evening with my friends, and to be honest, I dreaded having to walk back up my street this morning in the heat on my way to work! I'm so lazy.

I went to bed at 11 after watching Law and Order. I have been wide awake in the heat since 3:00. I did finally get up at 4:30.

I'm gonna go find a movie to show my classes today. There is no chance for productivity today.

Circle of Life

Although I have a deep respect and appreciation of the animal kingdom's circle of ilfe, I really do wish that it would not play itself out nightly on my back stairway.

Yesterday, when I opened my door to leave my apartment and go to school, I saw the greusome and very macabre sight of a squirril carcass lying righ there on my stairway landing. It was disgusting. This was not just a dead squirril, ladies and gentlemen, but a skinned, and defleshed muscular structure of a squirril whose innards were lying several feet away from the body to which they once belonged.

Gross.

I was late for work and didn't have time to think about calling animal control or whatever, so I took my snow shovel and pushed the carcass off the stairs and into the many bushes and shrubs below, reasoning that some other predatory animal would eat the remains.

I then took to my kitchen, where I boiled a huge pot of water, threw in tons of soap and proceeded to hurl the sudsy concoction onto the stairway where the carcass had been.

I immediately cleansed my hands and sprayed Lysol disinfectant onto the shoes that I had worn to do the gross work of discarding the carcass.

Today, when I opened my door to leave my apartment, I was greeted by the skinned and defleshed body of a bird.

Gross.

It was on the landing of the stairway.

Again, I had to get the shovel and throw boiling water and soap onto the area.

I did alert my landlord to the problem, and he is going to call animal control.

In the meanwhile, he has sprayed cayenne pepper spray onto the stair in order to deter the animals from coming over in the first place. I have, once again, watered and soaped the stairs and have even mopped them down. Needless to say, that mop will be making its way into the trash collection this week.

And my shoes are continually being sprayed and deloused with Lysol products.

How nasty!

Two for Reesie, One for Laurita

Fwiz got us all started on the sexy Croat men kick. She was absolutely right, though. Previous firsthand experience has taught me that in addition to gorgeous, sexy coastline, Croatia can also lay claim to an almost frighteningly gorgeous, sexy male population.

Reesie asked me to bring a couple of hotties back for her, so that she can have her choice. Here are a couple for you to start with, Reesie. The first is obviously the gorgeous Dr. Kovac from the NBC series, ER. Although the show ER got tired many seasons ago, Dr. Kovac gives us all reason to tune in week after week.



Your next guy is pictured below. I don't know...he just seems to fit the stereotype of a hot Croat stud. I figured you might like him. I personally like the rockstar hair, myself.



But you go ahead and pick the one you like best, Reesie. Take your time. Hell, why bother picking? Keep them both.

Meanwhile, onto Laurita. Laurita, this is your guy. I figured you might like the sexy facial hair look. If that doesn't work for you, let me know. I'm sure I can track down another Croat god who'd be happy to hang out with you.



And yes, ladies. These are REAL Croat men. If anybody else wants to place an order, do it now before I leave! I might have a hard time clearing more than six through customs. (I figure imported men are like imported wine. You get the first 6 through without complication, but after that, you have to pay fines and answer questions, etc. Besides, my luggage is pretty small....and these men are anything BUT small.)

The Chase is On

My credit expired. I went to use it at a store and when it was declined, I was rather surprised. I had just made an online payment several days earlier. The payment amount had been successfully deducted from my checking account, so I knew it had been received and processed by Chase.

Mmmm...

The guy at the register looked closer, at the decline code, and realized that the card had expired.

Odd. They never sent me another one.

I called Chase and asked about the policy and procedure about issuing replacements for expired cards. The woman apologized and told me that apparently, through some computer glitch, the card had not been automatically printed and sent. She said she would get right on it and send one out. This was on July 22. I told the woman I would be leaving the country on August 3rd, and that I really needed the card for my trip. I asked her if she thought I should have the card overnighted. She reassured me that overnighting the card would be expensive and unnecessary. The card, she said, would arrive in 4 days. I asked her if she meant 4 business days, and she said, "no, 4 actual days."

Today is 29 July. By my calculation, that puts me 7 days out from the phone call to Chase. I have not received a new card. I just called. They told me that the card had been delayed in being sent out. It was just sent today.

Not to mention, the phone number listed on expired card as being the 24 hour a day, 7 days a week customer service number, got me connected to a voice mail telling me that the offices were closed.

Huh?

I'm not feeling very confident in Chase right now. Their 24 hour hotline was closed. Their 4 day mailing time has turned into at least a 9 day affair. (Today is 7 days, tomorrow, Sunday, a non mail day, makes 8, and Monday, the earliest I can get the card, is 9.)

In order to contact somebody (you might be wondering, if the offices were closed, how I got in touch with a person), I had to contact the, "If you're dialing from overseas" number.

Piece of advice....

When I dialed the overseas number, I got a person right away. Not a machine. Not a recording. Not an automated, "punch-in-your-account-number" voice mail number. Just a person.

What remains to be seen is whether I get some outrageous bill for calling that number.

If so, Verizon Wireless can take it up with Chase. And then, the Chase will really be on!

Tour de Chance

Cheaptickets.com and American Airlines...what a great pair!

Stephen and I ordered our tickets to Croatia back in January. I think they arrived in the mail two days after I ordered, and I honestly tucked them away and had not glanced at them again until two days ago. Luckily I did take a look. For some reason, I had a 5:00 PM departure time in my head. I thought I had LOTS of time to teach the entire summer school day, leave school, come home, organize any last minute suitcase items, etc.

When I did look at my tickets again, I was quite surprised to realize that my flight was scheduled to leave Boston at 1:55 PM. Considerably earlier than the 5:00 I had stuck in my mind. (I also had it stuck in my head that my flight from Boston to Manchester, England was direct. Not so. I have to go first through JFK in New York).

Jesus.

I immediately made arrangements to deprive my poor summer school students of their recess period in order to dismiss them at 11:30, and give myself that extra half hour to get to the airport. Now, I had it in mind that I would have to get my stuff into Lauren's van the night before the flight so that she could come pick me up at school at noon and drive me right to the airport. Gone were the extra few after-school organization hours. But still...no big deal, right?

The story does not end there.

Tonight, when Stephen and I were talking about the trip at my place, he became curious about the tickets, too. But, of course, his paper tickets are at his place, so he logged onto Cheaptickets.com to see his electronic itinerary.

There, to our shock and disbelief, was our Boston to NY flight listed, not as 1:55 PM, but rather at NOON!

What??????

I have freakin' summer school. This is why teaching SUCKS!! You can't just bag work and call in sick. You have to find coverage and arrange for work to leave behind, etc.

I immediately called my colleague, Barbara, the woman who already covered my first two days of summer school so that I could go to the wedding in Florida, and who is already scheduled to cover my last week of summer school so that I can take the trip to Croatia. I wanted to see if she could do Thursday (departure day) from 10-12. I will do the 8-10 session, myself, but Jesus, I obviously need somebody to cover the second lesson for me.

Barbara is not available.

I called my friend, Jenn, so is also unavailable, but who referred me to another colleague, Chris. Fortunately, Chris is available to do it, and she was very happy to be able to help me out in this obvious emergency. But I have to make it worth her while to come in to teach these little creeps for two hours. She is driving for an hour to get to the school. Obviously, there's a necessary return trip. With gas prices being as they are, I felt compelled to offer the woman 50 dollars. She was psyched, and the peace of mind is well worth the money to me.

But nevermind the money.

I LOVE the way there was a significant (TWO HOUR) schedule change in the flight and we were not notified.

Cheaptickets.com claims that they are not required to tell us because the change is American Airlines' decision. The Airline, likewise, claims they are not responsible to tell us because we bought our tickets through Cheaptickets.com and they should provide us with travel updates.

And here I am, trying to teach my kids responsibility! I know, I know..as the travelers we are ultimately responsible for getting ourselves from one place to another, and anybody with half a brain would confirm reservations made 8 months in advance of the trip but still......

Now, our 12 hour total travel time has turned into close to 15 hours total travel time. With a 4.5 hour layover in NY as we await our Manchester, England flight!! Oh joy.

Smackdown: Ralph Nader v. Target

Come on, you know you'd pay good money to see it.

The big question is, why has Ralph Nader, consumer rights activist extraordinaire, not taken on the Target chain for their outrageous return policies?

I bought Allie some silly Dora the Explorer computer game today. It was 20 dollars and the box indicated that the game was compatable with the Mac operating system. Lo and behold, when I removed the shrink wrap and opened the games, all of the discs had on the "PC" label on them. Hmmm.....

Long story short, the games did not work. Not a big deal, I thought. The games were mismarked, I had been misled. I had purchased the games just a couple of hours earlier. I still had the receipt. I headed down to Target to return the game, thinking I'd be in and out of there in a matter of minutes.

Wouldn't you know, the people at customer service kept restating their "no return on open electronics" policy. Eventually, after I kept insisting that they should have a "correctly label merchandise" policy which they should enforce as vigorously as the "no return on electronics" policy, they "caved" and said I could exchange the merchandise for another copy of the game.

Ahhh???

When I pointed out the flawed logic there, they said they could give me an equal exchange for something else in the electronics department.

No go as far as I was concerned.

Eventually we called some big corporate headquarters and I told my story to some woman there. She got the customer service person back on the phone, and the person I was with at the store, having seen the mismarked merchandise, corroborated my complaint. There was a pause for a moment as the Target employee in the store spoke to the person at customer service. Then she said, "Hang on, I'll ask her." The woman looked at me and said, "The person in corporate wants to know if there is any way you can return your Mac and buy a PC?"


Do I even need to comment on that any further?

Anyway, I did get my money back after I think it became clear to everybody involved that I wasn't going to move until I had a full refund.

Ha ha!

Down with Target. Ralph Nader would lbe proud!

Wanderlust

Does the act of traveling somehow rob us of our most basic grasp of common sense and common courtesy? Just because we are outside of our everyday realm of existence, do we inherently become entitled to be really stupid and shockingly rude?

Yesterday, I went into Copley Square, fully aware of the fact that a summer Saturday in one of the most touristed areas of Boston left the situation ripe for moments of frustration. Boy, was I right.



I poked around in the Prudential Mall for a while and when it came time to leave, I headed for the Boylston Street exit. There is a long escalator to descend to reach the actual street level. Normally I'd just take the stairs down, but yesterday I was wearing these wedge shoes that make going downstairs seem like a precarious proposition for me. I can be quite clumsy sometimes. (You should see the MASSIVE bruises on my legs, sustained in a fall from my bike last weekend.) Anyway, as I neared the escalator, I noticed an older couple standing there talking. The closer I got to the escalator, the clearer the details of the scene became. The couple, who were speaking what seemed to be a northern European language, were actually standing there, shooting the breeze in a most leisurely manner, ON THE TOP ESCALATOR LANDING. They weren't going anywhere. They were not preparing to step onto the actual moving belt of the escalator. They were simply standing there chatting. I know my readers will accuse me of exaggerating. I admit that I am prone to hyperbole, but I'm not joking you here. These folks were not near the escalator, or even just somewhere annoyingly close to it. They were ON the landing and were making no haste to move anywhere. Other people seemed to approach, under the delusion that these folks were going to get on the escalator, and they would just sort of wait there, behind the couple, for a few seconds. When it became clear that the couple were just squatting on the escalator landing, the other shoppers would invariably just step aside and take the stairs. I wish I could say that I were as kind and as patient. Although I, too, fell into the trap of waiting for a few seconds before realizing that these people were taking up residence there, and although I too took the stairs, I did not refrain from telling them, "Hey, that's probably not the best place to just stand around talking." You could argue that they were not English speakers and therefore didn't understand what I said. But don't fool yourselves. All these northern Europeans speak at least 9 languages fluently, flawlessly and without accent. And one of them is ALWAYS English. I can say with confidence that these people would NOT have done this in Norway or Finland or whatever. I assert that since they were traveling, they were overcome by the traveler stupidity virus.



Later in the day, I took the bus back to Central Square. It was raining ever so lightly when the bus arrived in Central. Some Japanese family (obvious tourists) were on the bus, too. The mother decided to open her umbrella ON THE BUS before getting out. As if that weren't bad enough, the umbrella was broken and this woman went a full 15 rounds with it in the doorway to the bus while 78 people behind her (of which I was one) waited for her to move her ass so we could get off the bus. This is to say nothing of the 890 people waiting to board the bus. How stupid and inconsiderate can somebody get! "Let me salvage my hairdo from the one drop of rain that might hit it at all costs...even if it means falsely imprisoning the people behind me on the bus, and preventing people waiting for the bus from getting to their jobs and appointments on time." Once again, you know as well as I do that this woman is no moron. When she's home in Tokyo, she's probably a model of Japanese efficiency, moving through the crowded streets and navigating the jam packed subway system of Tokyo with a machine-like deftness. But here, she can't walk and chew gum at the same time.




A few years ago, I traveled to Germany and France with my colleague, Jenn. She turned out to be a real loser. She was reliant upon me to negotiate travel arrangements and organize the various legs of the trip. And why shouldn't she? I know Germany and France, and more importantly, I am able to communicate with people. What would be the point of making her try to communicate with people when I can do it? That was never the problem. The problem was that she was extremely ungrateful to my friends who put us up. They all put their kids out of their rooms and onto living room sofas to give us our own space in their places. They went out of their way to make nice meals for us and generally ensure that we had a pleasant stay. All Jenn did, however, was complain. She is a vegan. Germans don't understand what that means. Jenn bitched and moaned about everything. The food they prepared. The lack of organic vegetables. The fact that her bedroom window faced a busy street and she was awakened early in the morning. The lack of screens on the window, which obviously allows mosquitoes into the place. The lack of airconditioning. Everything. Nothing pleased her.

And she was soooooo stupid and helpless on the trip. Once again, I fully expected to help her communicate. I had no problem with that. But to give you an idea of a typical exchange...



The picture above shows a store called Karstadt. It is a huge chain of department stores in Germany. They have several branches. They have Karstadt sport, Karstadt clothing, Karstadt Home, etc. The picture above shows a Karstadt Home store. We were walking through a small town one day (Celle), and we walked by a Karstadt Wohnen (Home.) The entire front of the store was one massive display window, and in the display window, there were entire bedrooms set up, as well as living rooms, kitchen tables and chairs, and a plethora of household items. You don't have to be able to speak a language to look into a store display window and figure out what they sell. Imagine some Chinese guy walking past a Crate and Barrel store and looking in the window. He doesn't speak a word of English, but the displays of desks, beds, chairs, table settings, plates, pots, pans and kettles might give a slight hint as to what's available inside.

Anyway, Jenn approached the window and looked at it in such a concentrated, bewildered state that it immediately called to mind the little girl in Poltergeist when she was staring at the static-filled TV screen, just before she turned around and eerily announced, "They're baaaaaaaaack."

She actually placed her hands on the glass of the store before turning to me and asking, "What is this?"

I looked closely at the display, thinking there must have been some item of curiosity there. Seeing a mere kettle surrounded by teacups and spoons, I asked, "What's what?"

She gestured broadly to the entire store and said, "This. What's this?"

I looked around, wondering if I could possibly be missing something. I replied, "Am...its a store. A Karstadt Home Store."

To this she replied, "OOOOhhhhhhhh!."

I thought to myself, "Jesus, that really WAS what she was asking" She wanted to know what this large building in the middle of a shopping district with display windows featuring items with price tags could possibly be. The people going in and then exiting with bags full of boxed goods didn't seem to add any clarity to the sitatution either apparently.

When I thought this conversation had mercifully come to an end, she piped up again and asked, "What do you think they sell here.?"

I started looking all around me, convinced that the crew of the German equivalent of "Candid Camera" was going to pop out and surprise me at any second.

But this was not to be.

I said, "I'm pretty sure they sell homegoods and furniture in here."

She asked, "How do you know? Is it because you used to live in Germany?

Jesus, I used to always say that I thought everybody should try to go live overseas at some point in their lives, but after seeing the effect that expatriation had on Jenn, I'm going to recant.

On the way home from Germany, we had a connection in Newark. For some reason, my bag was searched and seized first by Customs, and then again by the U.S. Department of Agriculture. Jenn kept trying to wait for me, and the customs workers kept telling her that she had to move on. I reassured her that since we each individually held our own tickets and could see the gate numbers on them, she should just go ahead and I'd meet her at the gate.

You would have thought I was telling a 3 year-old child to go negotiate her way through a major airport on her own. She actually asked me, "But how will I find it?"

I told her that there was a pretty good chance the directions would be indicated in 6 foot letters on every single wall, door and ramp.

When I finally caught up with her at the gate, I noticed that there was a little Swatch stand closeby. I love Swatches, so I went to have a look. Jenn joined me. What a shocker. Otherwise, she would have had to sit there on her own for 12 seconds. She took a liking to a particular Swatch. The guy working the little counter came over and asked if we needed any help. Keep in mind, we're back in Newark. In the United States. Everybody speaks English again. However, Jenn asks me, "Can you ask the guy how much this watch it?" THE GUY WAS RIGHT THERE!!!!! The guy and I both looked at her, stupefied. I gave her the benefit of the doubt. Maybe she had become so used to being overseas and needing me to translate that she was just not thinking clearly. I said, "Hey, we're in New Jersey. The guy speaks English!" I said it kind of jokingly, although I was ready to have myself committed to a rubber room at this point. The best part came when she replied, "Oh, I know. Can you ask him how much this costs?" The guy and I exchanged befuddled looks and then the guy said, without my having to ask him, "Ahh...its 45 dollars." He was looking all around, too. Apparently he also thought he was the unwitting victim of some hidden camera show.


Once, when I was flying back from Europe, I had to stop through Paris Charles de Gaulle Airport first. That place is the armpit of humanity. They never put passengers right into a plane. Instead, they keep you waiting for ages, then herd you into a room where you wait for a shuttle bus. The bus takes you across the entire runway to your awaiting plane. There was a guy on the shuttle with is kid. He had a little umbrella stroller folded up. He only had a backpack on his back, the kid in one arm, and the carriage in the other arm. He seemed to be managing fine. When the bus stopped on the tarmac, next to the plane, the guy was the first to exit. He felt the need, for some reason, to get the kid into the stroller for the 20 foot walk to the plane. Instead of simply stepping to the side of the bus to set up the stroller, he actually stepped off the bus, and proceeded not only to open the carriage, but also to change the kid's diaper RIGHT IN FRONT OF THE DOOR. Nobody could get off the bus because this jackass hadn't had the good sense to move 2 feet out of his way to get off to the side. Ridiculous!




And finally, my favorite. On that very same trip home, when I finally arrived in Boston, I made my way to baggage claim. My LEAST favorite thing in the world. There were a million people there, 10 thousand flights had just arrived and were spilling baggage onto the belts, and people were tired, cranky, smelly and just wanted to get the hell home.

Some woman, deciding that she really didn't need the luggage cart that she had taken, pushed it out of her way, with great vigor, and into the throngs of people standing there awaiting their luggage. The thing hit me, HARD, right in the knees and ankles. I was pissed. The woman had followed the trajectory of the cart with her eyes, observed it hitting me, and then looked away. HOW ABOUT "I'M SORRY ABOUT THAT?" Not a chance.

I took the cart, shoved it with even greater vigor right back into her legs when she had turned away and back to the luggage belt. Rest assured, I stood right there just waiting for her to look back over. When she did, with a filthy look on her face, I asked, "Yeah, how ya like me now?"

I know I've probably offended people during my travels, too, but I at least TRY to be aware. I can handle being stupid every once in a while, but I do try to refrain from being dead rude. I can't wait to be in Croatia, but getting there might be a real pain in the butt!

12 Days and Counting....

I took advantage of my day off yesterday to begin to pull some odds and ends together before my trip to Croatia. I can't believe I'm leaving in 12 days!

Just to satiate any curiosity as to what slice of heaven I will be visiting for two weeks, here is a photo of Mlini, a little town in which we will spend our first night in Croatia.



I always try not to spend too much money before going away on vacation, but there are the essentials that must be purchased before this and any trip. So, I went to my home-away-from-home (Target) yesterday morning to stock up.




On my way into Target, I noticed a couple of kids (Target employees) going around the parking lot collecting abandoned shopping carts. They were goofing off and screwing around, riding the cards all over the place and pushing each other around the parking lot. Typical teenagers on the job but out from under the direct supervision of the manager. Anyway, the boy started to make his way into the store with his carriages and the girl, while initially only a couple of steps behind him, began to lose control of her carts, thanks to a few errant carraiges with stubborn and uncooperative wheels. She was slowed up, and I ended up stepping in front of her. The boy, apparently unaware of my presence, and still laboring under the delusion that his partner in crime was right behind him, jumped and turned around, all the while screaming, "Yeah BE-ATCH!" He basically landed "right up in my grill" as the kids say. Immediately upon realizing that I was a customer, and not his pal, he turned scarlet and started apologizing profusely. I, meanwhile, thought the entire episode was hilarious. I thanked the kid for making my day.

Anyway, I bought a few of my travel necessities. Many of my little treasures came right from the "travel size" display.




I picked up a travel size Tide detergent. This has proven to be such a great vacation purchase for our past couple of big trips. In Croatia, especially, we were able to regularly hand wash a few garments, and then put them out on the terrace where, in the direct, blazing Croatia sun, they always dried in 3 seconds flat. Awesome! I bought a couple of mini toothpastes, too.

I bought full-size shampoo and conditioner. It kills me to carry that crap all the way overseas. If I were going to a country where I could read the freakin' language, I'd just take care of my shampoo needs over there. However, as was the case when I first arrived in Germany and couldn't read the language, I went through so much money guessing as to what the bottles said, and invariably buying shampoo that was disasterously wrong for my hair. I either had flyaway hair, static hair, greasy hair, dry hair, and any number of unattractive hair conditions until I learned how to read German and could select the right shampoo for my hair. Conditioner was even more of a nightmare. I use a LOT of conditioner when I wash my hair. Sometimes you can't even find conditioner in Europe. Or they have that crap shampoo/conditioner combo stuff. Nightmare! I picked up some sunblock, ponytail holders, deodorant and what have you. You get the idea.




My biggest purchase was my EMS backpack. I was in desperate need of a backpack, and I tried all the cheapie stores...Target, AJ Wrights, etc. Anyway, I had to break down and get this sexy EMS bag. EMS does great equipment. I spent 50 smackers on this thing, but it is awesome.

Another One Bites The Dust....

Actually, J. is the first of my summer school students to "bite the dust" but I have been known to be hyperbole-prone in my day.

J. has been expelled from summer school, as of 8:10 this morning.

I have to provide a little background on my summer school class. Maybe I already have. Stick with me, this won't take long. Our district's schools run from kindergarten to grade 8. All the worst kids from all the grade 8 classes around the city end up taking the same summer school class...mine. I am the only summer school teacher who has to prep two classes. (I teach math and English whereas all the other teachers have either one or the other), and I have the same kids for both classes. The 8th grade kids who need summer school to get to grade 9 have no choice but to take my class. For the most part, the first few days are pretty crazy; the kids all think they need to put on a performance for each other and for the older kids at the high school whose ranks they hope to join upon successful completion of summer school. I usually let them know that the only person they have to please is me, and that I'm not pleased with the performances, so they can abandon their academy award ambitions in my class. I also let them know that there is one person standing between their coming to high school and heading back to elementary school with their tails between their legs. That person is me.

Anyway, usually things calm down within a week or two, but there is always that one kid who feels the need to continue to push the envelope.

This year's envelope pusher is J. He is very sarcastic, rude, inappropriate and condescending. He is one of those teenagers who greets even simple, harmless questions, such as "Hi how are you?" as personal affronts to which he must respond with pure venom.

He has had a few "moments" throughout the first few weeks of the program, but I have been able to rather easily subdue him. Monday, however, he was in rare form. He was ignoring my instruction, having full volume conversations with classmates who were totally uncomfortable because they had the sense to know they would get in trouble. He was passing notes critical of me and other students. All while he sat there exuding his effeminate catty bitchiness. I nicely but sternly suggested that he might want to discontinue the inappropriate behavior. Of course, this unleashed the wrath of J. He wanted to know why I wouldn't "just get over it, already, Jesus!" Most of his sentences were punctuated alternatively with, "What the hell?" and "WHATEVEEEERRRRRR!" I realized he was losing control and so I invited him to the hallway to try to discuss he matter with him privately. Some kids are super sensitive to having things said to them in front of the class. I'm not into the humiliation thing, but I realize that even a simple "talking-to" can set some kids off and really get their backs up. So, I figured maybe a quiet conversation could help quell the situation.

In the hallway, J. Continued to demonstrate a completely rude and inappropriate demeanor. I was just standing there, not saying anything, for a good couple of minutes while he seethed and suffered from a case of explosive verbal diarrhea. (spelling?) I eventually tried to speak to him, but he just kept ranting over me, not listening. Finally he just screamed, "All right, whatever, OK? I was not paying attention. Are you friggin' happy?"

I actually was happy because I felt that at this point, I was completely justified in sending him to the office to undergo disciplinary action from the director of summer school. I figured it would get him out of my hair. He was removed from my math class for the remainder of the period, and I decided to find it within my heart to let him return to my room for the English class.

He returned and was an angel. When he reported to school Tuesday, I decided it best to move his seat in the math class. I chose a seat for him in the front of the room. The purpose was threefold. Number 1--bust the kids balls for being an asshole. That was first and foremost. Number 2--Keep him away from the other kids he was trying to drag down with him. Number 3--Keep him right under my nose so I would be able to monitor his every move.

He sat in his newly assigned seat without comment and for both classes, sat there, bent over his work wordlessly. He only spoke to raise his hands and ask or answer questions related to the curriculum. I thought he did some soul-searching and had come to the conclusion that he had best do an about-face.

I was really proud of him.

Today, everything fell apart.

J. Reported to math class and immediately began making his way to his old seat. I figured he had forgotten the change of seating. Hey, old habits die hard. I reminded him, by simply saying his name and gesturing toward his new seat, that he needed to sit there instead. Once again, the tantrum side of J. reared its ugly head. He "demanded to know for what reason his seat was being changed." Once again, every sentence was punctuated with, "Jesus Christ!" or "What the hell?" or "Whatever!"

I told him, "Ok, that's it. Back to the office."

He then tried to back peddle by saying, "What the hell's the problem? I'm going over there, aren't I?"

Gee, why doesn't Bush call on this kid to aid Condaleezza Rice in the Middle East Peace talks?

Anyway, I had no mercy. Not only did I send the little asshole to the office, but I actually accompanied him there, myself. I was glad, in a way, to see that he thought he had the right to speak to the director and assistant director the same exact way that he had spoken to me.

Mr. O, the assistant director, asked J., "Who is at home? You need to call a parent and tell them that they need to come up and see us."

J. replied, "Well, I'm not home am I? How am I supposed to know who is there when I'm here?"

Bad mistake.

Mr. O said, "Forget that option now, anyway. Now I am going to call home personally."

Once again, J. employed his favorite question, "For what reason??"

Mr. O ignored this question and asked the student, "Does anybody at home speak English?"

J replied, "Noooooo." (the sarcasm was oozing)

Mr. O said, "No problem. Mrs. C. is a Spanish teacher. She can speak Spanish, no problem." (Like Mr. O, I assumed, based upon the student's name, that he was a Spanish speaker.)

The student said, "Well good for Mrs. C. But my parents speak Portuguese, so Mrs. C's big positive just turned into a big negative, didn't it?"

A now completely pissed off and pushed-over-the-edge Mr. O said, as he hung up the phone himself, "Ok. You're gone for today. Go home. Don't come back unless you have a parent with you."

J said, "Whatever. OK. Fine. OK. Who cares. OK." He continued to yell all this as he continued down the hallway toward the exit.

Mr. O, now completely furious, was yelling back, "Yeah, sure. Ok. Its Ok with us. OK!"

(We would later discuss the fact that sometimes in our teaching, we hit low moment like these where some kid is being such an inappropriate jerk that you find youself sinking to their level and communicating with them in the same way.)

J turned around and yelled, "Shut the FUCK up to Mr. O."

With that, he had slammed the final nail into his coffin.

Mr. O followed the kid to the parking lot and told him that he was out for good. Don't bother coming back with his parents. Don't bother coming back PERIOD. He told the kid he just lost all his money for the courses (no refund...200 dollars), and bought himself a one-way ticket back to 8th grade.

I was delighted to get rid of this jerk.

I do, however dread the very real possibility that they will likely let the kid back in. If they do, I will honestly to God contemplate whether or not I will continue on in the program. What will the other kids think when they see this kid, who gave me such a hard time, walk back into the class . Doesn't that give him the last laugh? Doesn't that tell him that he can treat a teacher like shit and then get away with it? What about other kids who are "on the edge" and are just keeping themselves in check because they want to get out of elementary school? When they see this asshole walk back in, fully aware of how he behaved and treated me, what incentive will they have to continue keeping themselves in check?

I don't know. The money at summer school is decent. But I honestly feel that putting that jerk back into my class is just a slap in my face. How much is my dignity worth? Certainly more than 3 checks in the amount of 548 dollars.

I do.....

Apologize, that is. I do apologize for taking so long to blog at length about the Fwiz and Wes Florida wedding bonanza. I returned from the Sunshine State and immediately hit the ground running with summer school and other catch up chores. I know I put a little tid bit entry in to satiate my devoted readers, but I also know that a full, play-by-play account is expected. Far be it from me to disappoint.

The best way to report is, I think, to break down the weekend into pre-wedding festivities, the wedding itself, and post-wedding activities.

Pre Wedding:

Wedensday, 5 July: I spent the evening at Frank and Eileen’s in order to facilitate getting to the airport for the obscenely early Thursday morning flight. I slept on the very comfortable sofa and basked in the glory of E and the Maniac’s extensive cable television menu. I reacquainted myself with the luxury of the remote control, too. I was reluctant to sleep and squander precious television hours, but, alas, I knew I had to be awake at 4:30 and that a long day lay ahead. So, I struck an inner compromise; I allowed myself to fall asleep while some Lifetime drama starring Meredith Baxter-Birney as a drug-addicted mother who gets raped by an unscrupulous thug (Amand Assante) played out on TV. I’m not exactly sure when I fell asleep, but it was sometime after Birney undergoes a traumatizing ER rape kit examination at the hand of a sympathetic and competent physician portrayed brilliantly by Robin Givins, and before the determined DA (Bruce Boxleitner) brings the rapist to justice thanks to the gut-wrenching testimony given by Birney in a harrowing courtroom scene.

Thursday, 6 July:

I awoke at 4:00 AM. That was harsh! By 515, Lauren had E and me packed into her mini-van and en route to pick up Jules, who would accompany us on our flight. All travel went smoothly. Curbside check-in was as easy as pie. Our (DIRECT) flight took off and landed on time. Car rental in Tampa proved to be quick and painless. Fwiz’s directions to the airport were flawless. Everything fell right into place.

On the way to the hotel, we stopped to pick up a few essential provisions. These included a 19 gallon bottle of Tangueray for E, which she claimed was to “share with Julie.” Honestly, I doubt if there was anything left in that bottle by the time Julie crossed the state line into Florida. Jules picked up a bottle of tropical fruit infused Malibu. She became lost in a reverie involving the limitless possible drink combinations that could be concocted with her poison of choice. My faithful readers will hardy be shocked to know that I stuck with my old standard…BEER! I opted for some Corona, Heineken Light and a Bahamian brew. I also purchased a can of the Japanese beer, Kirinichiban, large enough for a small child to swim in. So, you see, it was really just a light drinking weekend for us. Oh, and Jules and I also invested in a package of pre-mixed lemon drop shots cleverly packaged in individual test tubes. We figured they would provide a quick boozy reinforcement in a pinch if necessary. One never knows when such a need might arise. Best to be prepared.

Upon arriving at our hotel, we discovered Reesie, Mary, Johnny and Fwiz, herself, relaxing by the pool. Everybody was remarkably calm and collected considering that the big event would take place in just 48 hours.

At 5:00 PM, uncle Johnny herded all of us (me, Jules, Reesie, Maggie, Peggy and Anthony) into his van and we headed to Tropicana Stadium to watch our beloved Red Sox take on the Tampa Devil Rays. Did Fwiz know, when she planned her wedding, that the Sox would be in town? I choose to believe that she did--that in fact she first consulted the MLB schedule before plannning her nuptuals. Well done Fwiz!

I know, I know, its about time for a pic. Here's the first of a few. Reesie, Maggie, Jules and Peggy make their way into Tropicana Stadium! I love the fact that they are completely decked out in Red Sox gear!



We met Wes's dad at the stadium. He called ahead of time to warn us that the place was simply packed. He said that since Tampa had defeated the Sox in 3 out of 4 games (this being the 4th), the fans were turning out in droves to cheer their team onto a clean sweep.

Let me discuss a few things that struck me about Tropicana Stadium:

1. If this place was, as Wes's dad had stated, "packed," I'd hate to see it on a slow night. At least half the seats were empty and remained so throughout the entire game. Possibly more. Entire sections of really good seats went unoccupied all night. Jesus, at Fenway, even if the Sox are having a horrific season, or even if the cold, crappy New England weather woul drive Shackleton himself indoors, you'd NEVER see even one empty seat. NEVER.

2. The stadium has a huge surrounding parking lot. You drive right up, park your vehicle in a well-lit, clearly-marked parking lot for FREE and then walk SIX INCHES to the entrance. At Fenway, which is honestly smack dab in the middle of the city, there is simply put, no parking at all. Most fans brave the slings and arrows of thousands of spectacularly drunk Sox fans on the green line to get to Fenway. Green line trains are slow, prone to frequent and lengthy breakdowns and delays, completely overcrowded, stuffy, stinky and choc full of the most obnoxious passangers anywhere on the MBTA. But of course....the green line services both major sporting arenas in the city (Fenway and the Fleet, which also doubles as a performance hall), as well as most of the city's colleges and universities. Anyway, those fans foolish enough to opt for driving to the game instead of subjecting themselves to certain torture on the greenline are lucky if they can even get their cars within a mile of Fenway. Oh sure, there are a couple of closeby privately-owned lots (which you can take a second mortgage on your home to afford), and a couple of gas stations whose attendants are willing to let you park in their places out of the kindness of their hearsts (to the tune of 100 dollars per car). All I'm saying is that the ease and facility of parking at Tropicana are at once comforting and kind of creepy (in that parallell universe kind of way!)

3. The third major difference is that Tropicana Stadium is indoors, creating an air-conditioned coccoon around the fans and players, while Fenway, in all its open-air splendor, leaves fans and players alike exposed to the broad spectrum of New England weather. I guess we New Englanders really are hearty stock after all. It seemed strange to see a ballgame indoors, I have to admit.

I should also mention two things Tropicana Stadium and Fenway have in common. Both are crawling with 99% Red Sox fans (true!...there were almost NO Tampa fans) and both charge NASA type numbers for a beer! It is good to know that some common comfort points could be found to make us feel at home!

We had to look long and hard to actually find a real, bonafide Tampa fan. In this guy, we found the real thing. Here is a picture of me fraternizing with "the enemy."




After the game, we had some pretty horrendous traffic to contend with on our trip back to the hotel. We were in the car for two very long and slow hours! When we arrived back at the hotel, I stopped to chat poolside with Auntie Mary and a couple that I presumed to be somehow related to Wes. Thinking this was the case, I figured I would eventually be introduced to them. After several moments, I saw the woman looking rather concentratedly at me. I battled to keep my weary eyes focused and realized that this woman was, in fact, Myra, and that the man sitting next to her was her husband, my uncle and godfather, Michael. I almost fainted. I hadn't seen them in so long that I honestly didn't recognize them. I have to go on record as saying that being reunited with Michael and Myra was definitely a high point of the wedding weekend. Here I am pictured with Michael and Myra. Just photographic evidence that we really HAVE seen each other in the past quarter century!



Friday, 7 July: The wedding rehearsal and preparations for it occupied most of our time this day. Reesie, Jules, Maggie and I went on a 6 hour trek across the entire state of Florida to get our eyebrows waxed. It was cheap enough at 5 dollars, and the woman did a great job.

We spent the afternoon by the pool, having a couple of cocktails and getting ready to go to the rehearsal.

The rehearsal went off without a hitch. Everybody practiced readings, processionals and recessionals. All just to cement the proceedings for the big day, now less than 24 hours hence.

Eileen, Jules and I managed to get spectacularly lost on the way back from the Church to the hotel. At least, we thought we did. In actuality, we just took a massive loop all around, landing back where we started, but taking 30 minutes to do so. Upon returning to the hotel, Jules and I decided that a lemon drop shot was just what the doctor ordered before the dinner. We had just had enough car time at that point. The shots, however, were disgusting, and the only person lamenting the fact that poor Uncle Paul smashed them to smithereens when trying to remove them from a cooler the following day would be Uncle Paul. And he wasn't lamenting the loss of the booze, but rather the fact that he had bare feet when he busted the things. Luckily, nobody sustained any serious injuries.

Anyway, after the dinner, we decided to hit the bar for an evening of karaoke. Maggie wasted no time in securing a copy of the host's song list (very extensive) as well as volunteers to join her in singing. We were in hysterics because as soon as the first woman took to the stage, we knew that this was a very serious karaoke crowd. No screwing around. The "singers" wowed the crowd with their personal renditions of classic showtunes, Sinatra hits, and, my personal favorite, "I'm Too Sexy." This last song was performed by a rather portly and masculine lady who proceeded to make up her own lyrics. I doubt she made these lyrics up on the fly. They flowed way too easily. Suddenly I was glad to have taken the lemon-drop shot detour earlier in the evening. Jules, Maggie and I took to the stage to sing, "I Will Survive." We thought that the combo of our wounded-animal voices, the advanced age of the average karaoke-goer, and the lack of seriousness would cause bedlum, but instead, our song inspired the crowds to get up and dance. Perhaps they had enjoyed lemon drop shots, too? Poor Margaret was sexually assaulted by a lonely old codger who took her swanky dance moves as an invitation to get up and start bumping and grinding.

Reesie has a pretty priceless collection of photos of the disgusted expressions that crept across our faces as an elderly man took to the stage and started singing, "Stroke It." That was just wrong! I left the bar before Jules, Maggie and Reesie took to the stage yet again to perform "Sweet Caroline." In some ways I wish I had seen it, but I know that leaving when I did was what help me keep my sanity intact. Sort of.

Saturday, July 8. Goin' to the Chapel!

The wedding day was upon us.

Fwiz was radiant in her gown. Reesie and Peggy looked awesome in their bridesmaid dresses, too! The color was flattering. The style was delicate and feminine and they both looked fabulous. Auntie Mary's dress was lovely and she looked like the perfect, "mother of the bride." Uncle Johnny was so proud as he walked Fwiz down the aisle. Everything was picture perfect.

I have decided to include a picture of Fwiz and Bob because it is just a great brother/sister shot and also because they both look so great! For a picture of Fwiz and her husband, Wes, see the following posting. (I'm bummed that I can't include more than 5 pics per posting here!)



The wedding was lovely. The priest delivered a really nice mass and his messages about marraige were very poignant and meaningful. It was really beautiful.

The reception was FABULOUS! How often do you find yourself wishing a wedding reception would continue? I actually could not believe whent the DJ started announcing the final song! Everybody had a blast. The food was great. The hall was really pretty and the PARTY atmosphere of the reception was beyond great! I can't remember the last time I danced so much. EVERYBODY was up dancing. This is the sign of a truely successful wedding reception, I think.




Here is the DJ in his full Reggae outfit. Throughout the evening he put on various outfits to go with the kind of music he was playing. I think he donned this thing through Buster Poindexter's "Hot Hot Hot." He got a conga line going, handed out moroccas and outfitted several partygoers, including Uncle Johnny and Auntie Mary with hats identical to the one he is pictured wearing. The whole party was really, really high-energy and fun!

Perhaps I am just partial to the DJ because he proposed marriage to me right there at the reception. He also promised free DJ services if I agreed to go through with the marriage. He had his partner, the photographer, approach me and ask if I was interested in him. The line fed to me through the photographer was (and the photographer was very determined to let me know that he was simply the messenger), "If you marry me, the DJ's free." At first I thought they were simply handing out business cards to everybody, but I quickly realized that I was the sole object of his affections. Oh, lucky me!

Ha ha!

Anyway, seriously, it was a fantastic weekend. The wedding was beautiful. The party was kick-ass. It was awesome to get out of town for a few days. And, most importantly, it was great to be reunited with family members that I hadn't seen in ages!