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!

Congratulations Liz and Wes!

I know you have all been DYING to read my wedding related missives. I have been pretty busy since my return from Florida, but for those of you who just can't wait, here is a little something to tide you over until the full wedding blog is crafted. These things take time!

This is the beautiful bride, Elizabeth (now that she's a married woman I shouldn't keep calling her Fwiz...yeah, right!) and her wonderful husband, Wes. The two are currently enjoying a blissful honeymoon in Hawaii, so it will be a while until she is able to update you on her own blog.

A wonderful time was had by all. More details soon...that's a promise!

Happy Summer

I love the baby pool pictures. I don't even have much to say on this particular topic. This picture says it all. How CUTE is our little Caroline? Obviously she has quite a sophisticated pallet, too. How many 11 month-olds to you know who can say the enjoy turtle?

Croatia Accomodations!

We decided to be "responsible" travelers this weekend and actually secure accomodations for Croatia ahead of time. Two years ago, when we last went to Croatia, we also planned ahead and secured reservations prior to our arrival. We were amazed, however, because within seconds of our arrival in the country, we realized that everywhere we looked, there were "rooms available" signs. These "rooms" are always immaculately kept private residential apartments that the owners would rent out for an absolute song.

We decided that if ever we were to return to Croatia, we'd take a more bohemian approach and just show up with our bags, report to a tourist office and find a room. Actually, it always seemed like old women were hanging out by the docks and bus stations just waiting for tourists to whisk off to their 2 dollar-a-night beautiful private accomodations. We were totally prepared to live life by the seat of our pants this time around.

But then the NBC Today Show decided to do a piece on Dubrovnik as part of their yearly "Where in the World is Matt Lauer" series. My phone rang incessantly and my email inbox was flooded with with people who wanted to know, "Croatia? Isn't that where you went?"

Prior to my trip last time, people had asked me whether I was going to Croatia to "help people" or on a missionary visit. Believe me, after seeing how gorgeous that place is and experiencing the therapeutic benefits of the pristine Adriatic beaches and the crisp, cold beer, I realized that the last thing the Croats needed was any help from me. But, try as I did to explain this to people, they just didn't hear me. They had visions of me climbing a mountainside with a scarf tied around my head and 3 orphaned babies with distended abdomens hanging off of hand-fashioned papooses tied around my neck and back. But even after my return home and photographic testimony to the breathtaking beauty of the Croatian land and the obvious prosperity of the people, my friends and colleagues still didn't believe me. In a way, I'm glad Matt Lauer went over there. Somehow, his visit and his glowing narratives of the splendor of the country, lent the place a certain credibility that I was unable to communicate. I kind of resent the fact that my friends, colleagues and family put more trust in Matt Lauer (a man who interviewed Brittney Spears wearing loafers with no socks, allowing his naked ankles to flap in the breeze for the entire world to see) than in me.

On the other hand, I'm kind of bummed that Lauer sang the praises of Dubrovnik. He and Forbes Magazine, which recently recognized Croatia as one of the most beautiful vacation spots in the world, have in some ways tainted Croatia for the average tourist who is looking for a beautiful place to visit for a reasonable price.

Two years ago when we went to Croatia, the place was really cheap. For example, Stephen and I regularly had amazing meals (with the quintessential 400 beers each) for in and around 10 dollars. One night, four of us went to dinner at a "fancy" restaurant. The tables were build on planks underneath the arches of an ancient Roman aquaduct. A stream rushed under our table as we each ate 2 exquisite entrees, endless appetizers and cheese plates (handcrafted-on-the-premesis cheese, mind you), dessert and copious amounts of booze. (We had been hiking all day long without so much as a morcel of food in our bellies.) At the end of the hours-long meal, a 3-piece-suit-clad waitor approached the table to tally up the final damage. He literally added up 3 little notebook pages worth of food and booze and the entire meal came, with tip, to 50 dollars.
The apartment in which we stayed (2 bedrooms, full kitchen, terrace the size of Deleware) slept 5 and was just under 50 dollars a night..total...tax included. Actually, the last night of our stay was only 30 dollars because it was one day past the designated "peak travel season" for this particular establishment. Had the woman not pointed this out to us, we would not have been any the wiser and we would have paid her the full 50 dollars with no questions asked. Actually, the first place we stayed in, for a few nights, was a little bit like a dorm situation. There were four rooms off of a hallway, two on each side. At the end of the hallway there were two full bathrooms. We had to share our bathrooms with the other people on the hall. I'm not even sure if there were any other people staying there because it was so damn quiet. The room was pretty sparcely furnished, but it was squeaky clean. Plus, the woman who ran the joint would rush up with her scrub brush and bucket of bleach every time she so much as hear the toilet flush. The place was immaculate. It was a few minutes walk outside of the town center and it had a little balcony. It was about 15 dollars a night.

Anyway, back to my Matt Lauer thing. The increasing popularity of Croatia forced us to do a little reality check. Yes, there is a chance that there will still be lots of rooms available, but we know there will be more people competing for those rooms. We therefore decided to be "super-cautious" (Lauren will like that) and make sure we had reservations ahead of time. This time, however, we are surprised at the cost of places.

On the first day, we arrive in Dubrovnik at noon. Dubrovnik is crazy busy with tourists, and we decided it would really suck to have to pound the pavement in the (hopefully) 95 degree temps, with our suitcases, looking for accomodations. Today, therefore, we booked a hotel in the Dubrovnik area, in a little town called Mlini. It is the only actual hotel we'll stay in as we prefer the private accomodations. This place is 130 dollars, but we had not other choice. See, we want to arrive, stay one day in Dubrovnik and then head off to an island the following morning. We did not want to have to try to make some ferry on our first day, what with potential flight delays, etc. So, we decided it would be best to stay the first night in Dubrovnik. We'd have the luxury of having a place to stay in, a nice shower at our immediate disposal, a place to set our bags, and a short walk to the beach and BEER! We would have preferred a private accomodation as they are cheaper than the hotels, but most understandably want a longer committment than one night. As for the other hotels, they were super expensive.

Anyway, here is our hotel for the first night.



We are going to do the Bohemian drifter thing on the second day. Our second day there will be August 5th. We are meeting friends on August 8th, so we have a few days to kick around and do whatever. So, we are going to get up early on the 5th, hop a ferry to the nearby lovely island of Lopud, and try to find a room there. If we are unsuccessful, we will head back to the mainland and try our hand with the tourist information office. I'm much more willing to do that on the second day, after a decent night's sleep, than on the first day, after a ridiculously long, exhausing flight.

As for the remainder of our trip, from August 8th to the 17th. We have found this lovely little place in Cavtat, just across the bay from Croatia. It sleeps 6, had 3 bedrooms, a full laundry setup, AC, Satellite TV, pool, sun-drenched terrace, full kitchen and living room and is in the dead center of town. It costs, (drumroll please) 90 dollars per night. Not per person/per night...just per night. And it includes tax. And for a majority of the trip we will be splitting that cost with 5 adults.

What's New Pussycat?

On Friday night Meg, Gene and I were fortunate enough to attend the performance of the illustrious Welsh singing sensation, Tom Jones. (Or, seeing as where Jones was knighted on 29 March, 2006, perhaps I should be calling him Sir Tom Jones.)



The 66 year young Jones still has the chops to thrill female audience members with classics like "What's New, Pussycat", "Delilah", "Its Not Unusual" and "Help Yourself." And when he enters into his more contemplative mode, performing hits like "Green, Green Grass of Home" and "Without Love", male and female fans alike can't help but get lost in the Jones reverie. Of course, nobody can resist Jones's magnetic appeal when he launches into "You Can Leave Your Hat On." Nobody is immune to his charms!

Meg and I were delighted to see that Jones has not lost any of his physical stamina, either. He's a bundle of energy up there on stage, making the ladies squeal when he starts his swiveling, jirating and booty-shaking.

Suffice it to say, we left there with a big smile on our faces, anticipating Jones's eventual return to the South Shore Music Circus next year. You can be the three of us will be there, front and center, upon his return.