Dragon Wimpering in the Year of the Rabbit

Posted on February 7, 2011 by 40andover

My son keeps trying to teach me how to say Happy New Year in Mandarin, but he is soooooo frustrated with my horrible tones (for those of you who may not know, Chinese languages are tonal). At the tender again of 8-1/2, he has been taking Chinese for a few years and apparently has really good tones. But I wouldn’t know since I am obviously tone-illiterate.

As someone totally demoralized by the economic bloodbath of the last few years, I have taken to looking up any horoscope in any culture in a — yes, yes — futile attempt to divine (or control, let’s be honest) the future.

Since it is the Chinese New Year, I looked up Dragon in the Year of the Rabbit. But that isn’t enough information. I need to know my elements: am I wood or metal, earth or water or fire? I always imagined my elements would be like 1920s-30s modern furniture — brushed steel or carved wood structure with fabrics in deep red accents or bright thin stripes.

But, you can’t simply pick what you think works for you. That is determined at your time of birth. Not so simple, now that Mom is gone. But it wouldn’t have been so simple either if she were still alive. Mom gave birth in a classically 1960s way: she was under anesthesia before the first labor pain and woke up for the hairdresser (surgery can play havoc on one’s slightly poofy, Jackie Kennedy look).

So, even when my mother was alive, she couldn’t say, “I stopped screaming at 3:00pm, so that’s how I know that’s when you were born.” It would always have been, “Oh, darling, you were born sometime between when I was told to breathe deeply into the gas mask and when the hairdresser woke me for an in-hospital hair emergency procedure.”

So, it isn’t as easy as one might think to get tired, trite and vague prognostications. I needed information from a third party reliable source.

I got out of bed where I was web-surfing and I started hunting around for my birth certificate. I found only half of it. The copy I have was the original copy given to my parents and, well, after 47 years, the part with the relevant information had disintegrated.

POB (partner of blogger) asked if she could help and I told her she would laugh at me if I told her what I was doing. She didn’t laugh but she did roll her eyes. The Big Eye Roll. The one that means “I had a crazy day and now you are going off the deep-end trying to find out the time of your birth so you can read some free, on-line horoscope and use that to guide your and — therefore my — life for the next 12 months?”

Ok, she had a point. I cannot control the future. I cannot divine whether my loved ones and I will be financially successful, or happy, or healthy or . . . or . . . . But, crazy is as crazy does, because I keep trying.

These Arrrrrrrrre the “Good Ol’ Days”

Posted on January 22, 2011 by 40andover

Forgive me, Carly Simon, for the lack of harmony in the title. I tried.

A camp friend tagged in an old photo on our camp’s website. I was 8 years old. About my son’s age. It sent me time-traveling through memories.

I was a camper for 10 of the 11 summers, from 1971 to 1981. Some of my earliest camp memories are Saturday night campfires where we sang and listened to stories under the night sky. Only as I am older do I understand the importance of those campfires. In my mind’s eye, we were sitting in the majesty of nature and day turned to night, singing together about friendship and emotions we were too young to understand (like those in Carly Simon’s Anticipation), and being part of a group as we each let our minds wander — sometimes to homesickness, sometimes just in the music, sometimes to how much we loved our friends sitting next to us. Sugar-coating in part, but only in small part.

So, this morning I had to follow the link to see other pictures. I found some crazy old pictures of people I hadn’t recalled in years. And I got so excited that I shared the pictures with camp friends on FaceBook whom I thought could remember their names. I wasn’t sure that my best friend for many of those years would remember so I didn’t send to her. Now I think I will, it is less important that she remember the names, but it will evoke for her a (I hope, happy) time — in all its wonderment and angst — that we, those campers of the 1970s, think of as the “Good Ol’ Days”. When we sang, “these arrrrrrree the good ol’ days”, we may not have known then what we know now: they were indeed so.

Just a little aside about FaceBook: Too many levels of contradictions and irony, among them, that it connects people who were friends in a time before fax machines and copiers (rexograph machines were it). Another blog entry, perhaps.

I was looking at these photos and smiling. Then my son switched off the cartoons and wanted to cuddle. I paused my trip to the OLD good ol’ days to enjoy the here and now. And I think, I am old enough to know — in real time, as this time with my son unfolds — that these moments, too, will be the Good Ol’ Days in short order.

I guess good ol’ days happen all the time. We just have to remember to enjoy the moment and then, years later, relive the memory.

And stay right here
‘Cause these are the good old days

Everyone, click YouTube of Carly Simon from 1972 and sing along.

Oh, Blackberry

Posted on January 20, 2011 by 40andover

This weekend, I read about a mother unplugging her kids from their various anti-social devices — smart phones, laptops and TVs — so they couldn’t engage in anti-social-yet-social activities like texting and Facebooking (is that a word?).

I had a smug moment about how we carefully monitor our son’s time on these devices — ok, he is only 8.5 years old so he doesn’t have an email address or a Facebook account. And, thank G-d, his fine motor skills are not the best, because that will delay texting (and therefore sexting, G-d help me). Bottom line: I have nothing to be smug about because I don’t have these issues YET. But let me enjoy the moment however ill-deserved.

The very next day the “ALT’ and “a” keys on my blackberry stopped working. I was frantic. Karma is SUCH a brutal boomerang. The blackberry provider which shall remain nameless (Verizon) wouldn’t honor the warranty without some trouble-shooting, even though I explained that it was a mechanical and not a software problem.

Trouble-shooting? Was a technician going to reach through the phone or computer and unstick my keys or relieve their key fatigue?

So, I am on the phone with a technician and she says, “type the word, ‘blackberry’.” Ok ok ok ok ok ok ok. I CALMLY say “I can’t.” She asks, “why?” WHY????? WHY???? WHY???? I CALMLY tell her, “it will come out ‘blckberry’ because the ‘a’ doesn’t work”. Ahhh, now she understands. She is no longer puzzled and frustrated. How NICE for her. She determines I need a new device. Brilliant.

Now, you think I am over-reacting. I am. I am hooked on my blackberry (karma being a brutal boomerang after my smug thoughts). But there were 36 hours between the initial SOS to service provider which shall remain nameless (Verizon) and the actual trouble-shooting call. And then 24 hours after that. So, for 60 hours, I was typing emails that looked like “ttched is drft of the lon greement” (not really, because, G-d bless spell check). All I can say is that it is hard to think of words that don’t have “a”s in them. Try it. And when you are typing messages that look nonsensical without the “a”s, you feel like you are either drunk or using someone else’s glasses.

But I did have fun torturing my assistant with “a”-less emails, like “plese mke reservtion for three t [name] resturnt” or constantly resending of “I cn’t use the LT or _ button”. As if she didn’t know. But you can’t spell TEAM without an A and so she needed to live this crisis with me. And well I am better for it. She, she, had to leave early with a migraine.

My new blackberry is synching now and I am humming right along with it.

a Day in the Life

Posted on January 18, 2011 by 40andover

This morning, I got on a plane to Chicago for a meeting. The plan was, that after the meeting, I would take a cab from potential client back to the airport for a plane to take me home.

I hear they have these new-fangled things called telephones and video conferencing that makes one-day round-trip travel less necessary. Actually, most times, the older and ever more quaint tradition of meeting someone and shaking his or her hand is really the best approach to sealing the deal that turns a potential client into a new client. But I still need all of the gadgets and technology to meet somewhat far flung potential clients in real time and in the flesh. So neither alone works as well as both do together, in the right proportions. (If we are talking about teenagers and adult email/text junkies, then you need to send them to a monastery to start a 12-step program before even talking rationally to them.)

As I am floating along in a technology-induced empowerment daydream (it is early for me, remember), I realize that this morning’s trip is on a put-put plane. The gangway doesn’t go all the way to the plane. We have to step outside in the sleet and the rain and jump over puddles (that could qualify as rivers) in order to climb the thin (as in one-at-a-time only), small staircase into our claustrophobic airplane. So much for my earlier comments on the power of technology. I am no longer dreaming. I am awake to the reality of a cold, wet, snowy day with wet feet and barely two inches separating me from my fellow passenger.

There is an woman in row 7 indirectly trying to get the attention of the flight attendant who is attending to things behind row 22. The woman is being very passive-aggressive about it all — telling everyone that the flight attendant is avoiding her. Clearly, the flight attendant doesn’t hear her. Finally, I ask the woman if I could help get the flight attendant’s attention. She responds, “it’s her job to notice me!!!” Ok, forget the personal touch. Get me the hell out of this plane. What is wrong with video conference? I bet a new rainmaking tactic could be handwritten letters (in crayon, of course) sent by snail mail. No. No. I will not let this woman ruin my dreams of global domination by charming and cajoling and pleading with potential clients far and wide. No. No. So I motioned to the flight attendant that the woman needed her. Had it been an hour earlier, I would have left the plane and took a cab home and hid under the covers.

It seems that the woman — an oversized person — was promised a seat in an exit row because of the extra leg room but she was seated in row 7 — not an exit row. The flight attendant couldn’t re-seat her until everyone was seated. The woman was not pleased and she showed it by griping and grousing at an anger level and amplitude that was just criminal at 8am.

Ultimately, she was able to be re-seated in an exit row. But the seat didn’t recline because there was a second exit row right behind the first one. (The put-put plane that had more exits than windows.) Sooooo, slowing our departure further, Goldilocks had to try the seats in the second exit row. Those seats reclined. Ah, she found the one that would do ju-u-u-ust fine. [sigh] Wait, uh oh, the seatbelts don’t fit. A cruel joke engineered by Papa Bear because he hates when Goldilocks comes, tries everything and leaves a mess.

So, in the end, she moved back up to row 7, opting for a reclining seat over leg room. I would have opted for leg room with no reclining seat. Ultimately, I am glad she was not in charge of the exit doors. I didn’t agree with her judgment call.

Goldilocks caused us to miss our place in take-off and we sat for one hour on the runway. No wonder Papa Bear hates when she comes by, which happens many times, every night, given how many times the story is told on any given day around the world.

Back to my business meeting. It went well. Groveling in person is often effective. Then I got in a cab to start the journey home.

I was able to get an earlier flight, at a cost of $75 (which I bet would have been $50 if I had checked luggage for $25). Regardless, getting home earlier is priceless and I did, in fact, use a MasterCard so I lived that commercial.

As I headed toward the gate, there was a plane boarding to JFK Airport at the next gate (I was flying into LaGuardia Airport). I wanted to switch again because it was another opportunity to get home even earlier. Unfortunately, the two airports, although 10 miles apart, are considered different destination cities and there is a big cost differential to change destinations. The plane had been delayed for three hours and there was a line of disgruntled people waiting to board. I decided that if JFK was that backlogged, that I would save money and not be on a plane ride from hell.

But recognizing the potential for delays and angry hordes, and even though I was assured that LaGuardia was running on time, I decided that an upgrade to first class (not too expensive) was in order, as a mental health prophylactic measure. Sanity, priceless . . . Another MasterCard commercial. I am living the dream. And we were delayed on the tarmac before take-off and we circled before landing, so it was totally worth it. I had plenty of room and I couldn’t smell anyone’s perfume. Now, that the Sniffer (see prior blog entry) made me aware of perfume, I really appreciated only have that slightly nasty airplane smell we have come to expect.

So this all started on a put-put plane sitting on a runway on a cold, snowy, sleeting morning. And now I am in my jammies, having kissed my son before he fell asleep and then crawled into my cozy bed and smiling at my beloved.

Another day on the road to Utopia.

iFamily

Posted on December 29, 2010 by 40andover

For my 40th birthday (just about 7 years ago), POB (partner of blogger) gave me an iPod. There is new, souped of version of this dinosaur called “iPod Classic”. Just like those “classic” Chryslers with all the conveniences of modern technology but with the fins and the chrome edges. It was amazing in its time and, just seven years later, its limitations are quaint — in that way that a lop-sided homemade cake is really so, so, so, “homey”.

Then, it wore out as iThings are designed to do after 360 charges. So, it stays planted in its iPlayer for music when we are in the house.

Then, we got something for the gym.

And this doesn’t really hold a charge anymore. And so I get iRate at the gym when the battery idies on me and all I have to watch is the 24-hour-news-recycle to pass the tortuous 30 minutes on a constant-sweat machine of choice that day.

Ok, so then we got one that had more “juice” for the family. But we didn’t know about the iDeath that happens after 360 charges (don’t leave an iPod in a charger or re-charge willy-nilly). So this iDevice splits its time between two places: the kitchen, and, after hours, in SOPOBAB’s (son of POB and blogger’s) room so he can listen to audio books and then go to sleep to the music of Ella Fitzgerald and Louis Armstrong (yes, SOPOBAB is an old soul). This requires TWO iBose systems for its two iHomes.

Ok, that was not enough, so we got two, TWO, iTouches. Two iTouches. SOPOBAB has dinosaur, bird, football, baseball and hockey apps so he can play, too. (Our child cannot conceive of a world with typewriters, dial-up connections, Basic 8 computer languages. Thank G-d, he loves real, honest-to-goodness books.)

The batteries are draining too quickly. So we are probably going to get another one. Oy.

Then we got an iMac. [picture not included because of iMalfunction] [imagine iPicture here].

THEN, a MacBook Pro.

Now, an iPhone. Not for me. For POB. Cool and groovy.

But I am a little iParanoid that our dependence on Steve Jobs is getting addictive. But I really hate PCs since Microsoft Vista came out and ground our PC to a halt even for simple tasks, like say, logging on.

There was a time when there was no “I” in “team” (but there IS an I in family, which stinks for the metaphor). Apple will get rid of that problem by creating the iTeam (who knows if that is true, but one has to believe that something like that has to come out in order to continue the mind control and advance the global domination).

In life, you pick your battles. Steve Jobs, you win. iLove you and so does this iFamily.

A letter to my blackberry

Posted on December 16, 2010 by 40andover

‘Berry Darling —

You are the first thing I look at in the morning and the last thing I see at night. You are next to me as I sleep.

I know these economic times have been hard on all of us; still you don’t always light up with a message when I look at you. Is it something I did or didn’t do, dear?

Don’t I take you everywhere? Haven’t we traveled to Europe and lazed on the beach together? Remember, when you fell into a puddle and I lovingly dried you out? I know you don’t such take good pictures any more and there is a lingering buzz. But I still love you. (And I don’t remember your bringing me flowers and complimenting on my outfits.)

Yes, I still love you, even though there are brighter, more fun models. I think one even makes coffee . . . no matter.

The important thing is that we communicate. So I am going to tell you what I need from our relationship: I need you quietly by my side, until I look at you, and then I want you to have messages that bring business and good and happy tidings from friends. Is that so much to ask?

Dearest ‘Berry, think about this — and us — and let me know what you think, but don’t buzz. I’ll look at it in the morning.

Goodnight, my sweet.

WikiLeaks made the world way more dangerous.

Posted on November 29, 2010 by 40andover

Mr. Wikileaks, the self-appointed arbiter of world politics, is a cyber-terrorist and not a crusader. But the information is not revelatory; but its publication is like yelling fire in a crowded theater.

And really, is the world a safer place because we know that a diplomat thinks Silvio Berlusconi is feckless and a womanizer? Or that Quaddafi travels with a voluptuous nurse? This suggests that Mr. WikiLeaks is out to embarrass people and not to save the world.

And does the world (and specifically terrorists) need to know that the US is SECRETLY (oops, WAS SECRETLY) trying to secure some of the Pakistani nuclear arsenal? And did anyone doubt that the Afghan government is corrupt to its core?

To review. Before this weekend, we knew, among other things, that:

China is our biggest creditor;
China can be an immense military and economic enemy if threatened;
China views North Korea as a buffer between it and the Western sphere of influence in the Korean peninsula;
South Korea is one of our biggest trading partners and buyer of US goods and thus key to our economic recovery;
North Korea is ruled by lunatics and they have a nuclear arsenal;
Iran probably has or is about to have nuclear weapons making the Middle East evermore the powder keg of the world;
Secretly every ruler in the Middle East hates Ahmedinejad and wants Iran disarmed;
The US cannot afford to fight another war; and
Hamid Karzai and his merry band of traffickers run one of the most corrupt governments in one of the most ungovernable areas of the world.

Now we know that:

The US and South Korea are planning for a united Korea (assuming North Korea implodes) allied with the US which will freak out China;
Some Middle East countries (other than Israel) hate Iran enough to want the US to attack;
Iran is really close to having nuclear weapons; and
Karzai’s brother regularly shakes down countries and is paid millions of dollars in unmarked bags.

Net Gain: Zero Information.

Net Loss: Now countries may have to respond with harsh words, sanctions or firepower because delicate diplomatic balances have been disrupted and bonds of trust breached. Gee, just what we needed.

Ramifications: In this world, this diplomatic crisis could as easily result in political breakthroughs or peace or devolve into war and/or global economic collapse.

Family Album

Posted on October 31, 2010 by 40andover

I am the archivist for my original nuclear family (FOB (father of blogger), MOB (mother of blogger, may she rest in peace), SOB (sister of blogger) and HOSOB (husband of SOB). And of course, for my nuclear family, POB (partner of blogger) and SOPOBAB (son of POB and blogger). I also have archived pictures of some of POB’s extended family.

After struggling to identify people in old photos, I decided that we need to catalogue pictures with names because the people who would know are forgetful or “no longer with us”.

So, I upgraded my iPhoto program so now I have face recognition software. I will have to press FOB about some people; MOB would have known. Thank Goodness, Aunt Betty was at FOB’s party and helped with some identifications.

Still, there isn’t room for the stories behind the pictures, but I will work on that next.

But there are some people in these photos who were important at one point but turned out to be rotters. But if we don’t name them, then later generations might think they remained important but their names were lost to history. THAT won’t do. So we have to name them, but in a way that conveys the backstory.

In the pictures of my sister’s wedding, there are many – dare I say TOO many — pictures of the one-time fiancé of one of SOB’s dearest college friends. Subsequent to the wedding, problems arose and we took to calling him Stan (not his real name) so that if they patched things up, we could revert to his real name without negative attachments. (Brilliant idea by HOSOB.)

Well, they didn’t patch things up and he is figuring TOO prominently in the wedding pictures. (see back story http://40andoverblog.com/?p=1907) Just to call him “Stan” would only convey his loser-ish behavior to very few people in the family, leaving subsequent generations to think his name was Stan and there is nothing more to the story. No, this will not stand. He was horrible to a dear friend of SOB, whom we have all known for 30 years and, despite her Republican party identification, is FAMILY. Every time he ruins a perfectly good wedding picture by his mere image in it, I become enraged. Yet, I am a mom, so I have to be careful how I characterize him (i.e., no profanity). I tried out a name, but I wasn’t sure.

As I was doing the endless name recognition (10,000 faces can be daunting), SOPOBAB was looking over my shoulder and asked, “Who is ‘Stan the Loser’?” And so I explained to the next generation the sins of Stan. And now the back story won’t be lost.

And then I knew I got the name just right.

Play dates

Posted on October 17, 2010 by 40andover

Yesterday, my son had a friend over in the afternoon. The ground rules were no electronics — no computer, no video, no TV. His parents are rather concerned about the amount of time he spends on Wii and on the computer generally. So, low-tech play date. No problem, right? Now, remember it is 2010 and we are taking about an 8 year-old and a 10 year-old. BOYS.

First my son refused to stop what he was doing when his friend arrived. His friend was kneeling in front of the Wii remotes. Ok, ok, ok. POB (partner of blogger) took out all of this cool building sets, some even have circuitry (electric ok, but electronic, no). No one tried anything. Variably mournful and angry eyes were watching us. I started helping the friend put some circuit boards together and we made lights flash on and alarms ring. Just like those awesome kits that you could do at camp if you brought an extra $5 dollars which in 1972, was a lot for an 8 year-old. We were having an awesome time although my son was still pouting by reading train books, hoping that I would cave and let them watch a train video. Nooooo. Then his friend got up and knelt by the Wii again. I said no, and we had a tense moment when he kicked something over angrily. We walked back into my son’s room. At that point, the friend tried to make conversation with my son, but my son, who figured he was punishing me by being rude to his friend, was unresponsive. So I sat down with this friend and played scrabble and asked my son to help me. Finally, finally, my son decided that fun was a good thing to have and they started to play together. Phew. All is good, right? Ten minutes later, “we’re booooored.” Really? Really? With all of the toys in this house, you kids can be bored?

Then I remember what withdrawal was like when I quit cigarettes. And, I realized that neither of them bargained for a non-electronic play date, although we did tell our son the ground rules. So, in a lapse of parental judgment, I started a pillow fight in the living room with the couch pillows — some cushions, some just decorative. All fair game. POB looked on in horror and amusement as there were many near-misses with the lamps, etc. But the humans were each in one piece.

They were able to amuse themselves for a little while. But the electronic-free play date was running a little too long for anyone’s patience, let alone those of pre-tween boys. Recently, I bought a Star Wars light saber to match our son’s (Mom, please forgive me, for buying something that is a weapon, but your grandson is a boy.) My son didn’t want to play but his friend did. So, I handed him a pair a protective glasses (see, Mom, you did raise me right) because I cannot live in a world where a child is blinded while playing while fencing with light sabers in my house. Ok, I never, ever, imagined that I would be condoning, much less partaking, this behavior, but, sometimes, one has to stand less on principle in order to survive your child’s play date. Then the boy’s father came to pick him up just as he was striking me in the gut with his light saber. Score one for Luke Skywalker.

Luckily, POB and I had a dinner date with our machertunim (the parents of the girl that our son is intent on marrying). Machertunim is the Yiddish word that describes the parents’ relationship when your children are married to each other. This play date also did not have electronics. We coped very well with these parameters, since we have great fun talking and laughing, and there was wine and great food. Did I mention the wine?

Both play dates were fun. But I suspect that they won’t need my facilitating non-electronic play dates after a while. And to tell you the truth, the second play date was awesome.

Sanchez and Stewart

Posted on October 2, 2010 by 40andover

I feel bad for Rick Sanchez and I feel bad for Jon Stewart.

I think Rick Sanchez was wrong about Jon Stewart’s sense of entitlement or paranoia as a Jew. I think Jon Stewart’s cultural Jewishness infuses his humor with that contrarian-isn’t-the-world-crazy approach, but that’s it.

But Rick wasn’t really talking about Jon Stewart. He was talking about how he — Rick Sanchez — feels about his place at CNN and the things that have kept him down. I don’t think one tirade should cost him his job. That only cements the anger. More famous people get to hire a spiritual adviser and keep their jobs or move onto the speaking tour. So, I say, CNN needs to listen to him and figure out whether or not his anger is justified.

As for Jon Stewart, I am sorry that he felt the need to change his name, although it is show business. And Leibowitz doesn’t really flow well. And Jon Stewart may have issues with Judaism — hey, he works (or at least new shows air) on the high Holy Days. Even the most lapsed Jew in the world finds a synagogue or stays home from work for self-reflection and contemplation on these holy days. So, he has baggage, too.

I have baggage. We all have baggage. Rick Sanchez should get his job back and he should go into therapy.

I will say it is odd that some bullying assistant attorney general who is targeting a gay college student gets to keep his job on a “free speech” argument and Rick Sanchez gets tossed for a short rant that he probably regrets.

40 — oh wait, yikes!! 50 — andoverblog

Aging and living in urban US

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