From 1987 to 1997 a popular sitcom called “Married with Children” aired on the Fox network. You can still find the re-runs on cable. The central character is the always-suffering Al Bundy. He has a wife and two children and works in a shoe store. His family basically ignores him and spends what little money he makes. His wife doesn’t work and only gets off the couch to shop for clothes.
For me, one of the funniest reoccurring threads was that there was never any food in the house when Al returned home from work. Prior to his returning, his wife and children would sneak out to some fast food joint or chain restaurant and return with nothing for Al. Watching it as bachelor and then as a young father, it seemed inconceivable that a wife and children would not care about whether their husband/dad ate.
“I had two mini-burgers saved for you, but Danny was still hungry after his steak and ate them,” Mary tells me as I return home from work on a recent night. My family had eaten at one of those chain restaurants I hate, but tonight the thought of two mini-burgers made my mouth water. Oh well. At least Danny and Mary and Michael were well fed. Instead of mini-burgers, I opened a can of soup.
“You guys are going to Burger King?,” I ask as Mary and my sons as they head out the door on another night. “Just get me the usual.”
The usual is nothing. It has become a running joke in my house.
“Ok Danny the joke is over. You can get my food out of the car now,” I tell my 15-year-old on yet another night when he and his mother have dined out.
“Dad I’m not kidding. We didn’t bring you anything from the diner,” he responds. I love diner food.
Let me know what you think.
Tuesday, June 29, 2010
Sunday, June 27, 2010
Watching Grass Grow
Standing over a wheelbarrow full of topsoil and grass seed Sunday afternoon, my eyes began stinging from the sweat pouring off my forehead. Reaching into my pocket for a handkerchief to wipe the sweat away, I find it is empty. My shirt is too dirty to wipe my eyes, so I pull off my work gloves and do the best I can to clear my eyes of the salty, stinging sweat.
Walking into the kitchen 15 minutes later, Mary looks at me and laughs.
“What happened?” she asks. “You have something all over your face.”
A few seconds later the reflection in the bathroom mirror looks like a jungle warrior. Streaks of dark black topsoil mixed with sweat cover my cheeks, chin and under and above my eyes. Wiping the sweat with my dirty work gloves was not such a good idea. An hour earlier my neighbor had warned me to stop working so hard on such a hot day. Two hours before that Mary had told me to skip the yard work and stay in the pool.
But my newly-planted grass needed me. About a month ago I planted it to repair the damage made by a backhoe that had dug a three-foot wide trench from my house to the street after the pipe that carries water to my house gave out. I was not happy with how the grass is coming in and decided to spend about three hours in the blazing heat patching the bare spots.
Growing grass is very important to me, just ask my neighbors. One night about two weeks ago I was going through my usual around-dusk ritual of inspecting the new grass. It takes me about 10 or 15 minutes to walk and inspect the entire length of the area that was dug up.
“I hope the neighbors don’t see me looking at my grass,” I think to myself.
A few nights later, I was at a banquet celebrating the 90th birthday of two Wallingford sports legends. I was surprised and happy to see my neighbor Holly. I moved across the crowded banquet hall to say hello.
“Hi Ralph,” Holly said. “I saw you looking at your grass the other night.”
Let me know what you think.
Walking into the kitchen 15 minutes later, Mary looks at me and laughs.
“What happened?” she asks. “You have something all over your face.”
A few seconds later the reflection in the bathroom mirror looks like a jungle warrior. Streaks of dark black topsoil mixed with sweat cover my cheeks, chin and under and above my eyes. Wiping the sweat with my dirty work gloves was not such a good idea. An hour earlier my neighbor had warned me to stop working so hard on such a hot day. Two hours before that Mary had told me to skip the yard work and stay in the pool.
But my newly-planted grass needed me. About a month ago I planted it to repair the damage made by a backhoe that had dug a three-foot wide trench from my house to the street after the pipe that carries water to my house gave out. I was not happy with how the grass is coming in and decided to spend about three hours in the blazing heat patching the bare spots.
Growing grass is very important to me, just ask my neighbors. One night about two weeks ago I was going through my usual around-dusk ritual of inspecting the new grass. It takes me about 10 or 15 minutes to walk and inspect the entire length of the area that was dug up.
“I hope the neighbors don’t see me looking at my grass,” I think to myself.
A few nights later, I was at a banquet celebrating the 90th birthday of two Wallingford sports legends. I was surprised and happy to see my neighbor Holly. I moved across the crowded banquet hall to say hello.
“Hi Ralph,” Holly said. “I saw you looking at your grass the other night.”
Let me know what you think.
Thursday, June 24, 2010
My take on a Forum section thread
There is an interesting thread in our MyRecordJournal Forum section on a topic that a lot of us can relate to. According to one of our regular forum posters, a man had the police called on him for offering to pay for a young girl’s ice cream at the Wallingford Dairy Queen. Apparently someone misinterpreted his actions and thought he was up to no good.
Whether this happened exactly as described or not, we all know that in 2010 you have to be careful about ran-dom acts of kindness being misinterpreted, especially when these acts of kindness involve an older male and a younger female. Since I’m a few years away from 50 and was raised to always be especially kind to children and women whether I know them or not, I’m acutely aware that I cannot always do the things my father taught me to do.
Occasionally one of the 24-hour news channels is on at the gym where I work out and watching reminds me why some people think any older male talking to a younger female might be a pervert or worse. Nancy Grace is especially guilty of overplaying what are tragic, but isolated incidents of strangers doing harm to children or women.
Everyone needs to keep in mind that the chances of any of us being harmed by a total stranger are about on par with the chances of being struck by lightning. If it happens to your loved one, that is no consolation. But we need to keep the threat of strangers in perspective.
The chances of a child or woman being harmed by someone they know, is far greater. In fact, most women and children who are murdered are killed by someone very close to them, usually a husband or close male relative.
The thread mentions that it was a man and a woman who confronted the man and called 9-1-1. The woman has a much greater chance of being harmed by the man she was with than the children have of being harmed by the stranger who apparently felt bad that one child couldn’t pay for her ice cream.
Check out the forum thread and let me know what you think.
Whether this happened exactly as described or not, we all know that in 2010 you have to be careful about ran-dom acts of kindness being misinterpreted, especially when these acts of kindness involve an older male and a younger female. Since I’m a few years away from 50 and was raised to always be especially kind to children and women whether I know them or not, I’m acutely aware that I cannot always do the things my father taught me to do.
Occasionally one of the 24-hour news channels is on at the gym where I work out and watching reminds me why some people think any older male talking to a younger female might be a pervert or worse. Nancy Grace is especially guilty of overplaying what are tragic, but isolated incidents of strangers doing harm to children or women.
Everyone needs to keep in mind that the chances of any of us being harmed by a total stranger are about on par with the chances of being struck by lightning. If it happens to your loved one, that is no consolation. But we need to keep the threat of strangers in perspective.
The chances of a child or woman being harmed by someone they know, is far greater. In fact, most women and children who are murdered are killed by someone very close to them, usually a husband or close male relative.
The thread mentions that it was a man and a woman who confronted the man and called 9-1-1. The woman has a much greater chance of being harmed by the man she was with than the children have of being harmed by the stranger who apparently felt bad that one child couldn’t pay for her ice cream.
Check out the forum thread and let me know what you think.
Monday, June 21, 2010
Do as we say, not as we do.
A story on underage drinking in last week’s newspaper included this quote from Cheshire Youth and Social Services Director Michelle Piccerillo: “The people who are drinking include successful athletes. That’s discouraging.”
Piccerillo was referring to an incident where police cited 35 teens for underage drinking at a house party several hours after the Cheshire High lacrosse team won the state championship. Several la-crosse players were among those ticketed.
You can be discouraged, but no one should be surprised. Raising two children reinforced the con-nection between sports and alcohol. My sons, now 15 and 17, became aware of the existence of beer thanks to the NFL. I’m sure others have noticed the same.
Each time a team wins a championship, they guzzle and poor champagne all over each other in front of millions of viewers, including children. Any child attending a game notices that the longest lines are the beer lines. Once they hit 13 or 14, they also become aware that adults are willing to pay a premium price for the privilege of sipping a beer as they watch their favorite team play.
The connections between sports and alcohol are too endless for me to mention. It is therefore inevitable that some high school athletes are going to drink after games, especially big wins. It’s commendable that Cheshire has spent so much money and time trying to curb the problem. But Cheshire doesn’t exist in a bubble. Until the professional leagues that make billions on beer advertising are willing to change their attitude, high school athletes will continue to drink. In fact, I’d suggest that the link between alcohol and sports probably makes high school athletes more prone to drinking. I haven’t been to many classical music concerts, but the ones I’ve attended didn’t sell beer. I’ve worked at newspaper for almost 25 year and can’t remember a story about members of the high school band being cited for drinking after winning a big statewide competition.
Let me know what you think
Piccerillo was referring to an incident where police cited 35 teens for underage drinking at a house party several hours after the Cheshire High lacrosse team won the state championship. Several la-crosse players were among those ticketed.
You can be discouraged, but no one should be surprised. Raising two children reinforced the con-nection between sports and alcohol. My sons, now 15 and 17, became aware of the existence of beer thanks to the NFL. I’m sure others have noticed the same.
Each time a team wins a championship, they guzzle and poor champagne all over each other in front of millions of viewers, including children. Any child attending a game notices that the longest lines are the beer lines. Once they hit 13 or 14, they also become aware that adults are willing to pay a premium price for the privilege of sipping a beer as they watch their favorite team play.
The connections between sports and alcohol are too endless for me to mention. It is therefore inevitable that some high school athletes are going to drink after games, especially big wins. It’s commendable that Cheshire has spent so much money and time trying to curb the problem. But Cheshire doesn’t exist in a bubble. Until the professional leagues that make billions on beer advertising are willing to change their attitude, high school athletes will continue to drink. In fact, I’d suggest that the link between alcohol and sports probably makes high school athletes more prone to drinking. I haven’t been to many classical music concerts, but the ones I’ve attended didn’t sell beer. I’ve worked at newspaper for almost 25 year and can’t remember a story about members of the high school band being cited for drinking after winning a big statewide competition.
Let me know what you think
Tuesday, June 15, 2010
Staring into the Future?
A young couple is crossing at State and East Main streets in Meriden. He is pushing one of those double-strollers with two children. She is walking a few steps behind, starting at her phone. Yours truly is stopped at the light. At the same time a man is walking in the crosswalk at East Main and Per-kins Square, directly behind the one the couple is in. He is staring at his phone so intently he almost runs into the railroad gate at the downtown crossing.
Less than a hour later, I am in a meeting with a half dozen people. Two are starting at their phones intermittently, checking for updates via e-mail. It is not the first time people have drifted during one of my meetings. At least these two are doing other work and not falling asleep or staring out the window as people often did in the days before they had phones to stare at.
The night before, like millions of others, my attention was focused on the championship series be-tween the Celtics and Lakers. NBA star Dwyane Wade was in the front row with his son, who ap-peared to be around 5, give or take a year or two. The third and fourth quarters were an old-style NBA war. Players were pushing and shoving and hitting the deck. The home crowd was loudly supporting the Celtics. When the camera showed Wade and his son, the child was staring at some kind of hand-held device I assume was a game player.
No surprise. My sons, 15 and 17, spend more time looking at their phones than listening to their fa-ther. Before they were old enough for phones, they spent a lot of time looking at hand-held video-game devices.
This makes me wonder about the future of human interaction. Sales of what are referred to as un-tethered devices such as iPads are expected to approach cell phone levels in the next decade. When most people have the equivalent of a desktop computer in their palms, will they ever pay attention to someone doing something as antiquated as talking?
All this makes me feel a little envious and scared because when I cross the road I prefer to look around at the people and buildings that make up the downtown landscape. In meetings, I prefer to listen what is being said. At sports events, I like to watch the action. I’d even prefer my moody, demanding, unforgiving teen-age sons to staring at some screen that I need my reading glasses to make out.
So how do I and others like me survive in a world that values texting over talking?
Less than a hour later, I am in a meeting with a half dozen people. Two are starting at their phones intermittently, checking for updates via e-mail. It is not the first time people have drifted during one of my meetings. At least these two are doing other work and not falling asleep or staring out the window as people often did in the days before they had phones to stare at.
The night before, like millions of others, my attention was focused on the championship series be-tween the Celtics and Lakers. NBA star Dwyane Wade was in the front row with his son, who ap-peared to be around 5, give or take a year or two. The third and fourth quarters were an old-style NBA war. Players were pushing and shoving and hitting the deck. The home crowd was loudly supporting the Celtics. When the camera showed Wade and his son, the child was staring at some kind of hand-held device I assume was a game player.
No surprise. My sons, 15 and 17, spend more time looking at their phones than listening to their fa-ther. Before they were old enough for phones, they spent a lot of time looking at hand-held video-game devices.
This makes me wonder about the future of human interaction. Sales of what are referred to as un-tethered devices such as iPads are expected to approach cell phone levels in the next decade. When most people have the equivalent of a desktop computer in their palms, will they ever pay attention to someone doing something as antiquated as talking?
All this makes me feel a little envious and scared because when I cross the road I prefer to look around at the people and buildings that make up the downtown landscape. In meetings, I prefer to listen what is being said. At sports events, I like to watch the action. I’d even prefer my moody, demanding, unforgiving teen-age sons to staring at some screen that I need my reading glasses to make out.
So how do I and others like me survive in a world that values texting over talking?
Friday, May 21, 2010
Cell Phone Blues Part 2
In a blog last week, I complained about the never-ending cycle of new cell phones that allegedly don’t cost me anything.
My other complaint about getting a new phone every 12 months is that as soon as I get used to a phone it is replaced by one that is supposedly better. My wife and sons would get a new phone every six months if they could so they are always happy with a new phone. Once again, I feel left out.
Am I the only one that has this problem?
If not, how do others deal with it?
Is it true, as my family tells me, I have to get a new phone when the service contract is due for renewal?
My other complaint about getting a new phone every 12 months is that as soon as I get used to a phone it is replaced by one that is supposedly better. My wife and sons would get a new phone every six months if they could so they are always happy with a new phone. Once again, I feel left out.
Am I the only one that has this problem?
If not, how do others deal with it?
Is it true, as my family tells me, I have to get a new phone when the service contract is due for renewal?
Monday, May 17, 2010
Peace Frog
My neighbor’s 9-year-old granddaughter runs into my yard and proudly displays the melted chocolate on her fingers.
“Look, we have chocolate,” she tells me.
“No kidding,” I respond, warning her that she had better not get chocolate on her good clothes. Her 7-year-old sister is right behind. She also shows me the chocolate on her hands.
“Are the boys home?,” the older one asks.
When they were younger, I would take the two girls on a tour of my house, spending the most time in Michael and Danny’s rooms.
“Look they didn’t make their beds today,” I’d tell the two tiny girls as they looked in awe at all the trophies, medals, baseballs, posters, instruments and other stuff in the bedrooms.
Since then “Are the boys home?” is really code for “Can we go inside and look at all their new stuff?”
I explain that Danny is at a baseball game and that Michael had four wisdom teeth pulled less than 24 hours before and is trying to rest.
Ending my sentence, I notice the black “peace sign” earrings dangling from the 9-year-old’s ears.
“I like your earrings,” I tell her.
She twirls them proudly and tilts her head to one side the way girls sometimes do when they receive a compli-ment on what they are wearing. We did not have a discussion about the evolution of the peace sign over the past 50 years. When her grandmother overheard me complimenting the earrings, she remarked that she didn’t even realize the strangely-shaped earrings were a symbol for peace.
The day before, a peace sign T-shirt on a boy who couldn’t have been more than 3 or 4 caught my attention. Just before the girls with the chocolate on their hands had come over to see me, another neighborhood girl was playing tennis in the street wearing a tie-dye T-shirt.
Children wearing symbols of the 60s and having no idea what they are is nothing new. For some reason, the earrings, the T-shirt and the tie-dye made me feel a little nostalgic. Born in 1963, I was not a member of the 60s generation. As someone who came of age in the late 70s and early 80s, I did admire a lot of 60s music, fashion and philosophy.
“Alexis had the cutest peace sign earrings on,” I tell my wife later.
“All the girls wear them,” she explains.
Danny, 15, is curious about why we find a child wearing peace sign earrings so interesting. Everyone wears stuff with the peace sign.
I explain that when I was a child the peace sign was not a child’s toy. Wearing a peace sign was too radical for a young child. It symbolized all kinds of things to the silent majority, including possible “anti-American” leanings.
“Isn’t it silly that people could get others so angry by wearing a symbol for peace?” I ask my wife and son.
Mary agrees.
Danny doesn't respond.
Let me know what you think.
(Bonus points if you recognize the title of this blog and its connection to this area. It doesn't count if you have to use Google.)
“Look, we have chocolate,” she tells me.
“No kidding,” I respond, warning her that she had better not get chocolate on her good clothes. Her 7-year-old sister is right behind. She also shows me the chocolate on her hands.
“Are the boys home?,” the older one asks.
When they were younger, I would take the two girls on a tour of my house, spending the most time in Michael and Danny’s rooms.
“Look they didn’t make their beds today,” I’d tell the two tiny girls as they looked in awe at all the trophies, medals, baseballs, posters, instruments and other stuff in the bedrooms.
Since then “Are the boys home?” is really code for “Can we go inside and look at all their new stuff?”
I explain that Danny is at a baseball game and that Michael had four wisdom teeth pulled less than 24 hours before and is trying to rest.
Ending my sentence, I notice the black “peace sign” earrings dangling from the 9-year-old’s ears.
“I like your earrings,” I tell her.
She twirls them proudly and tilts her head to one side the way girls sometimes do when they receive a compli-ment on what they are wearing. We did not have a discussion about the evolution of the peace sign over the past 50 years. When her grandmother overheard me complimenting the earrings, she remarked that she didn’t even realize the strangely-shaped earrings were a symbol for peace.
The day before, a peace sign T-shirt on a boy who couldn’t have been more than 3 or 4 caught my attention. Just before the girls with the chocolate on their hands had come over to see me, another neighborhood girl was playing tennis in the street wearing a tie-dye T-shirt.
Children wearing symbols of the 60s and having no idea what they are is nothing new. For some reason, the earrings, the T-shirt and the tie-dye made me feel a little nostalgic. Born in 1963, I was not a member of the 60s generation. As someone who came of age in the late 70s and early 80s, I did admire a lot of 60s music, fashion and philosophy.
“Alexis had the cutest peace sign earrings on,” I tell my wife later.
“All the girls wear them,” she explains.
Danny, 15, is curious about why we find a child wearing peace sign earrings so interesting. Everyone wears stuff with the peace sign.
I explain that when I was a child the peace sign was not a child’s toy. Wearing a peace sign was too radical for a young child. It symbolized all kinds of things to the silent majority, including possible “anti-American” leanings.
“Isn’t it silly that people could get others so angry by wearing a symbol for peace?” I ask my wife and son.
Mary agrees.
Danny doesn't respond.
Let me know what you think.
(Bonus points if you recognize the title of this blog and its connection to this area. It doesn't count if you have to use Google.)
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