Monday, May 29, 2006
Time Capsule
Years ago, my dad and brother created a makeshift bedroom out of half of the garage. It was for my brother's use; a place to crash while he was on military leave so he wouldn't displace my sister or me. Not a bad job -- panelled, insulated, air-conditioned and carpeted. But it's outlived its necessity, and my brother spent the past couple days tearing it down. He found a long-forgotten treasure. When he and Dad laid the last of the carpet they put down a section of that day's newspaper underneath it: Wednesday, November 13, 1968. My brother was was 22, my sister was 20, I was nine.
The cracked and yellowed pages were fascinating to me. Even though San Antonio had just hosted a world's fair, the newspaper betrayed it as very much a small town: here an advice column, there a recipe. If you had told the people then that San Antonio would be the nation's ninth largest city and the claimant of the World's Champion NBA team (for the next few weeks, anyway), no one would have believed you. The pages were filled with ads for stores that no longer exist, wedding announcements (I wonder what happened to Mr. & Mrs. Kenneth Mattke?), and police blotter tales. A few bigger news stories were included as well -- a forthcoming visit by legendary New Year's bandleader Guy Lombardo, and a Nixon pictorial, "Prelude to the Presidency." (Unlike the future of Mr & Mrs. Mattke, I know what happened there.) There was also a page of comics -- all white, all family-oriented, with the exception of the Native Americans in Redeye. (A new comic then, and still around today.)
Reading the innocent capers recounted in the crime stories, I almost wished we were still in those times. What brought me back to reality was a short paragraph about a all-male golf club being planned in Minnesota, and comic strip heroine Winnie Winkle -- the liberated woman of the 1930s & 1940s -- telling her sister-in-law she should give up the chance to travel the world. (Give up a chance to travel the world. Hmph. No matter how you phrase it, that sentence makes absolutely no sense to me.)
Google searches turned up nothing on the Minnesota golf club and Winnie Winkle was discontinued 10 years ago. Good.
The cracked and yellowed pages were fascinating to me. Even though San Antonio had just hosted a world's fair, the newspaper betrayed it as very much a small town: here an advice column, there a recipe. If you had told the people then that San Antonio would be the nation's ninth largest city and the claimant of the World's Champion NBA team (for the next few weeks, anyway), no one would have believed you. The pages were filled with ads for stores that no longer exist, wedding announcements (I wonder what happened to Mr. & Mrs. Kenneth Mattke?), and police blotter tales. A few bigger news stories were included as well -- a forthcoming visit by legendary New Year's bandleader Guy Lombardo, and a Nixon pictorial, "Prelude to the Presidency." (Unlike the future of Mr & Mrs. Mattke, I know what happened there.) There was also a page of comics -- all white, all family-oriented, with the exception of the Native Americans in Redeye. (A new comic then, and still around today.)
Reading the innocent capers recounted in the crime stories, I almost wished we were still in those times. What brought me back to reality was a short paragraph about a all-male golf club being planned in Minnesota, and comic strip heroine Winnie Winkle -- the liberated woman of the 1930s & 1940s -- telling her sister-in-law she should give up the chance to travel the world. (Give up a chance to travel the world. Hmph. No matter how you phrase it, that sentence makes absolutely no sense to me.)
Google searches turned up nothing on the Minnesota golf club and Winnie Winkle was discontinued 10 years ago. Good.
Saturday, May 27, 2006
Cleaning out the Mental Garage
Mom's home (yay!), the Hippies won The Amazing Race (meh), and all the top American idols, chefs and models have been named. Time to get back to normal life, and clear out a few links that have been piling up:
1. Phone Phun:
a. If you can't find a friend to bail you out of a bad blind date, Ring4Freedom can help!
b. One Free Minute of anonymous public speech. Uh-uh. I want more.
c. Smelltones. Yes, smelltones. This is the sentence that concerns me: "There's even a special blend for Hello Kitty." I don't want to know, but I'm hoping it's cedar-fresh.
2. Worst ad ever.
3. Very cool contest to blend technology of yesterday and today. I especially like the vintage Humvee.
4. New products:
a. Really, really soggy cereal.
b. A great way to commemorate the before and after of your nose job.
c. Why? Who would buy this? (OK, I'm guessing Paris Hilton has a silver-nailed Chihuahua.)
d. Smart IPod storage.
e. No. No, no, no, no, no. (What's especially frightening is that most of his fans are eligible for AARP)
1. Phone Phun:
a. If you can't find a friend to bail you out of a bad blind date, Ring4Freedom can help!
b. One Free Minute of anonymous public speech. Uh-uh. I want more.
c. Smelltones. Yes, smelltones. This is the sentence that concerns me: "There's even a special blend for Hello Kitty." I don't want to know, but I'm hoping it's cedar-fresh.
2. Worst ad ever.
3. Very cool contest to blend technology of yesterday and today. I especially like the vintage Humvee.
4. New products:
a. Really, really soggy cereal.
b. A great way to commemorate the before and after of your nose job.
c. Why? Who would buy this? (OK, I'm guessing Paris Hilton has a silver-nailed Chihuahua.)
d. Smart IPod storage.
e. No. No, no, no, no, no. (What's especially frightening is that most of his fans are eligible for AARP)
Sunday, May 14, 2006
Teaching a Pig to Sing
I hate reasoning with dickweeds.
I recently went out to dinner with some longtime friends to a cafe that's getting local media attention for the freshness and creativity of its menu. I arrived early, as usual, so I could speak to the manager or chef about my dietary restrictions.
The chef's first words to me? Not "Hello" or "Welcome," but "We cannot accept the responsibility..." He then goes on a little rant about food allergies.
OK, immediately my hackles are up. If I hadn't seen one of my friends walk through the door at that moment, I would've walked out. So instead of waiting for all of us to arrive and decide on a new place or abandon my buddles, I decide to discuss the menu calmly with the chef. (My natural inclination is towards drama-queen-storming-off, so you know if I'm calm, I'm pissed.) I can tell he's worried about my going into seizures, scaring away his customers and then suing his ass into bankruptcy.
I shoot a sidelong glance at the specials board. Hmm... Wild Mushroom Risotto. I love risotto, and if it's made correctly, it shouldn't have gluten. Here goes:
"What I have is not an allergy. I'm not going to go into anaphylactic shock and scare away your patrons." He's visibly relieved.
"Tell me about your Wild Mushroom Risotto. Do you make your own broth or do you use a packaged or canned broth?" Uh-oh, he's getting defensive. Of course, he makes his own broth.
"OK, then it looks like we're in good shape. What else is in the risotto besides the mushrooms, broth and rice?" Shallots and wine? "No problem, then. That's what I'll have."
He looks a little stunned, like he was preparing for a fight and then was denied the chance to battle. He backs off and mutters that yes, he'll use a fresh pan to make my dish.
I had to laugh when I looked at the menu later: "Our chef will cheerfully accommodate any special requests."
I recently went out to dinner with some longtime friends to a cafe that's getting local media attention for the freshness and creativity of its menu. I arrived early, as usual, so I could speak to the manager or chef about my dietary restrictions.
The chef's first words to me? Not "Hello" or "Welcome," but "We cannot accept the responsibility..." He then goes on a little rant about food allergies.
OK, immediately my hackles are up. If I hadn't seen one of my friends walk through the door at that moment, I would've walked out. So instead of waiting for all of us to arrive and decide on a new place or abandon my buddles, I decide to discuss the menu calmly with the chef. (My natural inclination is towards drama-queen-storming-off, so you know if I'm calm, I'm pissed.) I can tell he's worried about my going into seizures, scaring away his customers and then suing his ass into bankruptcy.
I shoot a sidelong glance at the specials board. Hmm... Wild Mushroom Risotto. I love risotto, and if it's made correctly, it shouldn't have gluten. Here goes:
"What I have is not an allergy. I'm not going to go into anaphylactic shock and scare away your patrons." He's visibly relieved.
"Tell me about your Wild Mushroom Risotto. Do you make your own broth or do you use a packaged or canned broth?" Uh-oh, he's getting defensive. Of course, he makes his own broth.
"OK, then it looks like we're in good shape. What else is in the risotto besides the mushrooms, broth and rice?" Shallots and wine? "No problem, then. That's what I'll have."
He looks a little stunned, like he was preparing for a fight and then was denied the chance to battle. He backs off and mutters that yes, he'll use a fresh pan to make my dish.
I had to laugh when I looked at the menu later: "Our chef will cheerfully accommodate any special requests."
Saturday, May 13, 2006
No Child Left Behind
Courtesy of a teacher friend:
No Child Left Behind: Football Version
1. All teams must make the state playoffs and all will win the championship. If a team does not win the championship, they will be on probation until they are the champions and coaches will be held accountable.
2. All kids will be expected to have the same football skills at the same time and in the same conditions. No exceptions will be made for interest in football, a desire to perform athletically, or genetic abilities or disabilities. ALL KIDS WILL PLAY FOOTBALL AT A PROFICIENT LEVEL.
3. Talented players will be asked to work out on their own, without instruction. This is because the coaches will be using their instructional time with the athletes who aren't interested in football, have limited athletic ability, or whose parents don't like football.
4. Games will be played year-round, but statistics will be kept only in the 4th, 8th and 11th games.
5. This will create a New Age of Sports, where EVERY SCHOOL IS EXPECTED TO HAVE THE SAME LEVEL OF TALENT AND ALL TEAMS WILL REACH THE SAME MINIMAL GOALS. IF NO CHILD GETS AHEAD, THEN NO CHILD WILL BE LEFT BEHIND.
No Child Left Behind: Football Version
1. All teams must make the state playoffs and all will win the championship. If a team does not win the championship, they will be on probation until they are the champions and coaches will be held accountable.
2. All kids will be expected to have the same football skills at the same time and in the same conditions. No exceptions will be made for interest in football, a desire to perform athletically, or genetic abilities or disabilities. ALL KIDS WILL PLAY FOOTBALL AT A PROFICIENT LEVEL.
3. Talented players will be asked to work out on their own, without instruction. This is because the coaches will be using their instructional time with the athletes who aren't interested in football, have limited athletic ability, or whose parents don't like football.
4. Games will be played year-round, but statistics will be kept only in the 4th, 8th and 11th games.
5. This will create a New Age of Sports, where EVERY SCHOOL IS EXPECTED TO HAVE THE SAME LEVEL OF TALENT AND ALL TEAMS WILL REACH THE SAME MINIMAL GOALS. IF NO CHILD GETS AHEAD, THEN NO CHILD WILL BE LEFT BEHIND.
Saturday, May 06, 2006
Rain, Rain, Go Away!
I'm a wuss. Think of everything Hurricane Katrina victims have gone through. Could I do that? No. And I know I couldn't do that because I spent from 11:15 Thursday night to 1:00 Friday morning huddled -- shaking and praying -- in my bedroom closet during The Worst Thunderstorm I've Ever Seen.
Why the closet? No basement or storm shelter. It was that or the bathroom. If I were to die, it would be my choice of being impaled by glass & tile or smothered by natural fibers. Smothering seemed more comfortable.
Why was I shaking and praying? Because my home was under a constant assault of hail -- from marble-sized to golf-ball-sized, a bombardment of loud cracks against the roof and walls. Because the weathercasters were saying, "Ground Zero for the storm appears to be at the intersection of _____ and ____." (100 yards from my front door.) Because the high winds were causing the rain (4" - 6" per hour) to fall horizontally, to blow the roof off a nearby restaurant, to cause "Surrender Dorothy" tornado-freight-train noises and twist the neighborhood street signs into spirals.
A guy at the grocery store this morning said he had survived Hurricane Andrew, and that for a very brief time, this week's storm was worse.
I'm lucky - no real damage, just a hail-pitted front door and shredded window screens.
And a slight tremor during this morning's rain.
Why the closet? No basement or storm shelter. It was that or the bathroom. If I were to die, it would be my choice of being impaled by glass & tile or smothered by natural fibers. Smothering seemed more comfortable.
Why was I shaking and praying? Because my home was under a constant assault of hail -- from marble-sized to golf-ball-sized, a bombardment of loud cracks against the roof and walls. Because the weathercasters were saying, "Ground Zero for the storm appears to be at the intersection of _____ and ____." (100 yards from my front door.) Because the high winds were causing the rain (4" - 6" per hour) to fall horizontally, to blow the roof off a nearby restaurant, to cause "Surrender Dorothy" tornado-freight-train noises and twist the neighborhood street signs into spirals.
A guy at the grocery store this morning said he had survived Hurricane Andrew, and that for a very brief time, this week's storm was worse.
I'm lucky - no real damage, just a hail-pitted front door and shredded window screens.
And a slight tremor during this morning's rain.
