Bad "Text-ing"

One of my daughters stopped dating someone because they were a “bad text-er.” I had to have her explain to me what she meant. She said that the guy wrote texts in the abbreviations once used in middle school: for example: B4 as the word “before.” Apparently using texting word slang is no longer a socially acceptable thing to do---it is no longer cool. With the advent of smart phones and autocorrect/autotext it is passé to misspell words for the purpose of brevity.

 I had no idea.

There was a fashion trend a few years back: ponchos. I never wore them. I have never worn crocs either. By the time I contemplated their wear they were already out of style.

So too with ipods. I have always listened to the radio. And when I traveled my kids made me CDs for the car—it was always music they liked and thought was worth me listening to. And when my friends would discuss music libraries, downloading songs, and the perils of playlists, the conversation escaped me. And my friends would say I can’t believe you don’t have an ipod. And my response always was I don’t need one. And this was especially true when I discovered Pandora. If I put an artist’s name into the app on my phone, Pandora would choose songs it thought I might like---and damn it--it did a great job.

When my new iphone arrived the other day something occurred to me: ipods are dinosaurs. If you own an iphone, it also is an ipod. Sometimes if you wait long enough you can skip whole generations of technology---technology changes that fast. I felt pretty smug about it.

When I first started texting my kids made fun of the fact that I spelled out all the words. I just could not bring myself to use text-abbreviations. It seemed wrong to intentionally misspell words when I knew full well how to spell them correctly. I felt it would have dumbed me down. I also could not see the point in texting the number “2” for the word “to”—it was only a one character difference—how much time was I really saving by texting “2” instead of “to”?

So I am feeling quite smug again. I never used text-abbreviations so now I will not have to unuse them either. I skipped right over the fad. No one will ever accuse me of being a bad “text-er”. And in the process I maintained my self-respect—I did not commit a crime against my intelligence. I held out so long that the fashion fizzled out all on its own---just like ponchos and ipods.

Arriving at Destinations

The GPS system in the Honda is my favorite. Unlike the navigational system in my other vehicles there are 3 settings: quick, short and easy. I prefer the easy setting—my husband always chooses the quick route. 

In elementary school, all three of my girls participated in Mathletes—it was a competitive after school activity.  Every week students went to an enrichment class and then were given higher level math problems for homework to solve on  their own--except that parents just couldn’t  help but get involved.

 One week the Mathletes question read : a box contains 6 legged grasshoppers and 8 legged spiders. If the total number of legs equals 90, how many grasshoppers and spiders are there?  I read that and immediately thought: algebraic equation with substitution. My friend Elaine, who was an accountant, made 2 columns of numbers: one column had multiples of 6 and the other had multiples of eight. She aligned the 2 columns until she came up with the correct sum. And my friend Maria, who was an elementary school teacher, drew grasshoppers and spiders and added legs to the bodies until she too arrived at the correct sum.

The CPA exam has 4 parts. One needs to achieve a grade of 75 on all 4 parts to become certified—and one may pass each part in any order. When Sam was going through the process some of her friends received grades in the 90’s on all 4 parts—others like herself, passed some parts with a mere 75. And some passed all four parts at once, whereas some failed a part or two before finally passing the entire exam.

At age 50 my brother Mark graduated from law school. His educational road had many diversions. He recently won a big case and it was publicized in Newsday. I could not have been more proud.

Sometimes in life it doesn’t matter what road you take or how long it takes to get there. It just matters that you arrive—it’s all about the final destination.  People carve individual paths to reflect their individuality. People get there when people get there. All roads lead to Rome.

And in case you do not feel like doing the math: there are 7 grasshoppers and 6 spiders in the box:

6 (8 spiders) = 48

7 (6 grasshoppers) = 42

Sum = 90

Going "Shopping" with Susan

I remember when I was a child that I often tagged along with my mother and her friends when we went down to Loehmanns on Fordham Road or the Cross County Center. Women shopped together. It was a unifying social event.

A month or so before Briana’s college graduation my sister-in Law Susan inquired as to what to buy Briana as a gift. She even emailed me a suggestion—it was a Lagos silver bracelet. And while it was very pretty, it was expensive—too expensive I thought for a kid who in addition to wanting a gift, wanted some cash . But I liked the idea of a Lagos piece and by coincidence, the next day Rue La La was featuring Lagos. So I told Susan to quickly sign up to become a member—which she did. And the next day at exactly 11:00 when the sale began, we would get on the phone and simultaneously shop on the website.

And at exactly 10:55 am my phone rang—it was Susan—she was prepared. We both had the Rue la la website up—and at 10:59 we started hitting refresh. And poof we were both in—and we quickly scrolled until we  saw the perfect bracelet—but by the same Susan said oh that’s pretty—do you think she will like it? Poof it was sold out.

So I said okay—let’s go shopping at other stores---and we did. We went to Nordstrom and Saks and the Lagos store. And finally we found something at Bloomingdales. It was perfect but  it was $50 shy of the free shipping.  Susan said—that’s okay—I’ll pay the shipping.But that’s not how I roll..I never pay shipping.  So after I caught my breath I said—well why don’t you see first what the shipping cost is. And she did—it was $25. Oh no I said—you are not do that. Go find a $50 item—there must be something Joanna (her daughter) might like. I convinced Susan that since she planned on spending the $25 for the shipping anyway, the item for Joanna really only cost her $25—it was a bargain in fact—half off.

I am sure my brother-in-law Jack (Susan’s husband) would have not approved of my financial cost analysis. He is an accountant.  But in the olden days after ladies shopped together they often had lunch—which Susan and I could not do. So that is even more money I saved my brother in law. In my world that means Joanna’s item was for free. It’s all in the way you look at things sometimes.

The Truth About Teflon

John Gotti was one of the more notorious heads of the Gambino crime family. His nickname was the “Teflon Don.” He was so named because while indicted many times, conviction evaded him—the charges didn’t stick. His crew was imprisoned while he went free.

I read in the newspaper that our school district has decided to forgo the process to retain its accreditation from the Middle States Association. The high school principal was charged with doing the research into whether retaining the accreditation was appropriate for the district or not. The superintendent would then act upon her recommendation. So pretty much if the principal’s decision proved to be a poor one, it would rest on the principal’s shoulders and not the superintendent’s. The blame would stick to her.

The superintendent has used this modus operandi before---when he wanted to change graduation and he charged the high school site based team as the conduit of his wants. In the case of graduation, the site based team and the principal who headed it took the heat for the public’s outrage. They were the tool. The superintendent escaped criticism as he simply acted on the recommendations of the charged committee—recommendations he himself had crafted.

Yet I do agree with the principal’s recommendation to abort Middle States reaccreditation—but not for the ambiguous reasons cited at the Board of Education meeting. My daughter Briana served on the Middle States Committee the last go around. It was a wonderful collaborative experience for her. And so I understand what is really going on here-- it requires a great deal of volunteer time from the high school staff for them to research and recommend applicable educational improvements. But because the teaching staff, due to budget constraints at the high school, is spread so anorexically thin, the principal cannot afford to surrender key staff members to the Middle States process. The staff is already too overworked as it is—they are overburdened by a host of other committees.

And just as importantly, since the Middle States committee is above the superintendent’s influence the committee’s recommendations cannot be externally crafted. So the recommendations for improved education may not have an audience. The recommendations made by the committee in 2005 were not fulfilled under this superintendent’s regime—which is why our district was in jeopardy of revocation.  There is no reason to suspect that a new committee’s recommendations will end up any differently--or at least while the current leader is still at the helm.  It would be a colossal waste of people’s time and taxpayer money. Money that might be better spent (I jest) on the obesely sized and salaried central administration staff.

Ultimately John Gotti went to prison. Sammy “the Bull” Gravano broke the code and ratted him out. The charges finally stuck. He died an incarcerated man. Even Bruce Cutler could not save him. Gotti was convicted of murdering Paul Castellano even though he did not personally pull the trigger---he simply organized the hit. The fact that Gotti had his crew do his dirty work on his behalf was enough to put him away for life.  

There is a lesson to be learned. Teflon gets old. In time the non-stick coating wears thin. Multiple tiny scratches allow the subsurface to show through. Stuff eventually sticks. And all the spray Pam and plastic utensils in the world cannot prevent its evitable replacement.

The Fire

I live in an English Tudor that was built in 1929. It has charm. It also has old house issues. Among them is the steam heat---it is uneven. Some rooms are cozy and warm and others are a bit nippy. My bedroom is one of the nippier ones. So about 13 years ago we installed a pellet stove in my bedroom. Wood pellets are automatically fed into freestanding fireplace. The resultant fire provides clean wood burning heat and ambiance.

On a Saturday morning around 7 am ten years ago my husband woke up and said Get out of bed and get the kids too—the stove is on fire. And I looked over at the stove and I could see small flames shooting out—it was not an Oh my God the house is burning down!! type fire—but it was indeed a fire. We needed to call the fire department. And while my husband used the fire extinguisher to snuff out most of the flames and dialed 911, I ran to get the kids out of bed. I was the safety officer.

Now I didn’t want to seem hysterical to the kids so I first made a general announcement in a calm tone—Girls-- everybody up. There is a small fire in my bedroom, go downstairs to the family room.

Briana and Kara did as they were told but Samantha did not move. So I went to her bedside and said something like quick baby girl get out of bed-- there is a fire—the firemen are on their way--you need to go downstairs and wait in the family room while I stay here with Dad. To which she answered in her 14 year old sassy tone: What? Are you serious? It’s 7 in the morning. I am not getting out of bed. Wake me when the firemen get here.

And then I lost it: Get out of bed NOW--What part of there is a fire do you not understand?—go downstairs and take the dog. So in the most annoyed manor she got  out of bed and said I am going to put the dog in the basement—I can’t stand hearing him bark so early in the morning. Again I said there is a FIRE—you can’t put the dog in the basement--what if the fire travels?—how will we get the dog out? And she huffed and said Fine. But I am not going to be responsible for him—someone else will have to.

And the entire Garden City fire department came (they were bored—there are hardly any fires in Garden City) and made sure the flames were out. Some of my neighbors gathered on the street. My girls watched MTV  in the family room totally unperturbed by the all the commotion. And when the firemen left, Kara or Briana asked—Can Dad get us Mc Donald’s for breakfast? We didn’t eat yet.

Sometimes mothers question their parenting. This was one of those times. I couldn’t decide whether I was a bad mother who had raised egocentric children or I was a good mother who raised secure children who trusted their parents’ ability to deal with disaster. All I know is that my husband bought everyone Mc Muffins and hot cakes with sausage---and then he went to the office. It was tax season after all.

I never used the pellet stove again. I was too afraid. I enjoyed its decorative value until about a month ago when I decided to rip it out and replace it with a sitting area with a couch.

When my husband painted my bedroom this past weekend he noticed something-- the radiator was not completely turned on. It had been like that for almost 20 years—since we moved in. And when I woke up this morning I thought I was going to pass out. My bedroom was like an oven. My bedroom was nippy all these years because the heat wasn’t fully on.

Who knew? I never needed a pellet stove in the first place. I saw my breath in the morning for all those years for no good reason. Samantha could have slept late, Jasper could have not barked and we could have eaten Eggos for breakfast. And I never would have pondered my parenting skills—or more accurately--pondered them one time fewer. But I wouldn’t have had all this to write about—so I guess we are just about even.

Choosing Between Apples and Apples

When Briana was deciding which college to choose it boiled down to Bucknell or Richmond. Each school provided the academic program she was looking for---business and dance. And the profile of the student body was also the same. The experience in the classroom and out was undetectably different. So the decision was difficult. It was choosing between apples and apples—Macintosh versus Cortland—discerning between the mildest variation in taste and texture.

After my back to back weddings, the question that inevitable came up was how did the two weddings compare with each other? Because even though each was a separate event, there is a natural tendency to do side by side accounting. People wanted to know which wedding was the winner.

My nephew’s wedding was wonderful. The priest who performed the mass and ceremony was warm and his homily was heartfelt and wise. One could feel the enthusiasm and love of the bride and groom—it permeated the entire day. And all the extraneous things: the fashion, the flowers, the venue and the food were elegant-- yet not overly opulent. The setting was relaxed and somewhat bucolic. Everyone who attended truly wanted to be there—it was not an obligation to be fulfilled. Everyone enjoyed themselves. I loved it. I thought it was perfect.

The second wedding—the client wedding-- in contrast was very different. It was held at the Steiner Studios in Brooklyn. The bride and groom were slightly older—both lawyers who met on the first day of their college orientation. The bride was Jewish and the groom was what my Aunt Jackie would call alta-Italian—high class Italian Catholics. The ceremony was nondenominational. The bride and groom wrote their own vows which evoked both laughter and tears. It was beautiful—candlelit and the New York skyline at sunset. It was very urban and opulent. And even though I was there out of obligation and not desire, I loved it. I thought it was perfect.

Because Bucknell and Richmond were so barely dissimilar in all the important comparative things, Briana made her decision based on a very significant yet seemingly insignificant thing: her hair. In Virginia her hair would likely frizz up on a routine basis where as in central Pennsylvania, where the humidity was less of a climatic factor, her hair would remain straight and smooth. Hair was the determining factor---it was a quality of life issue.

And I suppose if my hand is forced to choose between each perfect wedding of course I must choose my nephew’s---not because I love him and he is family-- but because at his cocktail hour they served mini hotdogs. And they were delicious. I ate several. Because it just isn’t a party without the mini hotdogs---or at least that is what Briana says.

Our GPS World

The following conversation is not uncommon to hear: How did you get there? The response: I don’t know. I used the GPS.

There was a time when people actually learned which roads went where. They looked at maps. They understood how to go north, south, east and west. And friends and relatives were known for either giving really good or really bad directions. And of course the downside was that people got lost—which produced another level of anxiety—fear of getting lost or the fear (many men had) of asking for directions. I believe that is why gas stations were so strategically placed—gas station attendants were designated living compasses. And if the gas station man couldn’t help you it didn’t matter –all gas stations sold maps.

And in the 90’s with the advent of the internet, we got lost less often—we used Mapquest. Mapquest told us exact mileage in between turns. It told us whether to bear right or bear left. And one of the best features was the calculated ETA—estimated time of arrival—which was always wrong because it assumed that one would never encounter a red light or a stop sign. But because the printed mapquest directions were still a map of some sort—active participation in the direction finding was still necessary. One had to know what road one was on to determine where to go next.

In 2003 when my husband bought his Lexus I fought him not to spend the extra money on a GPS system. I thought it was unnecessary. I thought it was a device that would be more of an annoyance than an aid. I thought it would be like my father’s 1986 Chrysler New Yorker that would tell you a door is ajar—to which my father would say no a door is not a jar, it is a door. The car’s ability to “talk” got old really fast.

But I quickly embraced the GPS—especially since its life entry coincided with the start of college visits for Samantha. The Lexus took me all over the place—and to places that I would have been too scared to travel to had I not had computer navigation. And for our cars that didn’t have installed GPS, we purchased a Garmin. We were omni-navi.

But GPS has its flaws too—like I would have liked to have told it to avoid the high crime areas in Washington DC when I was traveling with Sam and Briana to GW University. Or that traveling through Manhattan from the midtown tunnel to the Lincoln tunnel up 34^th Street at 5:00 pm is not going to take 14 minutes—pick another route. Or that the upper level of the GW bridge, despite the allowance of trucks, seems less treacherous than the lower level.

When my husband and I headed out last Saturday night for wedding #2 we encountered a little problem with our navigation. The first one was an input error—we needed to travel to Washington Street in downtown Brooklyn—not Washington Avenue. And that would have been easily corrected if Washington Street was in the GPS system---but it was not. And that is greatest problem with GPS—sometimes it is unaware of the road you need to travel on. And my husband was not familiar with that area of Brooklyn so personal knowledge was of no consequence. So we looked at the enclosed directions from the venue and used the GPS to get to one of the streets-- but again once there, we were unable to figure out which way to go. We were lost. And now we had to think old school style—but there was no gas station to pull into. And then from the bowels of my brain I remembered that we had an option. We could call the venue, give them our coordinates and get directions from a living person. And we did. And we arrived in minutes. It was amazing—no technology was necessary—okay well yes, I guess the cell phone counts.

When Kara went to Chicago this summer I had her write down the address of where she was staying and the phone numbers of her friends on a piece of paper for her pocket just in case she lost her phone. I also told her that she and her friends needed to pick a spot in Grant Park to meet at a certain time-and if she was lost she could ask the policeman. She was amazed that I could think of such creative options—they weren’t . It’s what we did prior to cell phones and GPS.

Hagstrom was the largest map and atlas company in the country. They were founded in 1916. They are now out of business. No one uses maps anymore. And no one knows where they are at any given moment either. If I tell my kids to go east on Old Country road they have no idea what I am talking about. And so too if I ask them the phone number of their best friend—without the contact list on their  phone they are clueless. Technology has consequences---and I am not sure they are always so good.