Holy cow, has Disneyland gotten expensive! I mean, it was always expensive, but I'm pretty sure that their prices have gone up faster than inflation. And, that's just the tickets for one park...not one of those Park Hopper deals where you can go back and forth with California Adventure.
But, with the number of classmates of Marty and Casey that vacation every winter in Florida at Disney World, there really wasn't a choice about whether or not we were going.
Sticker shock aside, I've been to Disneyland plenty of times with a variety of people but the only times I've been there with my own child was when Marty was essentially a baby. This time the kids knew what was going on.
Oddly, I was expecting them to be a little more excited when we first got there, but maybe you go into a kind of shock that you're actually at someplace like that the first time. I had picked a Tuesday, because I thought it might be less crowded...but it was still plenty of people.
I forced my family into doing my traditional circle, meaning that you start with Adventureland and then you make your way around from there. The main flaw in my plan was that even though the park had only been open for a half-hour when we got there, Indiana Jones was already down. I've gone on Indiana Jones as the first ride, I'm pretty sure ever since it opened, but fate's fickle finger pushed me over to the Jungle Cruise instead. (Indy did reopen, and we did get to use our Fast Pass for it, so I guess all's well that ends well.)
Marty and Casey both really liked two of the rides that I didn't know how they would take -- Pirates of the Carribean and the Haunted Mansion. They're not really fans of the Pirates movies...and we won't even talk about the Eddie Murphy HM film. Maybe it was just the cruising around looking at animatrons, but they thought both of them were cool.
Less shocking was how much they enjoyed Splash Mountain. It is August after all.
And, also in grand Disneyland tradition, Amy, Marty and Casey got stuck on a ride in Mickey's Toon Town. They finally got to walk out after about 15 minutes of sitting in Roger Rabbit's Car Toon Spin.
Also in keeping with tradition, Casey was a little freaked out about meeting Mickey Mouse. You have to wait in line, and he kept trying to convince me that we should leave and go do something else (Marty was busy watching the cartoons they were showing). Someday, I'm sure that he'll be happy that I made him meet the mouse...and, luckily, he didn't have the same reaction to Goofy.
In all the times that I've been to Disneyland, I've never stayed in Anaheim...in large part because that would've been silly. However, since we were doing it this time, we decided to go over to the hotel for part of the afternoon to rest. Turns out that's a really good idea.
I went to get fast food for us -- which cost about 1/10th what it would've been in the park -- and had a guy notice my USFL Michigan Panthers T-shirt. He struck up a conversation, mentioning that he used to go to the LA Express's games. I didn't really ask, but I'm pretty sure the guy was from the front office of the Los Angeles Angels of Anaheim since it was game day and we were about a half-block from the park.
We had to get back to the park in time for our Fast Pass to Space Mountain. Man, do I still love me some Space Mountain. I'm not really a "ride" guy, but I love that one. I wasn't sure how the boys would take it...I have to remind myself that they are still kind of young...but they both got it. Roller coaster in the dark...coolness.
Everyone else would've been happy to leave not long after that, but with what those freakin' tickets cost I insisted that we stay for the fireworks. We also watched the Fantasmic! water show, which I had never actually stopped to watch before. Just like a parade, though, the boys had trouble seeing, so there was a lot of jostling around to try to get them into position to see the action. That's when everyone's best instincts come out as every parent tries to shove their kid someplace with a decent view. It always reminds me of that scene at the end of "Animal House" at the homecoming parade where the father asks one of the Deltas if his son can stand in front of them, and the the Delta says simply, "No."
Yet again, by the time the boys got to the hotel room they were already out cold. If I could figure out a way to get them to walk 5-10 miles during a school day, apparently bed time during the rest of the year wouldn't be such an issue.
Tuesday, August 23, 2011
Monday, August 22, 2011
LA, Day Two
Marty found out today that we're not actually going to the beach until Wednesday, a situation that he finds unacceptable. Trying to convince him that there are plenty of other cool things to do in Los Angeles did not alter his conviction that the Pacific Ocean ranked above all of them.
As tour guide, we were trying to find something low-key to do since the plan calls for us to go to Disneyland tomorrow. So, we went over the hills into Hollywood.
When Marty was asked in the spring what U.S. landmark he most wanted to see, his answer was "The Hollywood Sign." Even though technically he's seen it previously -- he used to toddle around Hollywood and Highland trying to get young actress types to pick him up -- he doesn't remember it. Well, now he has.
Casey spent the first hour that we were out complaining about the sun and his lack of sunglasses, until he was finally allowed to purchase an overpriced pair from one of the souvenir places.
We took them to Grauman's Chinese Theater, but then realized that their only frame of reference to it was exterior shots. They haven't really ever been able to see anything where the concrete hands bit is featured (they've never seen the John Wayne episode of "I Love Lucy," and while I saw "Blazing Saddles" for the first time when I was around Marty's age, I've been barred from repeating that parenting mistake). Not surprisingly, the indentations that they found most interesting were the "Star Wars" ones.
We set out to go a star on the Walk of Fame that Marty is named after. I've been to the spot before, but I used to be around Hollywood Blvd. a lot, since I've had friends live not far away.
What I forgot is that the star isn't really on the touristy part of the street. It's more in the stripper outfit retail section.
As we were walking, I could see Amy looking at the stores unhappily. Finally, Marty looked at a mannequin dressed in what amounted to pasties and dental floss and exclaimed, "She's hot!"
"Hurry up," I heard Amy hiss.
We found it and took the pictures and all of that, but that also put us close to a store that I had told Marty and Casey that we would go to: Hollywood Toys & Costume. I once ran into Kristen Dunst there...literally. Security guard got all bent out of shape about it, but I didn't actually knock her down. From my standpoint, she walked into me. Hey, I'm 6-foot-2 and she's like 5-foot-nothing...she's not the only actress I've ever had trouble seeing because I was looking over top of them. The boys did enjoy it, although they got quite a bit bent out of shape when they weren't allowed to get a woopee cushion. I don't know where that came from, but they were both protesting that they've always wanted one.
For dinner, we ended up going to another of my favorite places in LA, The House of Pies. Its this diner that sits in the Los Feliz area, which has long been a hip and trendy location. The movie "Swingers" basically takes place there...The Dresden is just down the street a little bit and The Derby, before it closed, was just up from there. There's basically a whole bunch of other places in the area that you can spot a variety of celebrities hanging out at.
The House of Pies is not one of those places. Its more the type of place that some actors go to for a late breakfast wearing dark glasses because they're really hungover and need to actually eat.
Shockingly, one of the high points of going to The House of Pies is getting to eat some pie. The diner food is fine...burgers, Monte Criscos, etc. But the pie is why I love it. They don't just have banana cream...they have chocolate banana cream, with whole bananas. It'll kill a diet quicker than you can blink, but oh my God is it good.
I was going to take the boys up to Griffith Observatory before realizing that its closed on Mondays, so instead we went into the park for a little while and the boys played on a playground that was outfitted to accomodate kids with disabilities.
I don't know that Amy was thrilled with me since the place -- named Shane's Inspiration -- was built by a foundation started by parents of a child that died after two weeks because of severe disabilities. Or, at least, she wasn't thrilled that I convinced her to read the placard with the story. It might be sad, but the idea is a cool one. They're called boundless playgrounds because children in wheelchairs are meant to be able to access most of the features. Also cool is the fact that the organization (ShanesInspiration.org), helps other places build similar playgrounds.
So, the kids got Hollywood sleaze and social responsibility all in one day. That kind of sums up my parenting style, to be honest.
As tour guide, we were trying to find something low-key to do since the plan calls for us to go to Disneyland tomorrow. So, we went over the hills into Hollywood.
When Marty was asked in the spring what U.S. landmark he most wanted to see, his answer was "The Hollywood Sign." Even though technically he's seen it previously -- he used to toddle around Hollywood and Highland trying to get young actress types to pick him up -- he doesn't remember it. Well, now he has.
Casey spent the first hour that we were out complaining about the sun and his lack of sunglasses, until he was finally allowed to purchase an overpriced pair from one of the souvenir places.
We took them to Grauman's Chinese Theater, but then realized that their only frame of reference to it was exterior shots. They haven't really ever been able to see anything where the concrete hands bit is featured (they've never seen the John Wayne episode of "I Love Lucy," and while I saw "Blazing Saddles" for the first time when I was around Marty's age, I've been barred from repeating that parenting mistake). Not surprisingly, the indentations that they found most interesting were the "Star Wars" ones.
We set out to go a star on the Walk of Fame that Marty is named after. I've been to the spot before, but I used to be around Hollywood Blvd. a lot, since I've had friends live not far away.
What I forgot is that the star isn't really on the touristy part of the street. It's more in the stripper outfit retail section.
As we were walking, I could see Amy looking at the stores unhappily. Finally, Marty looked at a mannequin dressed in what amounted to pasties and dental floss and exclaimed, "She's hot!"
"Hurry up," I heard Amy hiss.
We found it and took the pictures and all of that, but that also put us close to a store that I had told Marty and Casey that we would go to: Hollywood Toys & Costume. I once ran into Kristen Dunst there...literally. Security guard got all bent out of shape about it, but I didn't actually knock her down. From my standpoint, she walked into me. Hey, I'm 6-foot-2 and she's like 5-foot-nothing...she's not the only actress I've ever had trouble seeing because I was looking over top of them. The boys did enjoy it, although they got quite a bit bent out of shape when they weren't allowed to get a woopee cushion. I don't know where that came from, but they were both protesting that they've always wanted one.
For dinner, we ended up going to another of my favorite places in LA, The House of Pies. Its this diner that sits in the Los Feliz area, which has long been a hip and trendy location. The movie "Swingers" basically takes place there...The Dresden is just down the street a little bit and The Derby, before it closed, was just up from there. There's basically a whole bunch of other places in the area that you can spot a variety of celebrities hanging out at.
The House of Pies is not one of those places. Its more the type of place that some actors go to for a late breakfast wearing dark glasses because they're really hungover and need to actually eat.
Shockingly, one of the high points of going to The House of Pies is getting to eat some pie. The diner food is fine...burgers, Monte Criscos, etc. But the pie is why I love it. They don't just have banana cream...they have chocolate banana cream, with whole bananas. It'll kill a diet quicker than you can blink, but oh my God is it good.
I was going to take the boys up to Griffith Observatory before realizing that its closed on Mondays, so instead we went into the park for a little while and the boys played on a playground that was outfitted to accomodate kids with disabilities.
I don't know that Amy was thrilled with me since the place -- named Shane's Inspiration -- was built by a foundation started by parents of a child that died after two weeks because of severe disabilities. Or, at least, she wasn't thrilled that I convinced her to read the placard with the story. It might be sad, but the idea is a cool one. They're called boundless playgrounds because children in wheelchairs are meant to be able to access most of the features. Also cool is the fact that the organization (ShanesInspiration.org), helps other places build similar playgrounds.
So, the kids got Hollywood sleaze and social responsibility all in one day. That kind of sums up my parenting style, to be honest.
Sunday, August 21, 2011
LA, Day One
I woke up this morning back in my city. Well, kind of. I guess I woke up in North Hollywood, but you know what I mean. I'm back in the Los Angeles area.
The hotel is really only a few miles from our old apartment in Burbank, my last address in California and down the street from my old office on the Warner Bros. lot.
After everyone was awake, I grabbed Marty and went to get a few things that we decided not to pack -- or were restricted from packing by government regulations. Plus, I wanted to reacquaint myself with my former haunts.
And, Marty was a baby here. His first home was Burbank from the day that he came home from Cedars-Sinai. Drove by the Ralph's supermarket where baby Marty would regularly gawk at the breasts of the actress types shopping there.
I drove by the Warner's lot, just because. I spent some really good parts of my life there and I just wanted to be looking at it for real again.
Marty was more interested in if he was going to be able to buy candy at the store. We ended up stopping at Krispy Kreme instead. The lady running the counter for some reason thought that I was buying a doughnut just for myself. So, she slipped Marty a sample and then gave him a bag with another doughnut in it. The big problem with that was the doughnut that I bought was also for Marty...who didn't protest suddenly having three doughnuts. I, on the other hand, was trying to figure out a way to explain that to Amy.
We met my sons' godmother and her husband for lunch at a famous Bob's Big Boy. With all of the Big Boy stuff around, I thought that Marty might be amused -- Casey is less picky about restaurants, if its got food, he's good with it -- but he was not.
Still kind of jet-lagged from yesterday, Marty started acting out. I took him for a walk around the block, passing an actor (Gruber Allen) that I've met a few times but who wouldn't have remembered me and even if he did, I was trying to deal with a son on the brink.
When I got him back to the restaurant, he sat down for about 2 minutes before asking if we could take another walk. I looked at my hamburger with its one bite, and agreed. Turns out that he didn't want to go back in at all this time...leading up to him yelling, "I hate Bob's Big Boy!" right by the entrance, causing a gasp by the fellow patrons.
I explained to him that was impossible, because no one hates Bob's Big Boy, but he wouldn't budge from his position.
Finally, I convinced him to go back in long enough for me to eat, but it wasn't exactly relaxing.
The kids' godmother decided to hang out with us for a bit, while her husband left and we ended up at Amy's favorite coffee house in the world, Priscilla's. It's really only her favorite because it has a vintage table top Ms. Pac-Man game, but everyone has favorites for their own reasons.
We then went to Johnny Carson Park, next to NBC Studios, which was a little surreal. When Marty was young, Amy used to take him to that park frequently since it was only a couple of minutes from our apartment. I still remember getting a phone call from her after she had spent some time there talking with actor Eric Stoltz, while Marty played with his dog...and only realized why he had seemed familiar until she had been home for an hour. The boys have watched home movies of Marty at that park, so it was kind of strange to see the much larger version of my son now playing there again...or sort of playing since he was still in a bad mood from the trauma that is Bob's Big Boy.
The evening went far better. Right after we had bought the plane tickets, my next purchase was for the Hollywood Bowl. They were doing selections from "Fantasia." The Bowl is one of those places that I've always loved...more so than a lot of other people. Its one of those things that's kind of "my" Los Angeles. I've attended work events there at different times, spent a handful of Fourth's of July there, and used to go 3-4 times every season. If I still lived here, I would still go multiple times a year.
I wanted the kids to get to experience it, so I went to the market and bought food for a picnic and we got there a little after the doors had opened. It was apparently a sell-out because it was plenty crowded. In fact, when we got to our seats, the people behind us had already spread out their food on our seats. Its such a congenial atmosphere though that it wasn't a problem.
The show itself was superb. The Hollywood Bowl orchestra playing the classical music from "Fantasia" live while the corresponding clips played on big screen was extremely cool. Even better, instead of just playing it straight, they included four different selections that never actually made it into the movie...one of which didn't even make it being animated, so it was just the storyboards with the music.
Unfortunately, the ending -- which was complete with fireworks -- started with "The Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairy." Marty and Casey have spent their whole lives going to sleep to soft music. It was dark, they were each under a jacket, and there was lilting music going. They went to sleep.
Suddenly, the orchestra launced into "Trepak," with the "bump-pa-da-bump-bump-bump" and the fireworks started going off. Startled the heck out of my sleeping sons. Casey sprang back awake, but it took Marty a good couple of minutes to work out if he was dreaming or not.
By the time we got back to the hotel, everyone was wiped out again. This time, however, unlike yesterday's flight delays, it was all worth it. Even the Bob's Big Boy parts.
The hotel is really only a few miles from our old apartment in Burbank, my last address in California and down the street from my old office on the Warner Bros. lot.
After everyone was awake, I grabbed Marty and went to get a few things that we decided not to pack -- or were restricted from packing by government regulations. Plus, I wanted to reacquaint myself with my former haunts.
And, Marty was a baby here. His first home was Burbank from the day that he came home from Cedars-Sinai. Drove by the Ralph's supermarket where baby Marty would regularly gawk at the breasts of the actress types shopping there.
I drove by the Warner's lot, just because. I spent some really good parts of my life there and I just wanted to be looking at it for real again.
Marty was more interested in if he was going to be able to buy candy at the store. We ended up stopping at Krispy Kreme instead. The lady running the counter for some reason thought that I was buying a doughnut just for myself. So, she slipped Marty a sample and then gave him a bag with another doughnut in it. The big problem with that was the doughnut that I bought was also for Marty...who didn't protest suddenly having three doughnuts. I, on the other hand, was trying to figure out a way to explain that to Amy.
We met my sons' godmother and her husband for lunch at a famous Bob's Big Boy. With all of the Big Boy stuff around, I thought that Marty might be amused -- Casey is less picky about restaurants, if its got food, he's good with it -- but he was not.
Still kind of jet-lagged from yesterday, Marty started acting out. I took him for a walk around the block, passing an actor (Gruber Allen) that I've met a few times but who wouldn't have remembered me and even if he did, I was trying to deal with a son on the brink.
When I got him back to the restaurant, he sat down for about 2 minutes before asking if we could take another walk. I looked at my hamburger with its one bite, and agreed. Turns out that he didn't want to go back in at all this time...leading up to him yelling, "I hate Bob's Big Boy!" right by the entrance, causing a gasp by the fellow patrons.
I explained to him that was impossible, because no one hates Bob's Big Boy, but he wouldn't budge from his position.
Finally, I convinced him to go back in long enough for me to eat, but it wasn't exactly relaxing.
The kids' godmother decided to hang out with us for a bit, while her husband left and we ended up at Amy's favorite coffee house in the world, Priscilla's. It's really only her favorite because it has a vintage table top Ms. Pac-Man game, but everyone has favorites for their own reasons.
We then went to Johnny Carson Park, next to NBC Studios, which was a little surreal. When Marty was young, Amy used to take him to that park frequently since it was only a couple of minutes from our apartment. I still remember getting a phone call from her after she had spent some time there talking with actor Eric Stoltz, while Marty played with his dog...and only realized why he had seemed familiar until she had been home for an hour. The boys have watched home movies of Marty at that park, so it was kind of strange to see the much larger version of my son now playing there again...or sort of playing since he was still in a bad mood from the trauma that is Bob's Big Boy.
The evening went far better. Right after we had bought the plane tickets, my next purchase was for the Hollywood Bowl. They were doing selections from "Fantasia." The Bowl is one of those places that I've always loved...more so than a lot of other people. Its one of those things that's kind of "my" Los Angeles. I've attended work events there at different times, spent a handful of Fourth's of July there, and used to go 3-4 times every season. If I still lived here, I would still go multiple times a year.
I wanted the kids to get to experience it, so I went to the market and bought food for a picnic and we got there a little after the doors had opened. It was apparently a sell-out because it was plenty crowded. In fact, when we got to our seats, the people behind us had already spread out their food on our seats. Its such a congenial atmosphere though that it wasn't a problem.
The show itself was superb. The Hollywood Bowl orchestra playing the classical music from "Fantasia" live while the corresponding clips played on big screen was extremely cool. Even better, instead of just playing it straight, they included four different selections that never actually made it into the movie...one of which didn't even make it being animated, so it was just the storyboards with the music.
Unfortunately, the ending -- which was complete with fireworks -- started with "The Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairy." Marty and Casey have spent their whole lives going to sleep to soft music. It was dark, they were each under a jacket, and there was lilting music going. They went to sleep.
Suddenly, the orchestra launced into "Trepak," with the "bump-pa-da-bump-bump-bump" and the fireworks started going off. Startled the heck out of my sleeping sons. Casey sprang back awake, but it took Marty a good couple of minutes to work out if he was dreaming or not.
By the time we got back to the hotel, everyone was wiped out again. This time, however, unlike yesterday's flight delays, it was all worth it. Even the Bob's Big Boy parts.
Saturday, August 20, 2011
Air Travel
And, after much delay, I am finally back in California. Man, does it feel good to breath in the smog once again.
Here's the thing, though, in order to get back to my beloved City of Angels, I had to fly with my family. It's not that I've never flown with members of my family, but the last time I wasn't on a plane by myself, 8-year-old Marty was 1-year-old Marty.
We flew out of Chicago. If you're a frequent flyer, you can probably already predict where this is going.
It was out of Midway, which I've never actually been to before. Since I had much less of a grasp on how to get there, as opposed to O'Hare, we left pretty early...and we got there really early. Even earlier than the FAA recommends. So, we decided to get some breakfast.
Our flight was supposed to leave Chicago around 11:30 CST, and get into LA around 5 p.m.
When we left the restaurant, the first thing that we noticed was the dark sky and the flashes of lightning in the distance. Amy checked her iPhone and our flight was still on time. By the time we got to the airport 10 minutes later that was no longer the case.
Being stuck in an airport with a flight delay sucks no matter what. Doing it with a pair of boys under 10 does not help the situation. Young boys inclination is not to just sit quietly. It goes against nature to try to make them.
Even more fun, they kept delaying our flight...which is enjoyable if you're supposed to have a layover and connecting flight someplace else, in our case Las Vegas.
By the time we actually had a firm departure time, it was supposed to put us in to Vegas at pretty much the same time that our second flight was going to leave. We asked the flight attendant about it, but she was non-committal. Our flight could get in earlier, the other flight could be delayed, etc.
Because there are four of us, I ended up sitting in front of the others on the initial takeoff. I couldn't watch Casey, who had the window seat, on his first plane ride or Marty on the first one that he could really pay attention on...but I could hear them. Casey was playing with the window shade, annoying Marty, and Marty was complaining about having to put his iPod away (which, at least, he's a kid and doing...plenty of the adult passengers still complain about that, even after that "Mythbusters" episode where they showed that it actually can affect the planes controls).
At some point, we traded seats so that Amy could sleep -- I've never slept on a plane in my life, and that includes red-eyes -- and I could corral the boys. I must admit that it was kind of fun to be able to point things out to them as we were going into the descent to Las Vegas. Being state afficianados, they were excited to get to say that they had now been in Nevada.
The flight attendant turned out to be right on one count...our plane did get in early. Unfortunately, that meant that they didn't have the gate ready. So, we sat on the tarmac looking at the hotels on the south Strip while our connecting flight took off to LAX.
They actually made an announcement to tell us what flight we were being put on while we sat there. Amy looked it up...it didn't leave for 2 1/2 hours.
I said that delays always suck, but really Vegas is kind of exempted from that. I mean, you can gamble in every terminal. If you're going to be stuck someplace, Vegas is a good choice. That is, if you don't have kids. If you have kids, then you get to look at the slot machines so tantilizingly close, but yet so far away. And, because you have kids, you can't drink either.
At one point, I did let Amy go try to gamble, but it was still a hollow slice of Sin City.
Our new flight was now going to put us in at 8:30 PST...or 11:30 p.m. by our body clocks. The good thing though is that Vegas to L.A. is just a hop, skip and a jump...a fact that I used to take advantage of a few times a year when I lived here.
The second flight went off without issue, but once we got in there was the little issue of getting the rental car. I left Amy and the kids at baggage claim while I took the van over to the lot. Only, the van for my rental car agency wasn't exactly quick. People came and went, and yet, I still sat there.
Finally, it came and I hoped on with Amy's iPhone in hand, ready to take pictures of the car before I left the lot. As I got on, I tried to look at something on the iPhone...which was locked. Turns out that I don't know the passcode for her phone. That also meant that I couldn't call her on my phone once I got the car.
I spent the ride to the lot frantically trying combinations that I thought would work...until I basically double-locked the phone. It told me I could try again in 15 minutes.
Once I was through the counter, I still couldn't use the phone. But, as I walked to the car, the phone suddenly rang. I didn't think that I could answer, but luckily I was wrong. It was my sons' godmother calling to say that they had had an emergency situation come up and wouldn't see us until tomorrow. I was stuck in the uncomfortable situation of saying, "I'm sorry to hear that...say, could you call Amy on my cell phone and ask her to call me."
Not one of my finer moments, but 5 minutes later Amy called to tell me how to unlock her phone.
The worst part was that thanks to the delay, we had eaten at the Vegas airport. So, I wasn't hungry as I drove past an In-N-Out. I had planned for months to go directly to that In-N-Out at that very minute, and yet, here I was driving right on past. But, I wasn't going to force my first Double-Double in years.
The kids tried to stay awake to watch the bright lights, but didn't quite have it left in them. They sat in the backseat quietly dazed.
We're staying just outside of Burbank in North Hollywood, with the Bob Hope Airport in between. Why didn't we just fly into Burbank, you ask? There's a couple of hundred reasons why and they have a $ in front of them. When I was single, I would pay the extra to just fly into Burbank since I lived nearby, but with four tickets, I don't care what gas prices are, it still comes out to a whole lot more.
The kids have crashed and so has the wife, but I'm back in my element.
Here's the thing, though, in order to get back to my beloved City of Angels, I had to fly with my family. It's not that I've never flown with members of my family, but the last time I wasn't on a plane by myself, 8-year-old Marty was 1-year-old Marty.
We flew out of Chicago. If you're a frequent flyer, you can probably already predict where this is going.
It was out of Midway, which I've never actually been to before. Since I had much less of a grasp on how to get there, as opposed to O'Hare, we left pretty early...and we got there really early. Even earlier than the FAA recommends. So, we decided to get some breakfast.
Our flight was supposed to leave Chicago around 11:30 CST, and get into LA around 5 p.m.
When we left the restaurant, the first thing that we noticed was the dark sky and the flashes of lightning in the distance. Amy checked her iPhone and our flight was still on time. By the time we got to the airport 10 minutes later that was no longer the case.
Being stuck in an airport with a flight delay sucks no matter what. Doing it with a pair of boys under 10 does not help the situation. Young boys inclination is not to just sit quietly. It goes against nature to try to make them.
Even more fun, they kept delaying our flight...which is enjoyable if you're supposed to have a layover and connecting flight someplace else, in our case Las Vegas.
By the time we actually had a firm departure time, it was supposed to put us in to Vegas at pretty much the same time that our second flight was going to leave. We asked the flight attendant about it, but she was non-committal. Our flight could get in earlier, the other flight could be delayed, etc.
Because there are four of us, I ended up sitting in front of the others on the initial takeoff. I couldn't watch Casey, who had the window seat, on his first plane ride or Marty on the first one that he could really pay attention on...but I could hear them. Casey was playing with the window shade, annoying Marty, and Marty was complaining about having to put his iPod away (which, at least, he's a kid and doing...plenty of the adult passengers still complain about that, even after that "Mythbusters" episode where they showed that it actually can affect the planes controls).
At some point, we traded seats so that Amy could sleep -- I've never slept on a plane in my life, and that includes red-eyes -- and I could corral the boys. I must admit that it was kind of fun to be able to point things out to them as we were going into the descent to Las Vegas. Being state afficianados, they were excited to get to say that they had now been in Nevada.
The flight attendant turned out to be right on one count...our plane did get in early. Unfortunately, that meant that they didn't have the gate ready. So, we sat on the tarmac looking at the hotels on the south Strip while our connecting flight took off to LAX.
They actually made an announcement to tell us what flight we were being put on while we sat there. Amy looked it up...it didn't leave for 2 1/2 hours.
I said that delays always suck, but really Vegas is kind of exempted from that. I mean, you can gamble in every terminal. If you're going to be stuck someplace, Vegas is a good choice. That is, if you don't have kids. If you have kids, then you get to look at the slot machines so tantilizingly close, but yet so far away. And, because you have kids, you can't drink either.
At one point, I did let Amy go try to gamble, but it was still a hollow slice of Sin City.
Our new flight was now going to put us in at 8:30 PST...or 11:30 p.m. by our body clocks. The good thing though is that Vegas to L.A. is just a hop, skip and a jump...a fact that I used to take advantage of a few times a year when I lived here.
The second flight went off without issue, but once we got in there was the little issue of getting the rental car. I left Amy and the kids at baggage claim while I took the van over to the lot. Only, the van for my rental car agency wasn't exactly quick. People came and went, and yet, I still sat there.
Finally, it came and I hoped on with Amy's iPhone in hand, ready to take pictures of the car before I left the lot. As I got on, I tried to look at something on the iPhone...which was locked. Turns out that I don't know the passcode for her phone. That also meant that I couldn't call her on my phone once I got the car.
I spent the ride to the lot frantically trying combinations that I thought would work...until I basically double-locked the phone. It told me I could try again in 15 minutes.
Once I was through the counter, I still couldn't use the phone. But, as I walked to the car, the phone suddenly rang. I didn't think that I could answer, but luckily I was wrong. It was my sons' godmother calling to say that they had had an emergency situation come up and wouldn't see us until tomorrow. I was stuck in the uncomfortable situation of saying, "I'm sorry to hear that...say, could you call Amy on my cell phone and ask her to call me."
Not one of my finer moments, but 5 minutes later Amy called to tell me how to unlock her phone.
The worst part was that thanks to the delay, we had eaten at the Vegas airport. So, I wasn't hungry as I drove past an In-N-Out. I had planned for months to go directly to that In-N-Out at that very minute, and yet, here I was driving right on past. But, I wasn't going to force my first Double-Double in years.
The kids tried to stay awake to watch the bright lights, but didn't quite have it left in them. They sat in the backseat quietly dazed.
We're staying just outside of Burbank in North Hollywood, with the Bob Hope Airport in between. Why didn't we just fly into Burbank, you ask? There's a couple of hundred reasons why and they have a $ in front of them. When I was single, I would pay the extra to just fly into Burbank since I lived nearby, but with four tickets, I don't care what gas prices are, it still comes out to a whole lot more.
The kids have crashed and so has the wife, but I'm back in my element.
Thursday, August 18, 2011
Horses, Horses
All summer long, Marty has been part of this program for special needs children where they are taught to show horses, you know, like at a county fair.
The program ends with a showing at an actual county fair. Which was today.
My wife has been the one taking him the whole time, every Wednesday unless there was lightning, so I only had a passing idea of what was going on. I did go to high school out in farm country and have been to more than my share of county fairs, so I know basically what it means to show a horse, but I didn't really know much about the program.
I had always assumed that the program was for kids with various autism related issues, but it turns out that I was way off-base on that one. While there were other kids with autism, there were also people with various physical handicaps as well. To be honest, Marty and his Asperger's Syndrome, might have been the person least affected by his condition than anyone else from what I could see.
I had the honor of sitting in the stands with Casey during the program. Being a little brother, Casey was kind of interested in seeing Marty do his thing...once. Beyond that, he was far more interested in trying to get me to go sample the wares of the fair's Midway.
When Marty came out for the first time with his grouping -- there were a number of groupings -- he seemed to do fine. They were just leading the horse around for the judges. However, when they awarded places, he actually finished last. My heart sank a little bit. Did I mention that there were other children with really significant physical disabilities?
But, then the next time Marty came up it was for the portion where they show the horse by riding it. Again, being untrained, he seemed to do fine from what I could tell. This time, the results were a little bit different. He pulled a worst to first...and took home a Blue Ribbon!
With Marty anyway, I'm probably never going to experience those moments in sports where he hits a shot or gets a hit. He's just not that interested in those kinds of activities. But, hey, I got this. Equestrian is an Olympic sport after all.
I could see Amy from across the arena and could tell that she was having trouble holding back the tears. Trying to get Marty to participate in anything, especially anything that he doesn't get to be in control of, is like pulling teeth. Having him do it and succeed, is icing on the cake.
Winning his grouping for the event, meant that he got to go one more time for the overall. He ended up being fourth, which still was pretty good since I think he was one of only two first time participants to make it that far...and some of the others, while suffering from more debilitating afflictions, were also significantly older and more familiar with the routine.
Afterward, we celebrated by letting Casey drag us around the attractions and getting some fair food...which is the kind of thing that you can really only do once a year. Well, I guess you technically can do it more often...but you really, really shouldn't.
So, now Marty has a host of multi-colored ribbons that he can display. Interestingly, I think he would've been disappointed if he had gotten a second blue ribbon...he already had one of those and wanted a yellow one.
The program ends with a showing at an actual county fair. Which was today.
My wife has been the one taking him the whole time, every Wednesday unless there was lightning, so I only had a passing idea of what was going on. I did go to high school out in farm country and have been to more than my share of county fairs, so I know basically what it means to show a horse, but I didn't really know much about the program.
I had always assumed that the program was for kids with various autism related issues, but it turns out that I was way off-base on that one. While there were other kids with autism, there were also people with various physical handicaps as well. To be honest, Marty and his Asperger's Syndrome, might have been the person least affected by his condition than anyone else from what I could see.
I had the honor of sitting in the stands with Casey during the program. Being a little brother, Casey was kind of interested in seeing Marty do his thing...once. Beyond that, he was far more interested in trying to get me to go sample the wares of the fair's Midway.
When Marty came out for the first time with his grouping -- there were a number of groupings -- he seemed to do fine. They were just leading the horse around for the judges. However, when they awarded places, he actually finished last. My heart sank a little bit. Did I mention that there were other children with really significant physical disabilities?
But, then the next time Marty came up it was for the portion where they show the horse by riding it. Again, being untrained, he seemed to do fine from what I could tell. This time, the results were a little bit different. He pulled a worst to first...and took home a Blue Ribbon!
With Marty anyway, I'm probably never going to experience those moments in sports where he hits a shot or gets a hit. He's just not that interested in those kinds of activities. But, hey, I got this. Equestrian is an Olympic sport after all.
I could see Amy from across the arena and could tell that she was having trouble holding back the tears. Trying to get Marty to participate in anything, especially anything that he doesn't get to be in control of, is like pulling teeth. Having him do it and succeed, is icing on the cake.
Winning his grouping for the event, meant that he got to go one more time for the overall. He ended up being fourth, which still was pretty good since I think he was one of only two first time participants to make it that far...and some of the others, while suffering from more debilitating afflictions, were also significantly older and more familiar with the routine.
Afterward, we celebrated by letting Casey drag us around the attractions and getting some fair food...which is the kind of thing that you can really only do once a year. Well, I guess you technically can do it more often...but you really, really shouldn't.
So, now Marty has a host of multi-colored ribbons that he can display. Interestingly, I think he would've been disappointed if he had gotten a second blue ribbon...he already had one of those and wanted a yellow one.
Wednesday, August 17, 2011
Godspell
The community theatre of which I am the president had its first production in the building that we bought over the window. The fun -- and I use the term extremely loosely -- thing about getting ready for a performance in a renovated building is that you literally don't have any idea whether everything will be ready until pretty much the show is underway.
When we bought the former church that is now the theatre's site, it was agreed that we would do "Godspell" because its a) simple to stage and b) the place used to be a church.
However, it was a church built in the early 1960's. While structurally it was fine, the fact that it is almost entirely concrete didn't always help with the renovation process. In particular, the electrical set-up was a mess. So that we could have the performances, there needed to be some power run places that didn't have power (or more perplexing, places that looked like they had power at one point, yet we could never find where it had come from...the wiring would just kind of stop).
The work on that was still being done right up till the dress rehearsal, and the work on the seat risers wasn't completed until the day before that.
Oh and the parking was always a little bit of a concern...the building has two long driveways, and we really couldn't have people parking there so we had to have people out directing traffic.
And, since its summer and the building doesn't have air conditioning, there was the threat of the building becoming an oven. We installed a large industrial exhaust fan a few weeks ago to help move the air through the building, but that was one of the places where an electrical modification had been made, since the power lines that had gone to what we presume was a similar fan at one time were cut.
The opening night went off just fine, however. The audience came and the show itself was terrific. The shows director, who I had not worked with, and musical director, who I have since he's done the music for two shows that I directed, were working off of a revival version of the show with updated arrangements. The fear with "Godspell" is sometimes that it can feel dated, even if its based on Gospel. But, they did some fun things with the parables and the music was fantastic...as was the performances of the young cast, most of whom were college students.
At the end of the opening performance, and the cast was getting a standing ovation, I started feeling a little misty. There are precious few people that know how much work it was to complete the purchase of the building and then to work through the initial renovation, trying to keep groups working on different tasks from bumping into each other, trying to keep things moving forward and trying to work with long-standing board members that were now trying to reassert authority since, hey, there's a building!
I turned to a member of the crew that was standing next to me -- someone that has worked with me on shows previously -- and clasped his hand, uttering, "And, we just opened a theatre."
The joyousness lasted for all of two minutes. As the audience started filing out, I tried to turn on the ventilation system which we were turning off during the acts for sound purposes. It didn't turn on. I went from swelling pride to launching expletives. I did manage to find the problem and get it working again, but the moment was lost. It also meant that instead of going home, I was going to a hardware store to try to buy materials to keep it from happening again.
The rest of the weekend went along those lines...great show and performances, building or logistically problems. We had a loose wire that sparked near the band and caused them to freak out. Some costumes were moved under what apparently was a leaky pipe and got all wet. Me alternating between joy and wanting to kill someone. Fun stuff like that.
My sons got a chance to see the play. Actually, it was more complicated than that. The family came on opening night, but Marty was falling asleep, so they left at intermission, much to the chagrin of Casey.
On Saturday's matinee, the boys came with me to the theatre and ended up sitting by themselves inside, while I was working on things, and watched the show. They've seen plenty of theater before -- Marty has sat through Neil Simon's "Fools" and Stephen Sondheim's "Into The Woods" on his own in similar situations -- so intermission came and they went out to the lobby and went back in for the second act.
On Sunday, they weren't supposed to be with me, but something came up and they had to come along at least for a while. Casey ended up helping to sell raffle tickets, but Marty was unhappy with having to be back at the theatre. While I was trying to deal with him, I kept losing track of Casey until finally one of the crew said that they would keep an eye on him.
Marty, who didn't want to see the show again because he's not really a fan of crucifiction, was finally sated when I found a quiet spot for him to sit and play, away from everyone. When I went to find out where Casey was, since the show was underway, I found him up in the tech booth sitting quietly next to the director and watching the show for a third time.
Later on, I had them at a department store buying some clothes for our upcoming trip to California, and Casey suddenly started reciting lines from the show, insisting that I help him out with a part that needed byplay. So, apparently he was paying attention.
When the audience was leaving from the final performance, I must admit that I was pretty well spent. I guess that I knew I was under a lot of stress, but once all of the big things are over and you haven't had a visit from the police or your insurance agent and can kind of breath again...and your muscles don't want to relax because they've been held taut for so long, all you really want to do is sleep.
I can't tell you how happy I am to have a vacation coming up. Couldn't come at a better time.
When we bought the former church that is now the theatre's site, it was agreed that we would do "Godspell" because its a) simple to stage and b) the place used to be a church.
However, it was a church built in the early 1960's. While structurally it was fine, the fact that it is almost entirely concrete didn't always help with the renovation process. In particular, the electrical set-up was a mess. So that we could have the performances, there needed to be some power run places that didn't have power (or more perplexing, places that looked like they had power at one point, yet we could never find where it had come from...the wiring would just kind of stop).
The work on that was still being done right up till the dress rehearsal, and the work on the seat risers wasn't completed until the day before that.
Oh and the parking was always a little bit of a concern...the building has two long driveways, and we really couldn't have people parking there so we had to have people out directing traffic.
And, since its summer and the building doesn't have air conditioning, there was the threat of the building becoming an oven. We installed a large industrial exhaust fan a few weeks ago to help move the air through the building, but that was one of the places where an electrical modification had been made, since the power lines that had gone to what we presume was a similar fan at one time were cut.
The opening night went off just fine, however. The audience came and the show itself was terrific. The shows director, who I had not worked with, and musical director, who I have since he's done the music for two shows that I directed, were working off of a revival version of the show with updated arrangements. The fear with "Godspell" is sometimes that it can feel dated, even if its based on Gospel. But, they did some fun things with the parables and the music was fantastic...as was the performances of the young cast, most of whom were college students.
At the end of the opening performance, and the cast was getting a standing ovation, I started feeling a little misty. There are precious few people that know how much work it was to complete the purchase of the building and then to work through the initial renovation, trying to keep groups working on different tasks from bumping into each other, trying to keep things moving forward and trying to work with long-standing board members that were now trying to reassert authority since, hey, there's a building!
I turned to a member of the crew that was standing next to me -- someone that has worked with me on shows previously -- and clasped his hand, uttering, "And, we just opened a theatre."
The joyousness lasted for all of two minutes. As the audience started filing out, I tried to turn on the ventilation system which we were turning off during the acts for sound purposes. It didn't turn on. I went from swelling pride to launching expletives. I did manage to find the problem and get it working again, but the moment was lost. It also meant that instead of going home, I was going to a hardware store to try to buy materials to keep it from happening again.
The rest of the weekend went along those lines...great show and performances, building or logistically problems. We had a loose wire that sparked near the band and caused them to freak out. Some costumes were moved under what apparently was a leaky pipe and got all wet. Me alternating between joy and wanting to kill someone. Fun stuff like that.
My sons got a chance to see the play. Actually, it was more complicated than that. The family came on opening night, but Marty was falling asleep, so they left at intermission, much to the chagrin of Casey.
On Saturday's matinee, the boys came with me to the theatre and ended up sitting by themselves inside, while I was working on things, and watched the show. They've seen plenty of theater before -- Marty has sat through Neil Simon's "Fools" and Stephen Sondheim's "Into The Woods" on his own in similar situations -- so intermission came and they went out to the lobby and went back in for the second act.
On Sunday, they weren't supposed to be with me, but something came up and they had to come along at least for a while. Casey ended up helping to sell raffle tickets, but Marty was unhappy with having to be back at the theatre. While I was trying to deal with him, I kept losing track of Casey until finally one of the crew said that they would keep an eye on him.
Marty, who didn't want to see the show again because he's not really a fan of crucifiction, was finally sated when I found a quiet spot for him to sit and play, away from everyone. When I went to find out where Casey was, since the show was underway, I found him up in the tech booth sitting quietly next to the director and watching the show for a third time.
Later on, I had them at a department store buying some clothes for our upcoming trip to California, and Casey suddenly started reciting lines from the show, insisting that I help him out with a part that needed byplay. So, apparently he was paying attention.
When the audience was leaving from the final performance, I must admit that I was pretty well spent. I guess that I knew I was under a lot of stress, but once all of the big things are over and you haven't had a visit from the police or your insurance agent and can kind of breath again...and your muscles don't want to relax because they've been held taut for so long, all you really want to do is sleep.
I can't tell you how happy I am to have a vacation coming up. Couldn't come at a better time.
Tuesday, August 9, 2011
Don't Forget Those Lyrics
Despite my regrettable, yet extremely obvious, lack of talent, I am a singer. I'm not a singer in the same manner of some of the very talented people that I've worked with that have been paid to do it. I'm not even a singer in the way that a number of actors that I know - who claim they can't sing, right before they start belting out a showtune. No, what I am is a supermarket singer.
At least a couple of times a week, I find myself in a store...whether its a food store or a Wal-Mart type place...and they'll have music playing over the speakers. Time was that the music that they played was the much maligned Muzak and everyone just ignored it. But these days all of these places have a satellite music service that plays contemporary music.
Well, apparently, as I shop I must kind of zone out because it doesn't take long before I'm unconsciously singing along to "Time After Time" while I check out the sale on cereals...unconsciously that is until I notice the women looking at me with their looks of, "Oh, sweetie, you really shouldn't sing."
I'd love to be able to stop it, but its kind of hard when you don't know that you're doing it. I've caught myself singing everything from Elvis to Motown to Fleetwood Mac to Cowboy Junkies. I sing along to country music songs that I haven't heard in 20 years. I sing along to one hit wonders that I didn't like when they were released. I've hated Matthew Wilder's "Break My Stride" since the first time I heard it, but that doesn't stop me from singing it in a department store.
The really unfortunate part is if there's any sort of unconscious dancing. It doesn't happen often, but sometimes it can't be helped. Since I was 10-years-old I've always had to do an involuntary shoulder shake during Elvis' "Burnin' Love." Turns out that I still do that according to the quizzical looks I received a few weeks ago in a Target.
Now, when I lived in Los Angeles, there would be people all over the place that would sing in line at the bank or in the laundromat or in the park...and it would sound like a real life musical. For all I know, the young guy that I used to run into at the local laundromat in my Burbank neighborhood is off doing a touring production of "Rent."
It would be great if people looked at me that way as I butchered a Beach Boys song, but that's not the lot that I have in life. I'm stuck being the adult version of Alfalfa terrorizing my fellow shoppers.
There are moments that I do enjoy being an unintentional singer, and that's when I get to collide with another of my kind. The other day I was arriving at a business lunch and as I was getting out of my car still singing the War classic, "Why Can't We Be Friends," I heard one of my associates walking towards me doing the same. I still remember one time when I was working in a deli in my youth, hopping out of my car after listening to the Beatles "Hey Jude," still singing and opening the door to the store just as one of my coworkers inside was getting to the same point in the Na-na-na-na's...and we looked at each other and belted out the next line. Or the time in cubicle jungle when I walked past a coworker's desk singing Simon & Garfunkel's "Cecilia" only to have him suddenly join me in the chorus. None of it might sound good, but it is fun.
So, apparently I'm going to go on singing whether I really want to or not. It's a mostly harmless flaw...although, I would recommend maybe avoiding the aisle that I'm in while I'm picking out bananas and laying waste to "Walk This Way."
At least a couple of times a week, I find myself in a store...whether its a food store or a Wal-Mart type place...and they'll have music playing over the speakers. Time was that the music that they played was the much maligned Muzak and everyone just ignored it. But these days all of these places have a satellite music service that plays contemporary music.
Well, apparently, as I shop I must kind of zone out because it doesn't take long before I'm unconsciously singing along to "Time After Time" while I check out the sale on cereals...unconsciously that is until I notice the women looking at me with their looks of, "Oh, sweetie, you really shouldn't sing."
I'd love to be able to stop it, but its kind of hard when you don't know that you're doing it. I've caught myself singing everything from Elvis to Motown to Fleetwood Mac to Cowboy Junkies. I sing along to country music songs that I haven't heard in 20 years. I sing along to one hit wonders that I didn't like when they were released. I've hated Matthew Wilder's "Break My Stride" since the first time I heard it, but that doesn't stop me from singing it in a department store.
The really unfortunate part is if there's any sort of unconscious dancing. It doesn't happen often, but sometimes it can't be helped. Since I was 10-years-old I've always had to do an involuntary shoulder shake during Elvis' "Burnin' Love." Turns out that I still do that according to the quizzical looks I received a few weeks ago in a Target.
Now, when I lived in Los Angeles, there would be people all over the place that would sing in line at the bank or in the laundromat or in the park...and it would sound like a real life musical. For all I know, the young guy that I used to run into at the local laundromat in my Burbank neighborhood is off doing a touring production of "Rent."
It would be great if people looked at me that way as I butchered a Beach Boys song, but that's not the lot that I have in life. I'm stuck being the adult version of Alfalfa terrorizing my fellow shoppers.
There are moments that I do enjoy being an unintentional singer, and that's when I get to collide with another of my kind. The other day I was arriving at a business lunch and as I was getting out of my car still singing the War classic, "Why Can't We Be Friends," I heard one of my associates walking towards me doing the same. I still remember one time when I was working in a deli in my youth, hopping out of my car after listening to the Beatles "Hey Jude," still singing and opening the door to the store just as one of my coworkers inside was getting to the same point in the Na-na-na-na's...and we looked at each other and belted out the next line. Or the time in cubicle jungle when I walked past a coworker's desk singing Simon & Garfunkel's "Cecilia" only to have him suddenly join me in the chorus. None of it might sound good, but it is fun.
So, apparently I'm going to go on singing whether I really want to or not. It's a mostly harmless flaw...although, I would recommend maybe avoiding the aisle that I'm in while I'm picking out bananas and laying waste to "Walk This Way."
Monday, August 8, 2011
High School Reunions
My 25-year high school reunion is this coming weekend. That's one of those things where if you live long enough its bound to come up, and its certainly good to be alive. Being reminded that you're squarely in middle age - and probably on the back end of that if you go by statistics - is a little less fun than the person that invented such reunions was probably shooting for.
Actually, I'm now kind of wondering if someone did shoot that person.
Sadly, I won't be able to attend the festivities, since the theatre is having the grand opening of its new building this weekend - and, I don't always know what my role is as president, but "Show Up To Grand Openings" seems like its probably in there - and then I'm leaving for Los Angeles right after. Plus, my hometown is certainly closer than it was during on the years on the East and West Coasts, but it's still a couple of hours drive.
All very legitimate excuses, by the way. It has nothing to do with avoidance. Nothing, I tell you.
It's not that I necessarily mind my age. OK, that's a lie and there are multiple posts just on this blog alone that would out me as a liar. How about, I don't mind my age when I don't think about it?
The other weekend they kept running specials about MTV turning 30...although it was on VH1, apparently because the suits at MTV didn't want to clue the current generation in about its age or have to answer questions about why "Video Killed the Radio Star."
Someone said to me, "Wow! MTV started 30 years ago! Can you believe it?" The answer was yes. Want to know why? Because I can remember where I was when I first saw the cable channel about 6 weeks after it debuted...and I was in junior high at the time.
Especially with the various emails about 25-year class reunions, and even with math not really being my favorite subject, I can do the math on that one.
(Quick shout out to my high school math teacher, the late Ms. Sours, who really could have done without me. Every year, she would walk into her classroom, see me sitting there, and then say, "Why? Why are you in my class again?" I'd usually wait for her to smile to let me know that she was just joshing, although she never did. "Because the colleges say that I have to," I'd reply. "Plus, I like the way your forehead creases when you see me.")
Much like the lions share of my life, I was fairly ambivalent about high school. I don't have a yearbook. I never had a class ring. I've got maybe six pictures from the time period. I'm sure I have the diploma around someplace, and I'm pretty sure that its in a box with my basketball stuff from back then. I'm sure that Amy probably knows where it is, if I ever really need to find it.
My biggest problem know is that my high school years happened to coincide with John Hughes' run of 80's teen movies. After 25 years, I sometimes have trouble remembering what was me and what was his movies.
"Remember that time that we snuck out of detention?"
"No, because that was 'The Breakfast Club."
"Remember when we were hanging out in the record store listening to Otis Redding?"
"That was 'Pretty In Pink."
"Rode a float in a Chicago parade?"
"Ferris Bueller."
"Sat around on Saturday nights with nothing to do?"
"Now, that was us."
Oddly, despite the general ambivalence, my best friends to this day are largely from my high school years. Part of that comes from having gone to school in a small town. But, still, the godparents to both Marty and Casey are high school friends of mine. The same ones. When it came time to pick godparents for Casey, we actually felt that anyone else was going to be a step down from who Marty had that we just made them godparents for both children.
My sons now know the same small town where I went to school, although to them its where Grandma and Grandpa live. Never mind that anyone that is an actual blood relation to me moved out of the area in 1985, its the family that I lived with in high school that my kids consider the real one.
Of course, it was just this year that my kids finally noticed that everyone in my hometown, including family, still calls me by my high school nickname of Slim. Really though, that just means they're slow on the uptake or they just don't care. I mean, it took them till grade school to notice that every time they went to their grandparents house people started calling their dad a completely different name. The saving grace is that community college will be significantly cheaper.
It's really only a core group of people that I kept in any sort of touch with, five or six people...and then Facebook happened. Thanks to the social media giant, not only do you get to suddenly have contact with people that you haven't spoken to in 25 years, you get to see what they look like now. That's got to help more than the "Hello, My Name is" stick-ons ever could.
I'm sure that my former classmates will have fun with each other while I'm off doing my meet-and-greet with the theatre patrons. One of my friends who's attending proudly declared that its close enough to his house that he doesn't need a designated driver because he can just walk home. That's the kind of spirit that you still find at the 25-year reunion that probably gets wiped out by the 50-year one.
Maybe, just maybe, someone will reminisce about that time that we all paid a dollar to that one geek just to look at a pair of panties.
(Sixteen Candles)
Actually, I'm now kind of wondering if someone did shoot that person.
Sadly, I won't be able to attend the festivities, since the theatre is having the grand opening of its new building this weekend - and, I don't always know what my role is as president, but "Show Up To Grand Openings" seems like its probably in there - and then I'm leaving for Los Angeles right after. Plus, my hometown is certainly closer than it was during on the years on the East and West Coasts, but it's still a couple of hours drive.
All very legitimate excuses, by the way. It has nothing to do with avoidance. Nothing, I tell you.
It's not that I necessarily mind my age. OK, that's a lie and there are multiple posts just on this blog alone that would out me as a liar. How about, I don't mind my age when I don't think about it?
The other weekend they kept running specials about MTV turning 30...although it was on VH1, apparently because the suits at MTV didn't want to clue the current generation in about its age or have to answer questions about why "Video Killed the Radio Star."
Someone said to me, "Wow! MTV started 30 years ago! Can you believe it?" The answer was yes. Want to know why? Because I can remember where I was when I first saw the cable channel about 6 weeks after it debuted...and I was in junior high at the time.
Especially with the various emails about 25-year class reunions, and even with math not really being my favorite subject, I can do the math on that one.
(Quick shout out to my high school math teacher, the late Ms. Sours, who really could have done without me. Every year, she would walk into her classroom, see me sitting there, and then say, "Why? Why are you in my class again?" I'd usually wait for her to smile to let me know that she was just joshing, although she never did. "Because the colleges say that I have to," I'd reply. "Plus, I like the way your forehead creases when you see me.")
Much like the lions share of my life, I was fairly ambivalent about high school. I don't have a yearbook. I never had a class ring. I've got maybe six pictures from the time period. I'm sure I have the diploma around someplace, and I'm pretty sure that its in a box with my basketball stuff from back then. I'm sure that Amy probably knows where it is, if I ever really need to find it.
My biggest problem know is that my high school years happened to coincide with John Hughes' run of 80's teen movies. After 25 years, I sometimes have trouble remembering what was me and what was his movies.
"Remember that time that we snuck out of detention?"
"No, because that was 'The Breakfast Club."
"Remember when we were hanging out in the record store listening to Otis Redding?"
"That was 'Pretty In Pink."
"Rode a float in a Chicago parade?"
"Ferris Bueller."
"Sat around on Saturday nights with nothing to do?"
"Now, that was us."
Oddly, despite the general ambivalence, my best friends to this day are largely from my high school years. Part of that comes from having gone to school in a small town. But, still, the godparents to both Marty and Casey are high school friends of mine. The same ones. When it came time to pick godparents for Casey, we actually felt that anyone else was going to be a step down from who Marty had that we just made them godparents for both children.
My sons now know the same small town where I went to school, although to them its where Grandma and Grandpa live. Never mind that anyone that is an actual blood relation to me moved out of the area in 1985, its the family that I lived with in high school that my kids consider the real one.
Of course, it was just this year that my kids finally noticed that everyone in my hometown, including family, still calls me by my high school nickname of Slim. Really though, that just means they're slow on the uptake or they just don't care. I mean, it took them till grade school to notice that every time they went to their grandparents house people started calling their dad a completely different name. The saving grace is that community college will be significantly cheaper.
It's really only a core group of people that I kept in any sort of touch with, five or six people...and then Facebook happened. Thanks to the social media giant, not only do you get to suddenly have contact with people that you haven't spoken to in 25 years, you get to see what they look like now. That's got to help more than the "Hello, My Name is" stick-ons ever could.
I'm sure that my former classmates will have fun with each other while I'm off doing my meet-and-greet with the theatre patrons. One of my friends who's attending proudly declared that its close enough to his house that he doesn't need a designated driver because he can just walk home. That's the kind of spirit that you still find at the 25-year reunion that probably gets wiped out by the 50-year one.
Maybe, just maybe, someone will reminisce about that time that we all paid a dollar to that one geek just to look at a pair of panties.
(Sixteen Candles)
Friday, August 5, 2011
The Stage
My sons were recently in a play at the community theatre where I'm president of the board. Casey didn't hesitate to point that out to the people involved. He apparently doesn't realize that my being the nominal head of a completely volunteer organization just means that sometimes people listen to me...if they want to.
This was the second play for Marty. Theatre is kind of a group activity where his Asperger's really doesn't affect very much. Don't like making eye contact? Heck, most of the time you're not even supposed to. Get distracted a lot? If you think that's a problem, then you haven't spent much time around actors.
However, this was Casey's first play. He had been made prior to this because he's always been deemed too young. Even before being on-stage, Marty had gone to a couple of classes at a larger community theater and Casey wasn't happy about the too young label for those either.
When Marty was playing a squirrel in "Willy Wonka" last year (it doesn't make a lot of sense if you've only seen the Gene Wilder movie, but its in the book), Casey even went up to the director and sang the chorus of one of the songs, apparently just to prove that he would've been able to learn the material.
While Marty still doesn't like the confines of being told what he has to imagine while he's on stage and only marginally cares about the overall outcome of the production, to Casey this was his chance to shine.
They were doing Disney's "The Jungle Book." Marty got to be a wolf cub and a monkey. Casey got to be a baby elephant. They each had one line.
Last year, there were a group of older kids that kind of took Marty for their mascot and helped keep him focused on what was going on. This year the cast was a bit younger...so Marty's enjoyment was a little less as he was frequently out of place and not sure where to go, leading to a couple of meltdowns.
Casey, despite a rehearsal accident that left him with a black eye (he fell off of a table he was sitting on), was all about it. Memorizing his one line, learning the songs, getting down the choreography.
At one point, when they were in dress rehearsals, the cast was supposed to clear the stage of some stuff during a black-out. As the lights were coming up, there was Casey in the middle of the stage wrestling with a two-step stool that was about as big as he is. I was talking to the show's musical director at the time and suddenly I heard the director yelling, "Seriously? Is little Casey really the one that's supposed to clear that?"
For the record, both boys nailed their one line in each of the shows, but Casey made sure that he got noticed beyond that. Let's just say that the little ham didn't shy away from the spotlight. As each audience was leaving, someone that's known him since he was a baby would come up to me and say, "Well, that Casey sure seemed to enjoy being on stage."
Of course, the problem with having the kids spend two months rehearsing and peforming in a Disney show is the music. Every day, the boys would go around singing "Bare Necessities" and "I Wanna Be Like You." Unlike some other Disney shows, there really aren't other catchy songs in "The Jungle Book." Just those two. Over and over and over and over again. Even when Casey had the entire show memorized, it was still just "Bare Necessities" and "I Wanna Be Like You."
The thing is that those two songs might be two of the best in the Disney catalog, but not after two months of two kids singing them non-stop in the car.
I'm sure that at the very least Casey will be returning to the stage at some point, butchering songs that I once loved. I suppose it would be hypocritical to ban him from doing it thanks to that whole "president of the theatre" thing.
This was the second play for Marty. Theatre is kind of a group activity where his Asperger's really doesn't affect very much. Don't like making eye contact? Heck, most of the time you're not even supposed to. Get distracted a lot? If you think that's a problem, then you haven't spent much time around actors.
However, this was Casey's first play. He had been made prior to this because he's always been deemed too young. Even before being on-stage, Marty had gone to a couple of classes at a larger community theater and Casey wasn't happy about the too young label for those either.
When Marty was playing a squirrel in "Willy Wonka" last year (it doesn't make a lot of sense if you've only seen the Gene Wilder movie, but its in the book), Casey even went up to the director and sang the chorus of one of the songs, apparently just to prove that he would've been able to learn the material.
While Marty still doesn't like the confines of being told what he has to imagine while he's on stage and only marginally cares about the overall outcome of the production, to Casey this was his chance to shine.
They were doing Disney's "The Jungle Book." Marty got to be a wolf cub and a monkey. Casey got to be a baby elephant. They each had one line.
Last year, there were a group of older kids that kind of took Marty for their mascot and helped keep him focused on what was going on. This year the cast was a bit younger...so Marty's enjoyment was a little less as he was frequently out of place and not sure where to go, leading to a couple of meltdowns.
Casey, despite a rehearsal accident that left him with a black eye (he fell off of a table he was sitting on), was all about it. Memorizing his one line, learning the songs, getting down the choreography.
At one point, when they were in dress rehearsals, the cast was supposed to clear the stage of some stuff during a black-out. As the lights were coming up, there was Casey in the middle of the stage wrestling with a two-step stool that was about as big as he is. I was talking to the show's musical director at the time and suddenly I heard the director yelling, "Seriously? Is little Casey really the one that's supposed to clear that?"
For the record, both boys nailed their one line in each of the shows, but Casey made sure that he got noticed beyond that. Let's just say that the little ham didn't shy away from the spotlight. As each audience was leaving, someone that's known him since he was a baby would come up to me and say, "Well, that Casey sure seemed to enjoy being on stage."
Of course, the problem with having the kids spend two months rehearsing and peforming in a Disney show is the music. Every day, the boys would go around singing "Bare Necessities" and "I Wanna Be Like You." Unlike some other Disney shows, there really aren't other catchy songs in "The Jungle Book." Just those two. Over and over and over and over again. Even when Casey had the entire show memorized, it was still just "Bare Necessities" and "I Wanna Be Like You."
The thing is that those two songs might be two of the best in the Disney catalog, but not after two months of two kids singing them non-stop in the car.
I'm sure that at the very least Casey will be returning to the stage at some point, butchering songs that I once loved. I suppose it would be hypocritical to ban him from doing it thanks to that whole "president of the theatre" thing.
Monday, August 1, 2011
Play Time
The problem with having at least marginally creative children is that sometimes your house turns into a mess but they've got an explanation for it.
Maybe you walk into the room to find action figures scattered all over the place. When you tell them to pick up the toys that they're not playing with, the response that comes is that they're playing with all of them.
"The animal army is meeting over here, but the sea creature army is over there. The dinosaur army hasn't decided who's side they're on so they're over there."
With hopes that maybe something can now be picked up, you ask, "What about the cars?"
"Oh, don't get me started on the cars," comes the response.
When you come back suddenly a bunch of Disney figures have been added to the mix, along with a large bobble-head of former Dodgers pitcher Hideo Nomo.
"Why did you get out more toys?"
"Because Mickey Mouse is trying to take over the world," they say. What about the baseball player? "He's Mickey's bodyguard."
You leave again and come back to find both of your sons dressed in Transformer costumes. Surely, now the toys on the floor can be picked up.
"No," they say. "The armies have united to fight the giant robots."
You leave again and return to find one child still in Optimus Prime gear, but the other now dressed as a dragon.
"The armies have gotten their giant dragon friend to help them battle the giant robots," they proclaim.
You leave once more and return to find your sons now dressed like Darth Vader and a storm trooper.
You ask, "And, then Darth Vader and a storm trooper showed up?"
They nod mutely, each wielding a light saber. Darth switches his on, filling the room with a recorded electric humming, and at that point, you just throw up your hands in defeat.
On the one hand, I get a little sick of my house being a mess. On the other hand, I did the exact same thing when I was a kid.
I remember my one buddy Jeff had a "play room" in his house that was rimmed around three walls with built in bins that were used for storage and had a ping-pong table in the middle (the pool table was in an adjacent room and off-limits). We would set up elaborate sets using blocks, Legos, Lincoln Logs, and add every action figure and army man in the house.
I'm sure that kids play outside now, but back when I was a kid, even though we had Atari, we used to play these really elaborate imaginary games outside. Kind of live action Dungeons & Dragons -- which did exist at the time... I'm old, but not that old -- or Call of Duty that would involve multiple backyards and some adjacent woods. I'd like to hope that at least some kids still do stuff like that, and it's not just all done through on-line gaming.
So, when my kids are using their imaginations, it's hard to come down too hard on them.
Of course, right now Darth Vader and his storm trooper seem to be doing some production number to Taio Cruz's "Dynamite." I could poke my head in, but I'm probably better off not knowing.
Maybe you walk into the room to find action figures scattered all over the place. When you tell them to pick up the toys that they're not playing with, the response that comes is that they're playing with all of them.
"The animal army is meeting over here, but the sea creature army is over there. The dinosaur army hasn't decided who's side they're on so they're over there."
With hopes that maybe something can now be picked up, you ask, "What about the cars?"
"Oh, don't get me started on the cars," comes the response.
When you come back suddenly a bunch of Disney figures have been added to the mix, along with a large bobble-head of former Dodgers pitcher Hideo Nomo.
"Why did you get out more toys?"
"Because Mickey Mouse is trying to take over the world," they say. What about the baseball player? "He's Mickey's bodyguard."
You leave again and come back to find both of your sons dressed in Transformer costumes. Surely, now the toys on the floor can be picked up.
"No," they say. "The armies have united to fight the giant robots."
You leave again and return to find one child still in Optimus Prime gear, but the other now dressed as a dragon.
"The armies have gotten their giant dragon friend to help them battle the giant robots," they proclaim.
You leave once more and return to find your sons now dressed like Darth Vader and a storm trooper.
You ask, "And, then Darth Vader and a storm trooper showed up?"
They nod mutely, each wielding a light saber. Darth switches his on, filling the room with a recorded electric humming, and at that point, you just throw up your hands in defeat.
On the one hand, I get a little sick of my house being a mess. On the other hand, I did the exact same thing when I was a kid.
I remember my one buddy Jeff had a "play room" in his house that was rimmed around three walls with built in bins that were used for storage and had a ping-pong table in the middle (the pool table was in an adjacent room and off-limits). We would set up elaborate sets using blocks, Legos, Lincoln Logs, and add every action figure and army man in the house.
I'm sure that kids play outside now, but back when I was a kid, even though we had Atari, we used to play these really elaborate imaginary games outside. Kind of live action Dungeons & Dragons -- which did exist at the time... I'm old, but not that old -- or Call of Duty that would involve multiple backyards and some adjacent woods. I'd like to hope that at least some kids still do stuff like that, and it's not just all done through on-line gaming.
So, when my kids are using their imaginations, it's hard to come down too hard on them.
Of course, right now Darth Vader and his storm trooper seem to be doing some production number to Taio Cruz's "Dynamite." I could poke my head in, but I'm probably better off not knowing.
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