The corner near our house is a bus stop for students attending the Middle School. It has been one since before Chuck was in seventh grade and the number of kids who board the bus there varies from year to year.
Currently, there appear to be three girls getting on there. One of them lives across the street. I don't know where the other two come from since they are always being driven there. (It can't be too far because the bus stops are no more than three blocks apart.) Every morning when I leave for work, there are two minivans sitting, motors running, with a student and a parent in each, waiting for the bus to arrive.
Our corner bus stop is by no means unique. My route to work takes me past the next three stops the bus makes. (I always want to be on my way before the bus gets to my corner; being behind it means I'll be making all the stops too.) The first of these stops has only one student, who sits in the car with his mother until the bus comes. At the second stop, one boy get out of a minivan and stands at the stop, while his mother sits in the vehicle, watching until the bus arrives. And the third has two more minivans idling with students and parents inside.
Okay, I can understand this if it is raining or very cold. But on a sunny day with temps in the 60s? And if you're going to get up, get dressed, and drive your child to the bus stop, why not just drive him/her to school?
Not all parents in the district are like this. Further along my route to work, I pass another bus stop. I regularly see one skinny boy standing there. Regardless of the temperature, he wears shorts and a t-shirt, and, only in the most frigid or inclement weather, a hooded sweatshirt. One morning it was sleeting; by the time he got on the bus, he had a coating of ice on him. I have to wonder if his parents ever see him before he leaves the house.
If not, maybe they should have a talk with those parents who are sitting in their cars at the other stops.
Thursday, April 30, 2009
Wednesday, April 29, 2009
Random Comments
Summer in April has ended. Today's temperatures are only going to get into the lower 60s. This morning on the Today show, Matt Lauer commented that it was thirty degrees cooler than yesterday. Weatherman Al Roker's response: "Isn't this a great country!" Much laughter ensued.
For those interested in the pool update: The water temperature yesterday was 79 (according to Swanee), 77 (Ducky) or 66 (Tommy Turtle, still not with the program). Just to shake things up, Laurie brought in a fourth member of the team: Snorkel Duck, who became the super-optimist of the group with a reading of 81.
Also in the news this morning is a video of a bus driver who crashed into a car in front of him because he was busy texting rather than paying attention to the road. While this will probably prompt more states to enact laws making texting while driving illegal, it will not stop it from happening. Perhaps they should enact laws that prohibit idiots from getting a driver's license. Or, at least, prohibiting bus companies from hiring them.
Regarding the coming media-generated swine flu pandemic:
1) Apparently some government agency (perhaps the CDC, but I did not catch that particular bit of info) has requested that people start referring to it as "H1N1" rather than "swine flu" because many people will stop eating pork. While this may be true, I would bet that there are a lot of people who cannot even make the swine=pig=pork=bacon/sausage/etc. connection. Why not be equally concerned about those who think swine=wine=grapes and stop eating jelly?
Also, if they want to change the name (which, mixing metaphors, is too late because the horse is already long out of the barn), they should come up with something more catchy than "H1N1." Should we pronounce it "High-Nigh"? And, just to put things in perspective, had this outbreak occurred in the early 20th century, we'd probably be calling it the "Mexican Flu," and blaming it on our neighbors south of the border rather than pigs.
2) Not to in any way diminish the impact on the family of the toddler in Texas that died from the flu, perhaps the media could use a reality check before making their loss the lead story of the day. In the five day period since they began heavily reporting on the flu outbreaks in the U.S., (based on available statistics) 498 children have died of other diseases and natural causes, 105 have died in traffic accidents, 15 have drowned, 7 have died in fires, and 41 have been murdered.
3) How many of the kids who have stayed home from school here in New York and elsewhere because they were exhibiting "flu-like symptoms" are actually experiencing "allergy-like symptoms" or "I-don't-like-school symptoms"?
4) Finally, if you actually do get the flu, do the rest of us a favor: Stay home!
For those interested in the pool update: The water temperature yesterday was 79 (according to Swanee), 77 (Ducky) or 66 (Tommy Turtle, still not with the program). Just to shake things up, Laurie brought in a fourth member of the team: Snorkel Duck, who became the super-optimist of the group with a reading of 81.
Also in the news this morning is a video of a bus driver who crashed into a car in front of him because he was busy texting rather than paying attention to the road. While this will probably prompt more states to enact laws making texting while driving illegal, it will not stop it from happening. Perhaps they should enact laws that prohibit idiots from getting a driver's license. Or, at least, prohibiting bus companies from hiring them.
Regarding the coming media-generated swine flu pandemic:
1) Apparently some government agency (perhaps the CDC, but I did not catch that particular bit of info) has requested that people start referring to it as "H1N1" rather than "swine flu" because many people will stop eating pork. While this may be true, I would bet that there are a lot of people who cannot even make the swine=pig=pork=bacon/sausage/etc. connection. Why not be equally concerned about those who think swine=wine=grapes and stop eating jelly?
Also, if they want to change the name (which, mixing metaphors, is too late because the horse is already long out of the barn), they should come up with something more catchy than "H1N1." Should we pronounce it "High-Nigh"? And, just to put things in perspective, had this outbreak occurred in the early 20th century, we'd probably be calling it the "Mexican Flu," and blaming it on our neighbors south of the border rather than pigs.
2) Not to in any way diminish the impact on the family of the toddler in Texas that died from the flu, perhaps the media could use a reality check before making their loss the lead story of the day. In the five day period since they began heavily reporting on the flu outbreaks in the U.S., (based on available statistics) 498 children have died of other diseases and natural causes, 105 have died in traffic accidents, 15 have drowned, 7 have died in fires, and 41 have been murdered.
3) How many of the kids who have stayed home from school here in New York and elsewhere because they were exhibiting "flu-like symptoms" are actually experiencing "allergy-like symptoms" or "I-don't-like-school symptoms"?
4) Finally, if you actually do get the flu, do the rest of us a favor: Stay home!
Tuesday, April 28, 2009
Writing
Someone asked me recently, "How long have you been writing?" Thinking that he was referring to this blog, I replied that I had just started. "No," he said, "I meant, in your life. When did you first start writing?"
There are a number of ways to answer that. I sold my first comic book script, "The Touchdown Trap" starring Robin, the Teen Wonder, in 1974. It appeared in DETECTIVE COMICS #445 and, over the next 25 or so years, I sold more than 400 others. Though the majority of them were superhero tales, I also wrote some war stories, westerns, monster/horror tales and even a couple of romance stories for the variety of books that DC Comics has published. After I left DC in 1998, I wrote half a dozen Archie Comics stories and "custom comics" for the US Postal Service, Con Edison, the San Francisco Giants, and others.
But the first time I got paid for something I wrote really goes all the way back to the summer of 1961. (A little background here: I grew up in Elmont, NY in a development that had been built in 1955. There were no through streets so the neighborhood was self-contained and we defined it as those 35 homes.)
In an attempt to earn a little money to buy more comic books (which only cost 10c at the time), I came up with the idea of publishing a neighborhood newspaper. Using a 4x6 pad and carbon paper, I hand-wrote the first issue of The Daily Doodle. The price was one cent. I was able to sell it to my parents (not surprisingly) and a few of the neighbors they were most friendly with. Over the remaining weeks of summer vacation, I produced a new issue every day and built a readership of perhaps a dozen families, delivering such important information as who got a new lawn sprinkler, the scores of our neighborhood baseball games, and that there was a bad smell coming from the drainage ditch that ran along the edge of the development. I even prompted a publishing "war" when one of my friends, envious of my success, started his own newspaper; his endeavor only lasted a week or so.
When school started, I switched to producing only a Sunday paper, priced at two cents. Since it was no longer a daily publication, I changed the name to The Doodler. I also "automated" the process, producing the issues on a typewriter instead of by hand. My circulation had grown to about twenty copies a week, so I would type an original and four carbon copies at a time, repeating the process until I had enough. (It was during this period that I honed my four-fingered typing skills that serve me through today.) Most of my news "stories" were only a couple of sentences long. After you told readers that Mr. Jones had bought a new Buick or Mrs. Smith's dryer was broken, what other information was there?
I continued to publish The Doodler for about four years, eventually expanding to a bi-weekly, two-page format for a nickel. By then, almost all of the families in the neighborhood were buying it, meaning I was typing the same thing six or seven times in order to generate enough copies. (Sometimes I felt sorry for the people who got those fourth-layer carbon copies because they were fuzzy and not that easy to read.) Just imagine what a publishing empire I could have had if I'd had access to a Xerox copier!
When I delivered that final issue, a few of the neighbors were indifferent about it and some who said they would miss it, but there was one who said to me, "How am I going to find out what's going on around here now?" That almost got me to reconsider.
The Daily Doodle was not the first writing I produced for an audience, however. We have to go back even further, to my fourth grade class, for that... next time.
There are a number of ways to answer that. I sold my first comic book script, "The Touchdown Trap" starring Robin, the Teen Wonder, in 1974. It appeared in DETECTIVE COMICS #445 and, over the next 25 or so years, I sold more than 400 others. Though the majority of them were superhero tales, I also wrote some war stories, westerns, monster/horror tales and even a couple of romance stories for the variety of books that DC Comics has published. After I left DC in 1998, I wrote half a dozen Archie Comics stories and "custom comics" for the US Postal Service, Con Edison, the San Francisco Giants, and others.
But the first time I got paid for something I wrote really goes all the way back to the summer of 1961. (A little background here: I grew up in Elmont, NY in a development that had been built in 1955. There were no through streets so the neighborhood was self-contained and we defined it as those 35 homes.)
In an attempt to earn a little money to buy more comic books (which only cost 10c at the time), I came up with the idea of publishing a neighborhood newspaper. Using a 4x6 pad and carbon paper, I hand-wrote the first issue of The Daily Doodle. The price was one cent. I was able to sell it to my parents (not surprisingly) and a few of the neighbors they were most friendly with. Over the remaining weeks of summer vacation, I produced a new issue every day and built a readership of perhaps a dozen families, delivering such important information as who got a new lawn sprinkler, the scores of our neighborhood baseball games, and that there was a bad smell coming from the drainage ditch that ran along the edge of the development. I even prompted a publishing "war" when one of my friends, envious of my success, started his own newspaper; his endeavor only lasted a week or so.
When school started, I switched to producing only a Sunday paper, priced at two cents. Since it was no longer a daily publication, I changed the name to The Doodler. I also "automated" the process, producing the issues on a typewriter instead of by hand. My circulation had grown to about twenty copies a week, so I would type an original and four carbon copies at a time, repeating the process until I had enough. (It was during this period that I honed my four-fingered typing skills that serve me through today.) Most of my news "stories" were only a couple of sentences long. After you told readers that Mr. Jones had bought a new Buick or Mrs. Smith's dryer was broken, what other information was there?
I continued to publish The Doodler for about four years, eventually expanding to a bi-weekly, two-page format for a nickel. By then, almost all of the families in the neighborhood were buying it, meaning I was typing the same thing six or seven times in order to generate enough copies. (Sometimes I felt sorry for the people who got those fourth-layer carbon copies because they were fuzzy and not that easy to read.) Just imagine what a publishing empire I could have had if I'd had access to a Xerox copier!
When I delivered that final issue, a few of the neighbors were indifferent about it and some who said they would miss it, but there was one who said to me, "How am I going to find out what's going on around here now?" That almost got me to reconsider.
The Daily Doodle was not the first writing I produced for an audience, however. We have to go back even further, to my fourth grade class, for that... next time.
Sunday, April 26, 2009
First Dunk
Thanks to the arrival of summer in April (scheduled to last till Tuesday evening, according to the weather forecast) the pool water was in the mid-60s yesterday and into the mid-70s today. Combined with 80+ degree sunshine, that was more than enough to get me in for the First Dunk of the season.
We actually have three different thermometers floating in the pool. The original, Ducky, looks like Ernie's friend on "Sesame Street," except he has sunglasses. Ducky has been in the pool for a number of years and over that time he's gotten a bit of a sunburn. In fact, he's quite tanned now.
Last year, Laurie decided that perhaps Ducky needed company (or, heaven fordbid, replacement!) and got Swanee. Actually, she got two of the same swan thermometers because they were only a dollar each. One, however, consistently said the water was 42 degrees and was banished. Later last summer, we added Tommy Turtle to the temperature team.
Though they are our temperature team, Ducky, Swanee and Tommy never agree. Swanee ("the optimist") always has the highest reading, Tommy ("the pessimist") always has the lowest, and Ducky ("the realist") is in between. Case in point, today Swanee said the water was 76 degrees and Ducky said 74. Tommy, clearly not yet with the program, said it was only 62 degrees. Since I was in the water, I'm going with Ducky.
With our instant summer still in swing tomorrow, I'm planning to ride my bicycle to work. And when I get home, I'll get in a second dunk. We'll see what the team says the temp is.
We actually have three different thermometers floating in the pool. The original, Ducky, looks like Ernie's friend on "Sesame Street," except he has sunglasses. Ducky has been in the pool for a number of years and over that time he's gotten a bit of a sunburn. In fact, he's quite tanned now.
Last year, Laurie decided that perhaps Ducky needed company (or, heaven fordbid, replacement!) and got Swanee. Actually, she got two of the same swan thermometers because they were only a dollar each. One, however, consistently said the water was 42 degrees and was banished. Later last summer, we added Tommy Turtle to the temperature team.
Though they are our temperature team, Ducky, Swanee and Tommy never agree. Swanee ("the optimist") always has the highest reading, Tommy ("the pessimist") always has the lowest, and Ducky ("the realist") is in between. Case in point, today Swanee said the water was 76 degrees and Ducky said 74. Tommy, clearly not yet with the program, said it was only 62 degrees. Since I was in the water, I'm going with Ducky.
With our instant summer still in swing tomorrow, I'm planning to ride my bicycle to work. And when I get home, I'll get in a second dunk. We'll see what the team says the temp is.
Friday, April 24, 2009
Prom Night
It is Prom Night here in Farmingdale. That may surprise you and have you wondering why it is so early, almost two months before the end of the school year. You will probably be more surprised to learn that the prom is for the junior class. Farmingdale High School seniors don't have a prom; they have a senior breakfast at the end of the year. There is only one prom and the only way a senior attends is as the date of a junior.
In any event, when I took a bicycle ride this afternoon (because winter has gone away again and it's going to be summer tomorrow), I passed a number of houses where the prom attendees were out in all their finery, being photographed by family and friends. I was also passed by a number of cars carrying other similarly coiffed and clothed FHS students, on their way to someone else's house to be admired and photographed.
Way back in 1969 (shortly after dinosaurs ruled the earth), my own high school prom was held at, if I recall correctly, the Lido Beach Club in Long Beach. The musical group that performed, the Brooklyn Bridge, was signed to appear, but it was before they had their big hit, "The Worst That Could Happen." In fact, they tried to cancel on us because they had become so famous in the interim. We did not let them out of the deal, so they did as brief a performance as they could get away with and fled into the night.
I did not attend the prom, by the way. I had asked one person (a girl and a friend, but not a girlfriend) if she would be my date, but she turned me down. Rather than do what one of my close friends did -- date a girl once or twice and then ask her because he absolutely had to have a prom date -- I opted to stay home that night. (My unpublished novel, The Junkyard of Memory, has this as a focal point.) I don't recall what I actually did while my high school pals were enjoying the however-brief performance of Johnny Maestro and company, but I do recall most of them being bleary-eyed the next morning when they came to the school to pick up caps and gowns for graduation.
Coincidentally, my wife Laurie also did not attend her senior prom. I don't recall why, but, since she is a faithful reader of this blog, perhaps she will fill us in with a comment below. Once we were married, we told people neither of us had a prom date because we hadn't met each other till college. We did, in fact, attend a junior prom together -- as chaperones -- when Laurie was teaching at Commack High School South. We even have the prom photo!
Some twenty-nine years after I skipped my prom, our son Chuck skipped his as well. He and a group of his friends instead spent the night in our basement, playing video games and eating junk food. As I recall, the next morning, Laurie made them hundreds of pancakes for breakfast.
Breaking what had become something of a family tradition, however, Sammi did attend her prom in 2002. Like the families that I observed earlier this evening, we took lots of photos, in the house, on the lawn, getting into the limo, etc. After the prom, the limo took Sammi and a group of her friends (and their dates) to a comedy club in New York City. And unless I'm confusing it with another event, we were awakened by her knocking on the door at the crack of dawn the next morning. She had given up on trying to sleep at the post-prom sleepover and opted for her own bed instead.
Laurie commented at dinner that for what it cost -- clothes, hair, limo, etc. -- to go to the prom, you could go on a nice vacation. I replied with the comment one of my classmates used when trying to get me to ask "anybody" to be my date, "You can only go to your prom once." And, regardless of whether you attend or not, that is the truth.
In any event, when I took a bicycle ride this afternoon (because winter has gone away again and it's going to be summer tomorrow), I passed a number of houses where the prom attendees were out in all their finery, being photographed by family and friends. I was also passed by a number of cars carrying other similarly coiffed and clothed FHS students, on their way to someone else's house to be admired and photographed.
Way back in 1969 (shortly after dinosaurs ruled the earth), my own high school prom was held at, if I recall correctly, the Lido Beach Club in Long Beach. The musical group that performed, the Brooklyn Bridge, was signed to appear, but it was before they had their big hit, "The Worst That Could Happen." In fact, they tried to cancel on us because they had become so famous in the interim. We did not let them out of the deal, so they did as brief a performance as they could get away with and fled into the night.
I did not attend the prom, by the way. I had asked one person (a girl and a friend, but not a girlfriend) if she would be my date, but she turned me down. Rather than do what one of my close friends did -- date a girl once or twice and then ask her because he absolutely had to have a prom date -- I opted to stay home that night. (My unpublished novel, The Junkyard of Memory, has this as a focal point.) I don't recall what I actually did while my high school pals were enjoying the however-brief performance of Johnny Maestro and company, but I do recall most of them being bleary-eyed the next morning when they came to the school to pick up caps and gowns for graduation.
Coincidentally, my wife Laurie also did not attend her senior prom. I don't recall why, but, since she is a faithful reader of this blog, perhaps she will fill us in with a comment below. Once we were married, we told people neither of us had a prom date because we hadn't met each other till college. We did, in fact, attend a junior prom together -- as chaperones -- when Laurie was teaching at Commack High School South. We even have the prom photo!
Some twenty-nine years after I skipped my prom, our son Chuck skipped his as well. He and a group of his friends instead spent the night in our basement, playing video games and eating junk food. As I recall, the next morning, Laurie made them hundreds of pancakes for breakfast.
Breaking what had become something of a family tradition, however, Sammi did attend her prom in 2002. Like the families that I observed earlier this evening, we took lots of photos, in the house, on the lawn, getting into the limo, etc. After the prom, the limo took Sammi and a group of her friends (and their dates) to a comedy club in New York City. And unless I'm confusing it with another event, we were awakened by her knocking on the door at the crack of dawn the next morning. She had given up on trying to sleep at the post-prom sleepover and opted for her own bed instead.
Laurie commented at dinner that for what it cost -- clothes, hair, limo, etc. -- to go to the prom, you could go on a nice vacation. I replied with the comment one of my classmates used when trying to get me to ask "anybody" to be my date, "You can only go to your prom once." And, regardless of whether you attend or not, that is the truth.
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