Giving Umbrage

Today

I am starting to notice patterns with bloggers.  When bloggers experience a lack of motivation or feel generalized ennui, they seem to default to writing about three topics:  i) the day’s newsworthy events; ii) mundane tidbits from the weekend; or iii) a post about why they blog - (‘iii’ is more annoying than ‘i’ or ‘ii’ so, let’s skip it).  Also note, there may actually be a ‘iv’, where the blogger determines to showcase annoying words the blogger secretly loves (e.g., ‘ennui’).

 

‘(i)’ Today’s News.   Because it’s Monday (and I am feeling slightly underwhelmed by life and overwhelmed by work), I decided to crack my knuckles, open a bottle of wine and determine whether I could be inspired to write about the day’s newsworthy events.  It’s not that I truly believe anyone really cares about my voice-over on the tragedies, drive-bys and dribble du jour but… it just makes sense that there is a post that suggests as much – that is blogging!  So again, cracking my knuckles and sinking into a glass of lower pricepoint Malbec, I just realized….not a damn thing happened today.   As I hungrily stare at the headlines searching for insight, inspiration or intrigue….all I see is that the Space Shuttle took off (again), people are still getting sick from H1N1 (still), and Bon Jovi tickets went on sale (again).   It could be 2001 and I would be sitting here boring you with pretty much the same thing….the Space Shuttle took off (again), everyone is freaking out about West Nile (still), and Bon Jovi tickets are on sale (again).  Is this Groundhog Day?  It’s not that I wanted to see CNN Breaking News: the Super Volcano beneath Yellowstone has Erupted!  However, it would have been nice to at least discover a plane landing on the White House front lawn or a good old -fashioned celebrity overdose.  Either way, I guess we are all fortunate. <yawn>

 

(ii) A Mundane Tidbit (Movie Recommendation).  In an effort to save this post, here’s ‘take two’ or ‘ii’ – my Acme Grade ‘A’ movie recommendation filed under ‘mundane tidbit’. <Insert Gene Shallot voice>: Last night I went to Where the Wild Things Are, an adaptation of Maurice Sendak’s truly beautiful book.  Some say this movie is too dark however, life isn’t all fizzy lifting drinks - childhood is chalk full of setbacks, powerful emotions and other ‘wild things’.  Max Records, who plays ‘Max’ captures the intensity of an array of childhood emotions in such a way that I was truly, for once, stirred.  Now, it’s not for the faint of heart and it would scare the Michael Jackson out of my kids (see previous post) however, it was a nice gift to be given on a Sunday evening – a quick reversion back to the chaotic little person inside.   I think the next time my son pelts me with Cheerios in a fit of rage it may make more sense to me…or I just need to stop teasing him and put the milk in his bowl – either way.  I recommend it, as well as, the HBO biography on Sendak where you learn mundane tidbits about the author that are sure to shed more light on the book.   This Malbec is starting to taste a bit better now.

 

 

 

           

Presidential Fitness

I did ten pull-ups today…normally, not a feat worth mentioning.  It occurred to me today, however, that for those of us that muddled through the 70’s and early 80’s as pre-pubescent aliens - this minor physical achievement could produce unintended satisfaction.  You see, I don’t do pull-ups because some trainer tells me to; I do pull-ups for Ronald Reagan and everything the establishment told me about my physical worth when I was 11 years old. 

 

I dreaded it, ...d..r..e..a..d..e..d...the single week each year when my kind, gender ambiguous, physical education teacher set aside the dodgeballs and hula hoops for the Presidential Physical Fitness Award.  As you may remember, the program was a product of the government’s realization that we latchkey kids were getting fat on TV dinners (real ones housed in tinfoil), Twinkies, and Spam.  The testing included five components: sit-ups, pull-ups (or flexed arm hang), push-ups, a one-mile walk/run, and the shuttle run. Your performance on these exercises would result in an award classification: no award (pure feebleness), 50% fitness, 85% fitness, and of course, the coveted Presidential Physical Fitness Award itself.  Looking back, what better way to inspire the pre-pubescent, huddled masses, to live a ‘fit life’ than to expose their physical limitations and inadequacies in front of fellow classmates? 

 

I remember being offended the Gipper would grade my physical prowess on a curve against my fellow 6th grader.  Let’s not forget that by 6th grade, some of my comrades (or men) were sporting mustaches and could no longer sing tenor.   By my account, at least half should have had their birth certificates certified by the Little League World Series to legitimize the testing results. 

 

Being one of the unfortunate late bloomers, I would start each day of this dreaded week synching up my sweatpants (somewhere around my lower rib cage) and preparing for battle - a battle I knew I would lose.  What I remember most is that I just hated the pull-ups.  I couldn’t do a single one and spent the entire time longingly looking over at the girls who were lucky enough to be provided the option of the ‘flexed arm hang’.  I am not sure if the flexed arm hang was a result of the ERA movement but it seemed a bit unfair.  I took umbrage that our female counterparts giggled and pointed at us as they performed this mundane task - which really, from what I could tell, served no purpose at all.  Unless you were preparing to peek over walls for long periods of time or thought you might need the skill to overcome a close call with a cliff…this activity was useless…and easy – it was no pull-up.

 

The results were inevitable.  Each year I would earn the 50% fitness award, affirming to the world on an annual basis that I was ‘half a man’.  I often reflected on the irony of this ‘President’s Award’ and wondered how Ronnie would have faired in the shuttle run – I was sure I could take him.   In the end, I bet this program has since been watered down, consistent with our modern milk toast approach to ego preservation.  It’s too bad; I tend to believe I am a stronger person for enduring this physical ridicule.   At the very least, it makes the occasional workout a bit more inspired.   

Flu-Mist vs. Flu-Shot

I went to get a flu shot a few days ago and the nurse kindly gave me the choice between i) a needle sure to send a small tear down my cheek; and ii) a harmless looking nose spray.   Are you kidding – that’s a no-brainer, right? Knowing I wasn’t getting poked, I sat gleefully while both of my willing nostrils were misted.  Wow, they figured out how to take seeds out of watermelons and now this.

 

Then I learned the difference between the shot and the mist – I know, I know, I should have asked beforehand.  The nurse proceeded to tell me she had sent a ‘live’ virus up my nose - but not to worry because the virus had been ‘weakened’.  Weakened?  Weakened by what… a 10 day bender, poor healthcare, low blood sugar?  Huh?  The vaccine, as you know, is different as it has old dead virus carcasses in it….not festering vengeful fellows.

 

Shortly after the misting, I could feel the virus climbing up my nasal passage and I swear I heard him yodeling – I may have even heard ‘Riiiiccccola!!!!’ - I don’t think sore throats were in his bag of tricks so what did he care.  Regardless, he certainly was not ‘weakened’.  I envision he had spent the last several months in that little plastic mist bottle doing push-ups, pull-ups and sending secret messages to the outside world that directed hits on the healthy.  I also think he was pissed he was even referred to as ‘weakened’.  I could feel this stuff eating my brain and ‘yes’, I got sick or at least worked over a bit by him and his friends. 

 

I obviously recovered but I don’t get it – I wouldn’t go to the Congo to get bit by a monkey in an attempt to ward off HIV?  I think there should be proof the virus is weakened; like a picture on the label of just how weak the virus ‘in that particular bottle’ is…I want to see him in there with a walker, playing bingo, or pleading for his life with other germ bullies.  I don’t want to peer into the mist bottle and see him flexing to show me his ‘mom’ tattoo.  Next time, I get the vaccine. <sniff>

Circus -

Had the unique opportunity of taking Finn and Ella to the ‘Ringling Brothers Circus’ on Saturday.  Not sure what happened to Barnum and Bailey, I think they must have been sold to Bank of America in the shake-up – regardless, it was noticeable to me.

 A few observations:

•         Clowns aren’t funny - maybe because I haven’t slept a full night since watching Poltergeist in 1982.  I am convinced that most clowns either have a collection of human heads in their basement freezer or are pedophiles.   That said, an injured clown is sort of funny and I would also like to ride around on the mini-motorcycle at some point – probably easier to become a Shriner.
•         Ironically, the lead clown chastised me for using my cell phone right before the show started.  Huh!?  You’re a freaking clown man!  Next time I am wearing a water shooting flower on my lapel and filling it with Drano to squirt at this guy when he gives me his disapproving clown look.  And, ‘yes’ the look was disapproving even with the goofy painted smile.   And ‘yes’ this is ironic; for all those silly Alanis Morissette, language nerd, critics out there:  rain on your wedding day – not ironic; clowns chastising you for cellphone use – ‘ironic’. 
•        Has all hubbub around feeling sorry for circus elephants been blown out of proportion? – it’s just a question.  If they are so smart they must know it’s a pretty good deal to get handwashed each day, stuffed full of peanuts - and not have to worry about either lions, dried up watering holes, civil unrest or someone hacking off your tusks.  One winked at me, I saw it.  
•      I felt badly for the tigers.  Eventually, they will get a hold of that mean little whip snapping Russian dude ordering them around – it’s just a matter of time before they are picking their teeth with his femur.    Funny how the lights went out and it was pitch black as they brought the cages in and loaded them into the ring.  Even the elephants were like, “man that sucks.”
•        I bought lemonade in a plastic thing and it cost me $9.  The Ringling Brothers are shrewd bastards.  I was offended by this until…(see next bullet).
•       Seizure sticks – what the hell is with these plastic toys that have spinning lights and glowing orbs?  When did this happen – why do I see these at every public event?  When did some sadistic fellow in the Changzhou Province figure out this is just what fat U.S. kids need?   Ugh, I had promised Ella and Finn one and upon inquiring into how much the pink princess wand with the spinning, glowing star was….I stood stunned - $20!?  We bought two and I had to sit the rest of the show with a plastic spoon in my mouth - just in case I had a seizure.
•        The woman spinning from the ceiling on the bed sheets (ala Cirque du Soleil) was warmly accepted by all the fathers in the crowd.   Just an observation, the Ringling Sisters wouldn’t have approved.
•       There were no small people, dwarves or whatever they are called these days.  Not sure why I thought there would be, probably hazy memories of Lalapalooza 94’ mixed up with the Circus. 

In the end, they enjoyed it and that’s the goal.  Even if Finn slept through two people flying 120 feet after being shot out of cannons – he was smiling on the way home.