When the Red, Red Robin comes. . .Ahh, No, Help Me!

We decided to go out for dinner last night because the refrigerator was empty, and it was too darn hot to cook, anyway. Our first stop took us to UNO in Fayetteville, which seemed crowded with senior citizens, and offered a wait of at least 1/2 hour. (Let me be clear that we have nothing against senior citizens. After all, how could we?) So we went up the hill to Hullar's and went inside. The patrons who were there looked like melting figures on a dark birthday cake, as the AC seemed to be barely working. Thus, we decided to go back down the hill to a place of whose door we had vowed to never again darken. Oh, life, why do we choose not to learn from you? (For those of you into literary terms, I believe that is an example of "apostrophe.")

We entered RED ROBIN. We were first accosted by the noise of the place, but it was cool and we only had to wait 5 minutes before being seated in a tiny booth adjacent to the food prep area. One very nice occurrence then occurred, as occurrences are like to do. We saw John Kieffer and his lovely family, whom we hadn't seen since Catherine Simoneaux had her high school grad party. I wish that occurrence had been the start of good things, but no. . . having gone to fetch our vodka and tonic and glass of chardonnay, the waitress returned to tell us the bar was out of both tonic and chardonnay. How could a bar be out of tonic on the hottest day of the year? Ah well, we scanned the menu hoping that something we wanted would have been added since the last time, probably 2 years before, that we had eaten at RR. Nothing had been. I opted for the chicken sandwich with the "unlimited french fry" option, a sure reason that RR again won't be named to the healthiest restaurant list this year. Linda went for the petite cob salad and soup combo. As we waited I drank a cranberry and vodka as Linda sipped a glass of I forget what it was. In that time, we were regaled 3 times with the monstrous Red Robin birthday song. When our food arrived, Linda discovered that the cup of soup she had ordered was indeed a large bowl of soup, which hitting on both cylinders, to mix a metaphor, was both cold and flavorless. The petite cob salad, while not petite, did come unmixed. My chicken was chicken. We ate a bit and left.

Now I know we were at fault for this gastronomic error. RED ROBIN is for kids and parents, who are too exhausted to care what they are eating. But I am writing this to serve as a reminder in text to never again eat there. (How can a bar be out of tonic?)

Hi-Ho, Silver! They're Blowin' Up the White House!

Over the last week, Linda and I went to see two of the biggest movie bombs of the year.  Our first trip into cinema disfavor was to see “White House Down.”  That adventure was followed shortly by a sojourn to see the artistic and economic disaster known as “The Lone Ranger.”  Both of these films have become box office flops despite the presence of big star power, the nearly iconic Jamie Foxx in “WHD,” and the truly iconic Johnny Depp in “The Lone Ranger.”  Linda and I fall outside of the demographics at which, I am sure, these films were aimed, so maybe we can judge them more objectively than lots of filmgoers.

We loved “White House Down.”  So did a lot of critics.  I think people didn’t go see it because of the trailers on TV.  It just looked like another “Independence Day,” let’s blow up a bunch of D.C. landmarks movie.  It was that. . .and lots more.  It was suspenseful, exciting, silly, funny, and a good way to spend a couple hours on a humid afternoon.  Channing Tatum is a hunk to be reckoned with as he guns down and snaps the necks of several dozen homegrown terrorists.  Linda thought he was pretty cool, but of course, no rival to Mark Harmon.  Jamie Foxx’s POTUS comes off as human and funny and courageous, and James Woods as the Secret Service guy is his usual wonderfully snakey self.  (Watch for the moment when they bring his wife in to talk him.  It’s great!)  The best performance for me was by the littlest actor, Joey King, a darling 13 year-old, who looks about 10, as Tatum’s incredibly brave and smart daughter caught in the middle of the White House mess.  This little one is really good, and there’s a maturity about her 13 year old face and demeanor.  Joey seems to be older than her years while still maintaining an innocence and vulnerability.  There are weaknesses in the film.  According to this tale, virtually every member of the Secret Service is a moron!  Also, I was troubled by why they had to summon a rocket from an underground silo in Nebraska or some such midwestern place to shoot down Air Force 2.  Wouldn’t there be an easier way.  And finally, the body count was a little bit over the top, and the film was at least 20 minutes too long, but virtually every movie I see is at least 20 minutes too long.  Still, “White House Down” was no downer!  (Lord, that’s an awful concluding sentence.  It reminds me of the titles of some of the bad film reviews that my English 12 students wrote years ago.  I didn’t say they were all bad, now!)

We did not love “The Lone Ranger.”  Being of the era of the original Lone Ranger (see photo), we tried but could find little to like much less love.  It was as if the Disney creators of this film tried to jam every possible plot line and theme they could imagine into a movie that was at least 2 hours too long.  Also, the Lone Ranger is an icon of bravery and justice.  He is not a common-senseless nerd as played by Armie Hammer.  Another, also--Tonto is not an idiot even though his name means that in Spanish.  He is the embodiment of the true friend.  Why Johnny Depp, etal., thought it would be funny to have him come across as a silly, bad-skinned Native American version of Captain Jack Sparrow with a dead raven on his head, I cannot guess.  I am worrying about Johnny, who has been one of my favorites.  Barnabas Collins and now this!! At least Tonto didn’t have any gold teeth!   Another also, everyone in the movie is completely forgettable.  I doubt we will ever hear of the actress who plays the Ranger’s love interest again.  I’ve already forgotten her name.  (And by the way, Disney, the Lone Ranger does not have love interests!  He is an “Adamic” hero in the pre-Eve stage.)  And also, also, also, Tom Wilkinson, one of my favorite actors, did your contract include the clause that you were allowed to hide behind that ridiculous beard while playing the heartless, and apparently something else-less, villain!   Finally, let me mention something good--I found a couple of the things they did with the horse, Silver to be modestly clever.  The horse’s role was by far the most intelligent in the film.  Finally, finally, I know the story of the Lone Ranger from beginning to end.  I had the 78 rpm record “The Legend of the Lone Ranger” when I was 7 years old and played it over and over for years.  I remember Captain Dan Reed. Butch Cavendish, Bryant Gap where “Collins, their guide, had lied,” and can still recite parts from memory.  Maybe a 10 year-old who has never heard of the Lone Ranger would enjoy this new film.  I can’t imagine anyone else would.  It’s just too STUPID!  And a final also, “kemo sabe” means faithful friend, now and forever.

"Where Everybody Knows your Name"

There are two songs I really like which, though quite different, have the same sentiment.  The first is from the musical “Carnival,” and the title, I believe, is “Can You Imagine That?”  In it, the ingenue sings about the little town of Mira, which she left to join the circus, and the lyric runs, “. . .what I like the best in Mira, is everybody knew my name.  Can you imagine that?  Can you imagine that?  Everybody knew my name.”  The other song, which I’m sure some readers will have guessed, is the anthem from “Cheers,” the bar where, “You wanna go where people know, people are all the same, You wanna go where everybody knows your name.“  Those songs were both playing in my head before I fell asleep a week ago Thursday night, and I am happy to tell you why.

We had had a pretty miserable day that Thursday.  Up early, we drove 130 miles or so to Troy, NY, so Linda could see her mom who had fallen at home and been taken from the hospital to a rehab center.  Her mother, of course, was upset, and we figured that Linda and her sister and brother were facing the prospect of finding an assisted living facility to which their mom could be moved from her home.  We anticipated the sadness and anger and guilt and such that were sure to follow.

We got back on the Thruway and headed back to Chittenango, hoping to arrive prior to 7:00 p.m. to attend the wake for Don Perrone.  Don, if you didn’t know him, was a terrific gentleman.  Linda and I had known the Perrone family virtually all the time we taught and lived in Chittenango.   It was after 7:00 when we passed the post office, and we weren’t dressed in “calling hour clothes,” so we decided to go have dinner at Delphia’s, sorry that we had missed the wake.

We walked in and immediately saw Sylvia Perrone, Don’s sister-in-law, and her two granddaughters, who told us that the rest of the family would be along soon.  Then we saw Don and Edie Pinegar, our longtime, great friends.  They were aware of our mission that day and were very concerned.  Seeing them lifted us up a bit.  It was nice to be home with people who cared.  We were only at our a table for a few minutes, our drinks just delivered by a student from the past, when the Perrone family began to arrive for dinner.  It was better than if we had been to the wake.  We had time to talk to them, and offer our condolences.  I talk with Terry almost every day at Panera’s, but I hadn’t seen his brother Steve, a really good friend, in a long time, and it was great to give him a hug and tell him how sorry we were.

After dinner, we walked toward the front door, and I heard someone call my name.  I looked right and saw Ari Arsenault, who I hadn’t seen in years.  I walked over and gave Ari a hug.  She looked pretty great despite having just come from playing tennis with Colin Brady.  We talked for five minutes or so, and I caught up on her family.  Ari was a favorite student back in the late 90’s, and it made me feel really good to see her and know she was doing well.  And sitting right next to Ari and Colin were the Drescher’s, so we said a quick hello to them as well.

When Linda and I finally went out Delphia’s front door, I was feeling a lot better than when I entered.  We had entered feeling kind of down, and by the time we left, the friends we saw inside, even though we shared sorrow with some of them, had lifted us up.  We knew we were part of something good.  That’s what’s special about living in a place, especially one like Chittenango, for a long time.  You become part of--I don’t know the right word--the fabric, the story, the DNA of the village.  Whatever word you choose, it is a comforting thing to belong to.   Even though, we didn’t really know everybody in Delphia’s that night, it felt like it, and that felt good.  “Can you imagine that?  Can you imagine that?  Everybody knew my name!”

Another Day, Another Gigundo Stephen King Novel

I had never read "Under the Dome" by Stephen King, so when the commercials for the TV version, which begins tonight, started to show up , I got interested.  I decided to buy myself a download of "Under the Dome" for Father's Day.  My gift to myself on my Nook turned out to be as daunting in length as is the norm for Stephen King novels:  1357 pages.  Granted, these are 1357 Nook pages, but still it is one lengthy e-tome.

My old school ways struck me this morning.  I had this desire to pre-teach or introduce this TV series/novel to the Stephen King aficionadoes out there.  I won't, though, spoil anything.  I promise.  Just a couple suggestions and a question.  Watch out for a couple of Stephen King riffs from the past, such as a character who would be great friends with Trashcan Man from "The Stand" and a sort of similarity to "The Tommyknockers."  Also, the ending was a real disappointment for me.  So eight weeks down the line I'd like to hear people's reactions to it, if, in fact, the TV ending is the same.

I enjoyed the book even though it was way too long.  In an "Afterword," King mentioned that the final version had been cut tremendously by his editor.  I can't imagine what else he would have had to say.  It's what King fans expect, I think.  Length, lots of characters, terrific dialogue, and a creepy time in rural Maine.

Slang for Senior (or nearly Senior) Citizens

A few weeks ago I was talking to my daughter Jan about slang, in particular, slang terms meaning really good.  We mentioned “bad”  and “phat,” and Jan said that she had recently heard the word “clutch” as a positive slang term, probably because of the positive athletic connotation of doing something heroic in the “clutch.”  “Clutch” was a new one for me.  I used to be up on slang back when I was teaching.  I was right there with the teens telling people that something was “my bad” or telling someone “to talk to the hand” or sarcastically saying “no, duh!” when confronted by the obvious.

Anyway, my conversation with Jan got me thinking about the need for senior citizens to have their own slang.  We need some good, new slang terms, and not just those from our youth like “groovy” and “tough” and “rad” and “in your ear!”  So I would like to suggest the immediate adoption of the word “crutch” to describe something that is really good in senior lingo.  Imagine a sentence like, “Man, did you read about that new long-term care insurance?  That plan is really crutch!”  Or. . .”Whoa, she is so tough! Her bod is still as crutch as it was in high school.”

About a year ago, I tried to initiate another term.  It was “kug” to describe a combination “kiss” and “hug,” the doing of which is a huge part of our culture.  I thought it was a great idea.  It was economical, too, in that you got to use one word in the place of three.  And it sounded good!  Like in, “I hadn’t seen her in years, and when I saw her at the party, I went over and “kugged” her on the spot.”  Kug was an abysmal failure.  Lee Finkle and I were the only ones to ever use it. And we only said it once or twice at Lions Club. . .which is kind of embarrassing.

For “crutch” to catch on, those senior cit’s reading this have got to start peppering their conversations with the new c-word!  You have to “like” this posting and share it with your crutchest, old friends.  Share it with your crutchest young ones, too.  And maybe, just maybe, it’ll get picked up and jump from here to there, from person to person, and we will have what you call “a movement,” just like Arlo Guthrie was hoping for at the end of “Alice’s Restaurant,” a reference aimed directly at the “Crutchest Generation.”

P.S.  I have no idea what the "Crutch" picture on top is in reference to.  I just liked it.

"I'll Be Your Huckleberry"

A week or so ago on FAMILY FEUD was a family with the surname "Huckleberry."  I thought that was pretty coo,l because I like the word "Huckleberry." I like the way it sounds, for one thing.  I like the way they taste, too, although, I must admit to seldom having eaten them.  Most importantly, I like the word for reasons nostalgic, literary, and cinematic.

First, the nostalgic.  When I was in 5th grade, the Kellogg's company had a contest on their cereal boxes.  On the back of the cornflakes was a picture of HUCKLEBERRY Hound looking down a hillside at his friend Yogi Bear.  Yogi was running under a tree and by a lake with a bunch of bees chasing him.  The challenge was, in "25 Words or Less," to create a scenario for Huckleberry to save Yogi.  I did and sent it in, hoping to be one of the 1000 kids who would receive a stuffed Huck or Yogi.  Of course, mega-thousands of kids entered, so I didn't think I'd win, but, lo and behold, a couple of months later, a box from the Kellogg's company arrived for me.  Inside was a stuffed Yogi Bear.  I'd won!  I didn't get Huck as I'd hoped, but the heroics I created for the hound had made me a winner.  I had received a major award!!

Second, the literary.  Time passed and I became a high school English teacher, who loved the novel THE ADVENTURES OF HUCKLEBERRY FINN.  Through the years, I dragged hundreds (perhaps thousands) of students through the study of it whether they wanted to come along or not.  Mark Twain is one of my literary idols, and I love his masterly character HUCKLEBERRY.  Oh, "shet de frunt door," I hope a few of the hundreds got a kick out of the monstrously mora, shoelessl 12 year old.

My final reason for liking the word is the cinematic one.  It required some research to find out where the expression of the title, "I'll be your Huckleberry," came from.  At a website called "The Wonder of Words," I found that when someone said that in years gone by, it meant "I am the perfect man for the job."  I first heard a variation of the saying in one of my favorite modern westerns TOMBSTONE.  Val Kilmer, in an Oscar-nominated performance, plays Doc Holliday, the pale, sweaty, alcoholic and tubercular gunfighter friend of Wyatt Earp.  Before Doc takes it upon himself to gun someone down, he (Kilmer) says in a raspy horrible voice, "I'm your Huckleberry."  Then the person to whom he was speaking starts shaking because his time is near, because when it came to killin' Doc was the perfect man for the job.  It is one of those great, scary movie moments, and, darn it all, isn't there a HUCKLEBERRY right in the middle of it.

Why you ask did I create this prose ode to the word "huckleberry?"  Because I need to write something.  I have been creatively befuddled the last week or so, and it's time I got back to blogging, anyway.  That is why.

If you have never seen Val Kilmer's Doc Holliday check out this YouTube video of an "I'll Be Your Huckleberry" moment:  http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KfbAFgD2mLo

LUCY’S ANNUAL CHRISTMAS LETTER (2012)

Dig this photo, dudes!  That’s how I talk now because I’m a celeb.  This picture of me was named Photo of the Day on the Channel 9 News one day this summer, and that’s as big as it gets around here.  (Unless, your Jim Boeheim’s dog, maybe.)  It was a very hot day, as you can probably guess, and I had fallen asleep on some wet gravel with my head on a landscape timber.  It just goes to show you never know when your 15 minutes of fame will come bounding up and lick you right in the face!

You may be wondering about my health.  Dr. Chapman and the cool staff at Fayetteville Veterinary Hospital take great care of me. My daily med regimen includes one kidney pill, two thyroid pills, one glucosamine, and two shots of insulin.  I also got a leg sprain, but it is getting better.  All things considered, I am doing well and do not have bad breath or smelly gas, both health issues that plague so many of my species.

I’ve made lots of new friends since last Christmas.  I know Garrett, Griffin, Gwyneth, Dana, and Michelle from the bus stop.  They are people.  I also like to visit with Nancy, Tom and Beth O’Neill (also people), and Beth’s two Morkies named Winnie and Teddy.  They are dogs.

No big traveling this year for me, thank goodness.  My people, who you may remember are named Greg and Linda, went to Myrtle Beach last winter for a week, and I happily stayed with Camille and Jim at the Bed and Bowl.  I hate riding in a car for hour after hour! I pant like in a thunderstorm.  Plus, Linda’s always telling Greg how to drive, and Greg is always saying, “Linda!!  Please!”  It drives me crazy and makes me pant even harder.  I also stayed with Jim and Camille when Greg and Linda flew to Orlando.  I wouldn’t mind visiting the Mouse, but you’d never get me on one of those airplanes.  I’m afraid of the height of our front step, for pete sake!

Most often these days, you can find me chained to the tree in the front yard of our house.  Now, I really don’t need to be chained.  I wouldn’t go anywhere.  But they got laws, you see, like chain your dog and pick up her poop on a walk.  I leave those poops in strategic places because I want other dogs to know I was there, but Greg is right behind me with a TOPS bag picking them up.  Anyway, from the front yard, I can keep an eye on the neighborhood and bark hello to everyone who passes by.

Someone asked me once, “Would you date a pit bull?”  Of course, I would if he had been brought up in a kind household as I was brought up in.  I believe in nurture over nature. Truthfully, I like my male dogs smaller and hairier than pit bulls.  I’m in love with Max Smolnycki.  He is a cute little Maltese, and he dotes on me.  Below is a picture of Max kissing me under the kitchen table in my house.  Notice my smile!  I’d like to visit him more often, but going to other people’s houses makes me nervous.

It’s time to close this holiday greeting to all my friends--canine, human, and feline.  Special howl-o out to my new cousin Marvin, a cute little hound, who Jan and Chris saved from a kill shelter.  I haven’t met him yet.  I understand he has a little growing up to do.  Get with it, Marv, so we can hang out!

Merry Christmas and Happy New Year everybody!  Happy Howlidays to all!  I woof you all so much.  Here’s a slobbery kiss for each of you. xxxxxxxxxxxx

Lucy

P.S.  Merry shout-outs to my other unmentioned human, dog and cat relatives and friends including Dunkin, Dan and Jill, Don and Ellen and my California cousins, Aunt Claire, Uncle Tim and Tuxedo, Ken, Andrew and Anna and Marshall and Mason, Maggie and Cole, Tom and Heidi and Lily and Grayson, Abby, Mat and Murphy, any extra dogs in the Sollame house, Grandma and Pappap and all the Webster gang, all the Hershey gang, and Nana.

Lucy’s 2012 Christmas Photo