A Tribute to Karen

As a 46 year old man, I realize that I can fall victim to a generation gap. I often get told things like: “That was then, this is now”, “Things are different now”, and other such comments. It’s difficult for me sometimes. I never thought I would be one of those people who mused about how music, movies, art, and society in general is circling the proverbial drain. I have since learned to embrace that role. I have come to discover today that there IS apparently something going out of style: chivalry, etiquette, and pure and simple respect. Such traits are apparently not only circling the drain, they are down the tubes and causing an intolerable, pungent clog. The most recent evidence of this comes in the story of a local area bus monitor named Karen Klein.
Karen Klein is a 68 year-old bus monitor working in the school district of Greece, NY (my neighborhood). Karen was doing her job as she has dutifully done for years on a somewhat meager salary. Sadly, during the course of a routine bus ride, several students from Greece Athena Middle School became criminally unruly. That’s right, folks. I said MIDDLE school. I am talking about students ranging in age from 12 – 15 years old. I know we all wish to think that kids go to school and behave like angels. Let me remind you of one Biblical fact – Lucifer was an angel too.
Karen sat in her seat amongst these students with incredible decorum. When it came to etiquette and respect, Karen lead by example. The incorrigible students thought it was better to show another example of behavior. These students hurled one profane remark after another at Karen. They insulted her about her weight, made jokes about committing sexual acts with her, and threatened her with violence. More than once, one of the students literally poked at her. One student even implied that her kids should commit suicide. By sad coincidence, Karen had already lost a son to suicide. As if this was not all enough, the students were apparently so proud of their behavior, they shot video footage that went on for 10 minutes and uploaded it to YouTube.
This is where things began to unravel somewhat for these mutinous miscreants. Once the video footage hit the Internet, it went VIRAL. The video got more than 100,000 hits from as far away as Australia. People from all over the world have reached out to the school district regarding the video. What’s more, the local police have promised to assist in the investigation. I truly hope that every student involved in this reprehensible behavior receives swift and severe disciplinary action. Perhaps, they can do community service cleaning stalls at the Seneca Park Zoo. After all, why not let animals take care of their own. Furthermore, I would like to see every student involved present Karen Klein with a rose and an apology. This ceremonial policy should take place on camera with their mothers present. Make these students face their actions, face their mothers, face Karen Klein, and ultimately face the world. It seems only fitting since they apparently enjoy a worldwide audience.
I should point out that there is SOME good outcome from all this. Someone started a fundraiser on the Internet to fund a vacation for Karen Klein. The fundraising goal was $5,000. As of this writing, more than $43,000 has been raised on behalf of Karen Klein. The link for the fundraiser is at http://igg.me/p/124322.
To the reprehensible students: May you face a severe penalty for your behavior. I also hope that your mother, grandmother, sister, and future spouse is NEVER subjected to such behavior. May your future children never commit such acts.
To the school district and local authorities: I am sure you all continue to work very hard daily to keep our kids out of the gutter. Clearly, the gutter must also be cleaned out.
To Karen Klein: Thank you for your years of service. I hope you enjoy your well-deserved vacation. I hope that you encounter a random young teenager who will kiss your cheek and hug your neck. Chivalry is not dead. It’s just the reinforcement of chivalry that is lacking.

The Musty Basement of My Mind

Every once in a while, I get somewhat of a lull in my day. When such a lull occurs, I sometimes let my mind  wander on any given random subject that pops into my head. This is why I often refer to my writing as random ramblings and mindless minutiae.Such mental wandering can often lead down some amusing bunny trails.
Allow me to offer you some background that can give you an idea of how the rambling starts. I am what you call a frustrated guitarist. I know a few chords, a few scales, and some decent riffs or two. Having said that, no one is going to make me sing for my supper. Some HAVE been known to start feeding me so I will shut up and stop playing. Now, there are many guitarist out there that I admire. Presently, I am a bit fixated on Jeff Beck. This guy has a long history that includes playing with the likes of Rod Stewart and The Yardbirds. He is also a well known musician in his own right. Jeff Beck is truly a master of the Stratocaster. I have had his song “Freeway Jam” stuck in my head for days.
This fixation on Jeff Beck lead me to watching a video of him performing at the 2010 Crossroads Festival. Watching Jeff Beck playing his beautiful song “Cause We’ve Ended As Lovers” simply made my jaw drop. I also enjoyed watching other acts such as Robert Cray and Joe Bonamassa perform. The seamless interaction with the other musicians onstage is nothing of short of fascinating to me. Then, a pun popped into my head about how it seemed seamless. It was seemingly seamless.
Once the puns started going into my head I started thinking about all the musician jokes I have heard. I have heard (and shared) jokes about drummer, bass players, singers, and guitarist. After all, if I am unwilling to share jokes about guitarists, I have little business joking about the others. Such jokes include (but are not limited to) the following:

• How many drummers does it take to change a light bulb? ONE…TWO…ONE, TWO, THREE, FOUR!
• How many bass players does it take to change a light bulb? None. Leave it out. No one will notice.
• How many lead singers does it take to change a light bulb? One – he holds the bulb in the socket and the world revolves around him.
• How many guitarists does it take to change a light bulb? Twelve – One to change it and the other eleven to say they could have done it better.

This rambling prompted me to think about the symbols on a music staff (as similar symbols in general). I found it perfectly natural that joking about music had me thinking of symbols (Did you really think I was going to let that pun get away?). Anyway, I was thinking about the symbol for a flat note (♭). When I see it I get images of a lowercase letter b, or a broken golf club, or a flower with only one petal left. This, of course lead me to the the symbol for a sharp note (♯). I, then, briefly thought: Hey, aren’t they just using the same symbol as the number key?  I would come to discover they they are not the same. The number sign (#) is also known as the pound sign. The key distinguishing difference from the musical sharp symbol (♯), is that the pound sign has true horizontal lines whereas the sharp symbol has diagonal lines. In net speak, the pound sign is also known as a hash tag. Personally, I think a hash tag sounds like something a 70’s acid rocker uses to label his stash. I try to stay family friendly so I won’t digress on that.This leads me to think of other symbols such as the ampersand ( &) which is used often used to symbolize the word “and”. Then I got to thinking of the at symbol (@). Now this poor symbol, unlike, the ampersand and pound sign, doesn’t even have it’s own special name. It is simply named after it’s function. Does this make the at symbol feel inferior?
Now, all of this rambling had me thinking about the musical pun about slipping on a banana peel: If you don’t C♯ then you might B♭ & in the end your face might # into the ground and you will wind up @ the hospital. This is how my mind wanders in my spare time. I appreciate you indulging me by taking a step into the musty basement that is my mind. Oh yeah, one more joke: What does it mean when a guitarist is drooling from both sides of his mouth? The stage is level.

From Henrietta Town Hall to the Commencement Stage (The Beauty of a Dream Realized)

As many of you whom have read my pieces before can by now easily surmise, this is another piece on the subject of graduation. However, one should note that this piece is taking a bit of a different turn in subject matter. Previously, I have written about my kids reaching the point of graduation. I have written about 2 high school graduations and a college graduation. I am very proud of my kids and want them to know that I look forward to the opportunity to write more graduation pieces for them. This piece however focuses on my lovely queen – my wife, Renee.
My wife, Renee, is going through commencement today to celebrate her 4 year degree in Social Work. I won’t lie to anyone. I was nervous about my wife going back to college for her degree. A lot of it had to do with the timing. I had enrolled into a 4 degree program myself in 2010. It took quite a great deal of legwork on my wife’s part to get my college enrollment in place. Once, I have my placement in the program, I had the moment of naiveté in thinking that I could relax since our enrollment struggles were over. I was wrong. My wife then announced that she was choosing to go back to college herself to obtain a degree in social work. I had wondered at the time why this news jolted me so much. My wife pointed out to me in a unrelated conversation recently: “You just don’t like to have things upset your applecart”. That statement proved to be as true in that conversation as it did (in retrospect) about her announcement about her college enrollment. If there is one thing my wife has taught me it is this – An upset applecart is often…upsetting. However, many times, an upset apple cart is often the origin of a mighty fine pie.
I should also point out that my wife’s career in social work did not begin in 2010. It actually began much earlier. Renee and I were married in a town hall in Henrietta, New York in 1993. I had two older kids from a previous marriage. Renee also had a 2 year old girl. In addition, Renee was VERY with child. Our youngest, Caleb was born 3 weeks to the day of our marriage. It was determined in the years that followed that Caleb was born with a mild form of autism - Pervasive Developmental Disorder (Not Otherwise Specified). This diagnosis helped pave a long road of Renee learning to advocate for our children via Hard Knock University (the curriculum is relentless). Renee did a lot of hard work and research to be sure that if any of our four kids, needed services at school, medical care, or even surgery it happened. She proved to be a tenacious tigress who would do anything to provide for her young and devour anyone who tried to impede her task.
So here we are today in 2012. My wife is walking a stage to indicate the start of a new career. Renee is already involved in some organizations that help provide advocacy for people with autism and other developmental disorders. I have seen her help others obtain services they thought was unavailable. She not only allows others to see the tigress on action. She often helps bring out the tiger in others. Her work has even influenced our daughter, Brianna, to steer her own career toward autism awareness and advocacy (a tigress babe in training?)  Be advised, Western New York, you are about to see an ambush of tigers take on autism reform and advocacy bigger than you have ever seen.
Now onto a note of a more personal nature to my wife. Renee, I realize that with both of us wrapping up college studies for the semester, we have both been rather busy and I have been rather silent. I have tried to figure a way to express how extraordinarily proud I am of you today. To do so, I am going to borrow one of our daughter’s favorite quotes: "The future belongs to those who believe in the beauty of their dreams."  - Eleanor Roosevelt. Congratulations, my lovely queen on the beauty of a dream realized.. I look forward to seeing you move the tassel on your crown. I love you.

More Mining for More Minutiae

Howdy there, folks. Once again, I am here to give you my take on the events of this past week. After being caught up with the combined demands of work, school, and family; it is good to be back writing again. Typically, when I write, I try to find information or situations that provoke confusion, anger, or (ideally) laughter. The news events from this past week have been, if nothing else, thought provoking.
One of the major events of this week is that Facebook founder and CEO Mark Zuckerberg got married this weekend. Zuckerberg married a lovely lady named Priscilla Chan after a 9 year relationship. This wedding occurred the day after Facebook had an IPO that could have made Zuckerberg a gazillionaire. Well played, Mrs. Zuckerberg. I hope you have a better ROI than your husband did at his IPO.
There have been several celebrities who have passed away in this past month. Like most of us, I tend to file such news under the categories of “c’est la vie”, “que sera sera”, “vini vidi vici” (no wait, that one doesn’t apply here). Such passings have included actor George “Goober” Lindsey and hair designer Vidal Sassoon. This week however, two musical giants from the disco era have left this earth after losing their respective bouts with cancer – Donna Summer and Robin Gibb. Now, I was not a huge disco fan mind you. However, as a very young teenager, I had to assimilate somewhat because disco was played at school dances and school dances had girls. It is with this in mind that I must thank Miss Summer for all the kisses I was able to get during “Last Dance”. Also, please forgive the fact that I once danced in public. Robin Gibb was on third of a harmonious trio known as the Bee Gees (Brothers Gibb). Mr. Gibb, I forgive you and your brothers for the Sgt. Pepper’s movie. Thank you for such songs as “Nights on Broadway”, How Deep Is Your Love?”, and “I Started a Joke”.  May you and Miss Summer rest in peace.
On a more local note, a man here in Rochester, NY has reported that his dog is missing. Apparently, his cocker spaniel (Gabi) was abducted from the back seat of his car while he was shopping at the Rochester Public Market. Gabi is only a year old and her owners are desperate to get her back. Personally, I think anybody who steals someone else’s dog ought to be flogged in the center of the public market. I’d settle for Gabi’s safe return and a mild dog bite.
Well, folks, thanks for indulging me. I will try not to go so long between postings as I truly enjoy writing them and sharing them with you.

Insert Bad Bowling Pun Here

There are some leisure activities that I do not particularly like. One fine example would be golf. This is because I do not understand a sport that will have a grown man waking up at 5 AM (on his day off), spend hours in an activity that would have a Bible believing pastor cussing and throwing metal objects, and say that they do it to “unwind and relax”. There are other activities that, while I truly enjoy them, I do not participate very often because I just absolutely stink at it. The example I will use for this writing is the wonderful pastime of bowling.

I find bowling to be a truly enjoyable activity. That is, once you put aside any germophobic concerns and rent a pair of uncomfortable shoes to play the game. Once you have done this, you get to hurl a sphere down a lane with the intention of knocking 10 pins down. Each regulation game has 10 frames with up to two chances per frame. The 10th frame offers up to three chances to knock down the pins. These means you have up to 21 chances to hurl the sphere, knock down the pins, and make the obligatory grandstanding gesture. As an added bonus, the grandstanding is not part of your score so you are not penalized if your Chuck Berry duck walk does not meet the approval of your audience. I mean what is not to like about this game?

Nevertheless, I do not bowl very often as I have never been very good at it. This is in spite of the fact that I was actually on a bowling league in 6th grade. Mind you, I think it was the league’s first year and to get on the team you just had to sign up. You only got “cut” once they ran out of spots. Still, if you are a student of Azalea Middle School in Mobile, Alabama and on the bowling team, you can now stated that you have read the work from one of the league’s pioneers.

Once a week, after school, we would take a bus to a nearby bowling alley. Each team in the league would bowl 3 games. The leader of our team was in the 8th grade and a very proficient bowler. He was very good at certain bowling techniques that I routinely failed. For example, he was very good at keeping his ball out of the gutter and actually knocking the pins down. He was also good at doing so while avoiding two things I did quite often – crossing the foul line or falling down. Actually, in one shining moment, I did both of those things. I formed my stance. I proceeded forward and began to hurl my ball down the lane. However, in doing so, I slipped and fell. Once I fell, I actually began to slide forward with half my body ending up across the foul line. Normally, my team leader was very stern and impatient about such things (probably because I managed to do this so often). This time was different. He came over, helped me up and asked me if I was OK. He then offered to let me bowl my frame over again. I curiously asked him why since I had, once again, fallen AND crossed the foul line. He then pointed toward the pins. I HAD KNOCKED THEM ALL DOWN. That’s right. I fell down, wound up across the foul line from my head to my waist, and got a STRIKE. I bowled my frame again, without falling, and knocked down a total of 2 pins. Clearly, lightning wasn’t striking twice here.

Yesterday, some 34 years later, I decided to go to the bowling alley for the first time in what must have been a good 10 years. The reason I did this is that I signed up for a corporate bowling tournament at my job to support Big Brothers/Big Sisters. I wanted bowling to be a recent memory before the tournament. I rented my pair of community germ ridden, uncomfortable shoes and selected my bowling ball. I looked up and, with humorous curiosity, asked God: How long will it take before I fall down in front of a bunch of 7 year olds having a birthday party to my right? God provided his answer – in the first frame. The number 10 pin was a routine victim in my practice as it was often the only pin I knocked down. It should be noted, however, that I knocked that lone pin down with great ferocity. In subsequent frames, I believe the other pins fell down merely as an act of compassion and kindness. I did manage to get a strike without falling or crossing the foul line.

I don’t think the other teams in this forthcoming tournament have much to worry about from the likes of me. Still, if I was a number 10 bowling pin, I’d start quivering with fear.

Caleb Finds A Fist

As a parent, I have learned many times over that what may seem to be a small victory is actually a huge triumph. I am not just talking about going to the grocery store and having the wheels on your buggy being able to move (and all in the same direction). I am not even talking about driving on the expressway and witnessing a cop pull over the Jeff Gordon wannabe who just whipped around you at what had to be 110 MPH (because you KNOW you were doing like 75). I am talking about something huge, monstrous, titanic, herculean, colossal and….well you get the point and I have run out of adjective named after Greek gods. Allow me to explain this more thoroughly.
My younger son, Caleb, was born with a condition called syndactyly. Syndactyly is a condition where two or more digits on the hands or feet are webbed together. Caleb had a pair of toes partially webbed together on each foot. He also had a pair of digits partially webbed together on one hand. The other hand had a pair of digits that were completely webbed together. This is a hereditary condition. As it turns out, Caleb inherited this condition from my side of the family. I only found this out after I was discussing Caleb’s condition with my mother. My mother had two toes that were webbed together. I never knew that until Caleb was born. It may seem strange to some of you that I did not know this before but how many of you go out of your way to look at your mother’s feet?
Caleb had multiple surgeries over the years to help correct the syndactyly. The surgery initially involved separating the affected digits and grafting skin from other areas of his body to help these digits heal and grow. The reason why this surgery had to be done several times is that the scar tissue would cause his fingers to contract as his bones grew. The scar tissue would also cause the nails of the affected fingers to be offset slightly to the side.
Several months ago, at the age of 18, Caleb had yet another surgery to help the fingers gain more mobility and to reset the fingernail. This surgery also involved the placement of a titanium pin into one of the fingers on his left hand. This was to help straighten the finger which had become contracted somewhat. After several weeks the pin was removed and Caleb began adjusting to his post operative freedom of movement.
It should be note at this point that Caleb’s personality and demeanor is somewhat passive. He is not a wimp by any means but at the same time he is not one I have to worry about bullying some kid for his lunch money. I was sitting in my room one night and Caleb walked in. Without saying a word, he faced his mother and me and made a fist with his left hand. This struck me unusual for two reasons. First of all, Caleb is right handed. Secondly, when he made this left handed fist, he had a look on his face as if he were posing for a heavy metal music magazine. He then proudly announced: “I CAN MAKE A FIST!” This is something he had never been able to do before with his left hand. He was now doing it for the first time in 18 years. That son of mine could not have been happier if he had beaten Sonic the Hedgehog in the 50 yard dash. There’s not even a Greek god derived adjective to describe it.

Mining For Minutiae

As a writer, I have never had the delusion of grandeur to think that my writing will set the world on fire. My main purpose is to share things that I observe that provoke a response in me. That response may be anger, confusion, or (ideally) laughter. Once I have identified the response, the other purpose is to get you, the reader to enjoy the story as I have lain it out to you. If it makes you laugh, I am flattered. If not, I hope I can at least get you to understand how I feel about something.
My sources usually come from personal experiences. Some are recent. Others are from sometime in my past. Occasionally, however, I go mining for material. Sometimes, I just go to a public place such as the mall, a restaurant, or a library. Other times, I surf the Internet. Usually when I do such mining, I am looking for something unusual and amusing that I could not have conceived even in my most vivid imagination (and my mind is a pretty warped record at times). For the purpose of this writing, I decided to mine the media, peruse the news, and find the glories in the stories. I was not disappointed. Before I begin, I’d like to thank BBC.com and MSNBC.com for providing stories that would have zoned out Rod Serling and Robert Ripley would never believe.
The first piece is one I truly had sympathy for the person involved. Honestly, I did. It just didn’t look that way when I was laughing so hard at the picture to scroll down the webpage. Apparently, a dog passed away at the ripe old age of 15. This wasn’t just ANY dog. This dog was a mix of chihuahua and Chinese crested breeds. This amusing mixed breed was named Yoda. Why, you ask, would anyone give their dog such a name? As it turns out, Yoda’s appearance consisted of very short sprouts of thin hair all over her tiny body. She also had this incredible bulging eyes and a protruding tongue. The story even says that when the owner first found Yoda she was initially mistaken for a rat. However, Yoda’s true distinction comes from a contest in which she was entered by her owner in 2011.Yoda won her owner $1000 dollars for being deemed by a panel of judges as the World’s Ugliest Dog. My curiosity got the better of me so I surfed the net for the contest. Let’s just say that Yoda had her competitor’s beat hands down. To Yoda’s owner, I extend my sincere condolences and please forgive my uproarious laughter. To Yoda, the World’s Ugliest Dog, in peace rest you must. This story can be found at http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/world-us-canada-17380971
The next story I ran across came from a small town in Italy called Falciano del Massico. Apparently this town is so small that it has run out of burial space. Therefore, the town’s mayor decided to exercise a brilliant political prerogative. This mayor passed a law that outlaws dying. That’s right, citizens of Falciano del Massico are forbidden by law to die. I presume this brilliant piece of legislation is being enforced by capital punishment. Actually, if the accused is lucky, he might get life. Find this piece at http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/world-europe-17378497
Shifting back again to the animal kingdom, I ran across a study about the colossal squid. These creatures are incredibly huge (as their name implies). However, some scientists wanted to determine why these great sea creatures have eyeballs the size of basketballs (three times the diameter of any other animal). Now personally, I would have told these scientists to save their money. I would then tell them that the reason they have Voit written on their eyeballs is because – IT’S A GIANT SQUID. Oh but, nay nay nay, nix nix nix, spake the scientists. These eyes help to detect a sperm whale from great distances. The sperm whale is a natural predator of the colossal squid.
Don’t believe it. Go to http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/46749434/ns/technology_and_science-science/#.T2KAIBGxaTk
Lastly, I found a story that rendered me unable to find the most appropriate reaction – shock? disbelief? raucous laughter? Apparently, a very unique rabbit was discovered at a zoo in Germany. This rare creature that was born out of a litter of six with no ears. As if this poor rabbit didn’t have enough problems, a camera crew showed up to film a news report. The cameraman took one step back and unintentionally stepped on this innocent rare rabbit. It was accidental but unfortunately fatal to the rabbit (his name was Til by the way). Now along with the unfortunate death of this rare rabbit, this news reporter has to live with the fact that he also killed the news story and created a new news story at the same time. This poor guy will get into a fight with his wife years later. Just when he thinks he has the upper hand in the argument, his wife will say: “Oh yeah? Well, you killed a bunny without ears”. This tragic tale of Til can be found at http://entertainment.msnbc.msn.com/_news/2012/03/15/10700716-mutant-bunny-crushed-to-death-by-cameraman-at-news-conference
Well folks, there you have it. I know many of you have read my stuff and think I have a warped sense of humor and creativity. You would be correct. As you can see, however, some things are even wilder than my imagination.