I think that my Aunt Joyce is conspiring with Hallmark. Just the other day, I was faced with yet another form of the “baby” pressure. I had to pick up a wedding card (money holder, of course) for Kim G. Much to my shock, awe and utter dismay, I notice that the wedding card section is spooning the new baby section. “Are you effing kidding me? “, I exclaimed to myself, while standing in the cards/baking/spices aisle. As if it is not enough, hearing my aunt, my father, my students, my nieces, and my cleaning guy Walter asking when I plan to procreate; now I have the card companies adding the pressure? What kind of message is that? Get married…..have babies…..Umm, Hallmark, American Greeting, Carlton Cards….LAY OFF. The expectations of where you are supposed to be as compared to where you are in your 30’s are tough enough to deal with without you reminding us of why we should be gettin’ it on. Not to mention, but depending on the direction you are traveling down the cards/baking/spices aisle, in this case, due West, it would appear as though the baby cards come BEFORE the wedding cards. Chew on that, Associated Press and all of the mothers and do-gooders of America who have been protesting the maternity section of Forever 21! FYI--many women, woman upwards of 18, shop at "THE F", so move on!!! As my cousin Valerie suggested, perhaps the new baby cards should be in the birthday section. I think her idea is great (so don't steal it).
If you have a birthday, wedding, anniversary, etcetera event coming up, expect a hand made card from me.
Monday, July 26, 2010
Wednesday, July 14, 2010
Say It Ain't So
As the saying goes, things happen in threes. Why three? Perhaps the number three feels better in our brain than four. Three is the first prime number. There is the triangle and the Trinity. I personally have never heard anyone reference the “threes” when good things happen; only bad. I am mourning the death of a new trio: Mel Gibson’s career, Bob Sheppard, and George Steinbrenner. Mel has been dead to me for quite some time. Despite the Australian accent*, Anti-Semitic, anti-women, ethnic, and racial slurs just don’t make me want to hear what he has to say. However, the death of Bob Sheppard*, “the voice of the Yankees”, really choked me up. I love when I hear his voice introduce my favorite shortstop, Derek Jeter. There is just something about his voice that really gets me. I can’t describe it. I guess you just have to be there, in the stadium, to hear it booming over the speakers. That is, if you can hear it over my screaming “MARRY ME DEREK”. Now, Steinbrenner also had a notable voice which was parodied a la Larry David during the time when George Costanza worked for the Yankees on Seinfeld. Perhaps I am shallow to mention that above the business savvy of Mr. Steinbrenner, who believed paying multi-million salaries to ball players and who essentially built the Yankees who I personally wish I knew, but love.
*MEL GIBSON was actually born in PEAKSKILL, NY.
*BOB SHEPPARD lived just a town over from my family in BALDWIN, NY.
*MEL GIBSON was actually born in PEAKSKILL, NY.
*BOB SHEPPARD lived just a town over from my family in BALDWIN, NY.
Wednesday, July 7, 2010
Fact or Fiction
"Women Are Smarter"
Grateful Dead
Let us put men and women together
See which one is smarter
Some say men, but I say no
Women run the men like a puppet show
It ain't me
It's the people that say
Men are leading the women astray
But I say, it's the women today
Smarter than the man in every way
Chorus:
That's right
The women are smarter
That's right
The women are smarter
That's right
The women are smarter
The women are smarter
That's right
Little boy sit on the corner and cry
Big man come and he asked him why
He said, "I can't do what the big boys do"
The man sat down and he cried too
It ain't me
It's the people that say
Men are leading the women astray
But I say, it's the women today
Smarter than the man in every way
Chorus:
That's right
The women are smarter
That's right
The women are smarter
That's right
The women are smarter
The women are smarter
That's right, that's right
Ever since the world began
Women been banned from the ways of man
Listen boy cuz I've got a plan
Give it up, don't try and understand
It ain't me
It's the people that say
Men are leading the women astray
But I say, it's the women today
Smarter than the man in every way
Chorus:
That's right
The women are smarter
That's right
The women are smarter
That's right
The women are smarter
The women are smarter
That's right
Let us put men and women together
See which one is smarter
Some say men, but I say no
Women run the men like a puppet show
It ain't me
It's the people that say
Men are leading the women astray
But I say, it's the women today
Smarter than the man in every way
Chorus:
That's right
The women are smarter
That's right
The women are smarter
That's right
The women are smarter
The women are smarter
That's right, that's right
Perhaps the Dead were ahead of their time or maybe they were just realistic. I do believe that if women have to squeeze a baby-- a freakn human--out of their you know what, then they must be the superior gender. We put up with pms, periods, sore boobs, pregnancy, and MEN. Men who thank god at night that they are men, men who have a brain but often think with their "guy", men who either leave the seat down but pee on the rim or who leave it up so that women suddenly wonder where the hell the bidet came from in the middle of the night.
Now, now. Settle down. I am not a man hater, although I do hate some men. Overall, women get a bad rap because we are so emotional. We cry one minute, laugh the next. I admit it; I am a certifiable train wreck/bitch/psycho at certain times. Yet, why is it men don't get the rap when they are having their own form of "that time of the month"? This rant is not even what the core of this entry is about. This rant is trying to move the focus from what I have heard to be as fact; that men age better than women. If that were true, then why do men generally pay higher life insurance premiums than women? Perhaps men have been known to be more risky in their driving or their ego's tend to push them to complete the dare presented to them despite the rational little angel on the shoulder that is telling them to just walk away. But i must mention again, that women squeeze humans out of their va-jj's!!! I would like to blow this "fact" up. This past weekend, I saw firsthand what has happened to some of the men I used to ogle when they were wee lads. And none of it is good. Cosmetically, women are at an advantage; makeup does a world of wonder. Have you ever seen a woman without her "face" on? If the sight was more of a scream than Paranormal Activity, then perhaps she should look into permanent makeup application. Or flip it. If a woman looks better without makeup, then great; another option. Let's talk hair. When a woman goes gray, she can dye her hair. Roots never have to be an issue if one is vigilant and has an excellent colorist. Hair can also be crafted so that parts are manipulated this way and that. Men on the other hand, normally don't wear makeup. It is cool if they do, but I'm just saying. Sometimes all a gal needs is slap of lip gloss and a quick coat of mascara. What can a man do?? Chapstick? When a man dyes his hair, it is sooooooooooo obvious. When a man wears a piece, it is soooooooooooo obvious. Rogaine, plugs....GO FOR IT!!! Just don't pretend that the one piece of hair stretched over from the opposite side of your head is the cure all for baldness. It is not.
Now, weight. Women take a lot of crap when they put on a few pounds, yet with a man, it is a different story. I do not believe they get accused of being pregnant when there is a belly bulge and fashions do not dictate the A-line/empire style displayed in many a storefront window. The paunch seems to take a backseat to the pouch women have for no other reason than they are a women. BOOBS--they are for women, not for men. If I knew you back in the day and I see you now, at a pool, for instance, and it looks like you are topless, then yes, you have man boobs. Nature is not always kind to men with this aspect, but I do believe that if I knew you then, we all would have noticed your girls. So when I walk passed some guys who perhaps I might have panted over, even stalked a bit, and see that their hairs are now a hair, they have breasts, a gut and two to three chins, then I look at myself and my girls from back in the day, is it so insane to think that maybe there is something to be said for how the genders age?
Could it be that these guys would look better if they took better care of themselves? Is it them who have let themselves go now that domestic life has taken over? Why are women the ones who are supposed to keep up their appearance and not the men? Check out this Excerpt from “Housekeeping Monthly”, 13 May, 1955
· “Have dinner ready. Plan ahead, even the night before, to have a delicious meal ready, on time for his return. This is a way of letting him know that you have been thinking about him and are concerned about his needs. Most men are hungry when they come home and the prospect of a good meal (especially his favorite dish) is part of the warm welcome needed.
· Prepare yourself. Take 15 minutes to rest so you’ll be refreshed when he arrives. Touch up your make-up, put a ribbon in your hair and be fresh-looking. He has just been with a lot of work-weary people.
· Be a little gay and a little more interesting for him. His boring day may need a lift and one of your duties is to provide it.
· Clear away the clutter. Make one last trip through the main part of the house just before your husband arrives.
· Gather up schoolbooks, toys, paper, etc and then run a dust cloth over the tables.
· Over the cooler months of the year you should prepare and light a fire for him to unwind by. Your husband will feel he has reached a haven of rest and order, and it will give you a lift too. After all, catering for his comfort will provide you immense personal satisfaction.
· Prepare the children. Take a few minutes to wash the children’s hands and face (if they are small), comb their hair, and if necessary, change their clothes. They are little treasures and he would like to see them playing the part. Minimize all noise. At the time of his arrival, eliminate all noise of the washer, dryer or vacuum. Try to encourage the children to be quiet.
· Be happy to see him. Greet him with a warm smile and show sincerity in your desire to please him.
· Listen to him. You may have a dozen important things to tell him, but the moment of his return is not the time. Let him talk first-remember, his topics of conversation are more important than yours.
· Make the evening his. Never complain if he comes home late or goes out to dinner, or other places of entertainment without you. Instead, try to understand his world of strain and pressure, and his very real need to be at home and relax.
· Your goal: Try to make sure your home is a place of peace, order and tranquility where your husband can renew himself in body and spirit.
· Don’t greet him with complaints and problems.
· Don’t complain if he’s late home for dinner or even if he stays out all night. Count this as minor compared with what he might have gone through that day.
· Make him comfortable. Have him lean back in a comfortable chair or have him lie down in the bedroom. Have a cool or warm drink ready for him.
· Arrange his pillow and offer to take off his shoes. Speak in a low, soothing and pleasant voice.
· Don’t ask him questions about his actions or question his judgment or integrity. Remember, he is the master of the house and as such will always exercise his will with fairness and truthfulness. You have no right to question him.
· A good wife always knows her place.”
Re-direct your attention to the second bullet. REALLY? If i am busy arranging pillows, focusing on the tone and volume of my voice, pushing all of my emotions down into the pit of my stomach, cleaning up toys, etc, preparing a meal, then the least you can do, honey, is trim your toe nails, camo your gut and keep a shirt on. If you wear the pants, then let me flaunt my boobs.
Grateful Dead
Let us put men and women together
See which one is smarter
Some say men, but I say no
Women run the men like a puppet show
It ain't me
It's the people that say
Men are leading the women astray
But I say, it's the women today
Smarter than the man in every way
Chorus:
That's right
The women are smarter
That's right
The women are smarter
That's right
The women are smarter
The women are smarter
That's right
Little boy sit on the corner and cry
Big man come and he asked him why
He said, "I can't do what the big boys do"
The man sat down and he cried too
It ain't me
It's the people that say
Men are leading the women astray
But I say, it's the women today
Smarter than the man in every way
Chorus:
That's right
The women are smarter
That's right
The women are smarter
That's right
The women are smarter
The women are smarter
That's right, that's right
Ever since the world began
Women been banned from the ways of man
Listen boy cuz I've got a plan
Give it up, don't try and understand
It ain't me
It's the people that say
Men are leading the women astray
But I say, it's the women today
Smarter than the man in every way
Chorus:
That's right
The women are smarter
That's right
The women are smarter
That's right
The women are smarter
The women are smarter
That's right
Let us put men and women together
See which one is smarter
Some say men, but I say no
Women run the men like a puppet show
It ain't me
It's the people that say
Men are leading the women astray
But I say, it's the women today
Smarter than the man in every way
Chorus:
That's right
The women are smarter
That's right
The women are smarter
That's right
The women are smarter
The women are smarter
That's right, that's right
Perhaps the Dead were ahead of their time or maybe they were just realistic. I do believe that if women have to squeeze a baby-- a freakn human--out of their you know what, then they must be the superior gender. We put up with pms, periods, sore boobs, pregnancy, and MEN. Men who thank god at night that they are men, men who have a brain but often think with their "guy", men who either leave the seat down but pee on the rim or who leave it up so that women suddenly wonder where the hell the bidet came from in the middle of the night.
Now, now. Settle down. I am not a man hater, although I do hate some men. Overall, women get a bad rap because we are so emotional. We cry one minute, laugh the next. I admit it; I am a certifiable train wreck/bitch/psycho at certain times. Yet, why is it men don't get the rap when they are having their own form of "that time of the month"? This rant is not even what the core of this entry is about. This rant is trying to move the focus from what I have heard to be as fact; that men age better than women. If that were true, then why do men generally pay higher life insurance premiums than women? Perhaps men have been known to be more risky in their driving or their ego's tend to push them to complete the dare presented to them despite the rational little angel on the shoulder that is telling them to just walk away. But i must mention again, that women squeeze humans out of their va-jj's!!! I would like to blow this "fact" up. This past weekend, I saw firsthand what has happened to some of the men I used to ogle when they were wee lads. And none of it is good. Cosmetically, women are at an advantage; makeup does a world of wonder. Have you ever seen a woman without her "face" on? If the sight was more of a scream than Paranormal Activity, then perhaps she should look into permanent makeup application. Or flip it. If a woman looks better without makeup, then great; another option. Let's talk hair. When a woman goes gray, she can dye her hair. Roots never have to be an issue if one is vigilant and has an excellent colorist. Hair can also be crafted so that parts are manipulated this way and that. Men on the other hand, normally don't wear makeup. It is cool if they do, but I'm just saying. Sometimes all a gal needs is slap of lip gloss and a quick coat of mascara. What can a man do?? Chapstick? When a man dyes his hair, it is sooooooooooo obvious. When a man wears a piece, it is soooooooooooo obvious. Rogaine, plugs....GO FOR IT!!! Just don't pretend that the one piece of hair stretched over from the opposite side of your head is the cure all for baldness. It is not.
Now, weight. Women take a lot of crap when they put on a few pounds, yet with a man, it is a different story. I do not believe they get accused of being pregnant when there is a belly bulge and fashions do not dictate the A-line/empire style displayed in many a storefront window. The paunch seems to take a backseat to the pouch women have for no other reason than they are a women. BOOBS--they are for women, not for men. If I knew you back in the day and I see you now, at a pool, for instance, and it looks like you are topless, then yes, you have man boobs. Nature is not always kind to men with this aspect, but I do believe that if I knew you then, we all would have noticed your girls. So when I walk passed some guys who perhaps I might have panted over, even stalked a bit, and see that their hairs are now a hair, they have breasts, a gut and two to three chins, then I look at myself and my girls from back in the day, is it so insane to think that maybe there is something to be said for how the genders age?
Could it be that these guys would look better if they took better care of themselves? Is it them who have let themselves go now that domestic life has taken over? Why are women the ones who are supposed to keep up their appearance and not the men? Check out this Excerpt from “Housekeeping Monthly”, 13 May, 1955
· “Have dinner ready. Plan ahead, even the night before, to have a delicious meal ready, on time for his return. This is a way of letting him know that you have been thinking about him and are concerned about his needs. Most men are hungry when they come home and the prospect of a good meal (especially his favorite dish) is part of the warm welcome needed.
· Prepare yourself. Take 15 minutes to rest so you’ll be refreshed when he arrives. Touch up your make-up, put a ribbon in your hair and be fresh-looking. He has just been with a lot of work-weary people.
· Be a little gay and a little more interesting for him. His boring day may need a lift and one of your duties is to provide it.
· Clear away the clutter. Make one last trip through the main part of the house just before your husband arrives.
· Gather up schoolbooks, toys, paper, etc and then run a dust cloth over the tables.
· Over the cooler months of the year you should prepare and light a fire for him to unwind by. Your husband will feel he has reached a haven of rest and order, and it will give you a lift too. After all, catering for his comfort will provide you immense personal satisfaction.
· Prepare the children. Take a few minutes to wash the children’s hands and face (if they are small), comb their hair, and if necessary, change their clothes. They are little treasures and he would like to see them playing the part. Minimize all noise. At the time of his arrival, eliminate all noise of the washer, dryer or vacuum. Try to encourage the children to be quiet.
· Be happy to see him. Greet him with a warm smile and show sincerity in your desire to please him.
· Listen to him. You may have a dozen important things to tell him, but the moment of his return is not the time. Let him talk first-remember, his topics of conversation are more important than yours.
· Make the evening his. Never complain if he comes home late or goes out to dinner, or other places of entertainment without you. Instead, try to understand his world of strain and pressure, and his very real need to be at home and relax.
· Your goal: Try to make sure your home is a place of peace, order and tranquility where your husband can renew himself in body and spirit.
· Don’t greet him with complaints and problems.
· Don’t complain if he’s late home for dinner or even if he stays out all night. Count this as minor compared with what he might have gone through that day.
· Make him comfortable. Have him lean back in a comfortable chair or have him lie down in the bedroom. Have a cool or warm drink ready for him.
· Arrange his pillow and offer to take off his shoes. Speak in a low, soothing and pleasant voice.
· Don’t ask him questions about his actions or question his judgment or integrity. Remember, he is the master of the house and as such will always exercise his will with fairness and truthfulness. You have no right to question him.
· A good wife always knows her place.”
Re-direct your attention to the second bullet. REALLY? If i am busy arranging pillows, focusing on the tone and volume of my voice, pushing all of my emotions down into the pit of my stomach, cleaning up toys, etc, preparing a meal, then the least you can do, honey, is trim your toe nails, camo your gut and keep a shirt on. If you wear the pants, then let me flaunt my boobs.
Thursday, July 1, 2010
NAILGASM
I am a picker. Of my nails. However, in fourth grade, my friend Jill caught me with my index finger digging for gold. From across the room, Jill mouthed; "You pick your nose?" I mouthed back; "No!!!" Meanwhile, I had a finger up my nose and Jill had what we now refer to as the "wings" hair cut, which was probably a modified mullet of sorts, but apparently popular for 1984. I digress....
I LOVE a good mani pedi. BUT, the kiss of death, even for the best manicure, is a major chip that provides the opportunity for me to pick of the polish. But this girl cannot stop at one nail. I must proceed to pick of the polish of my nine remaining nails. My friend Cheryl does the same thing. In fact, a couple of years ago I purchased a "desk" supply of cotton balls and polish remover for us just so we could scrape off the stubborn streaks of lacquer that were clinging to life on our ghetto nails.
So then, what is a NAILGASM? It is a clean peel of the polish off of the nail. It leaves nothing behind. It is a triumph. A few weeks ago, I decided to try the new color gel manicure by O.P.I. I went with "Linkin Park After Dark" since I knew how the color was supposed to turn out (a very dark purple, perhaps closer to black). I did not want to risk an unknown color on a twenty five dollar manicure. I suppose I am cheap BUT, Andy, my manicurist boyfriend guaranteed the color would last for two weeks. "Lisa...two weeks...no chip!!!" He had me at "no chip", but I figured I should at least commit fourteen days to a color I was familiar with. I freakin' loved how my nails looked; shiny and new day after day for about five days. There I am, Omaha bound, strapped into the seat of Boeing when I notice it. Thand GOD I had a Xanax in me!!! There, on my ring finger of my right had was a BUBBLE!!!! I was faced with a decision: do I let it go, wait until I get to Omaha and a Walgreens so that I could pick and remove the GUARANTEED TO LAST TWO WEEKS POLISH, or do I start to pick? The dilemma was solved rather quickly. Because I was sitting in the middle seat of the plane, I decided not to gross out my neighbors as I flicked Linkin Park After Dark through the air. About four hours later (YES, I held out THAT LONG), I was finally settled in my bed at the Doubletree, four cookies to the wind, when I began to peel. Talk about worth the wait. I had one of the best NAILGASMS of my life. The polish came off my nails in one fell swoop. I nailgasmed TEN TIMES (ten fingers). It was A. MAY. ZING*. There was a neat pile of ten former "nails" on the night table.
I actually entertained the idea of investing another twenty five bucks just to experience the nailgasm again, but I got a grip and instead relived the moment with Cheryl upon my return to New York.
* A. MAY. ZING is a phrase coined by Robyn. It is also her Jersey Shore alias.
I LOVE a good mani pedi. BUT, the kiss of death, even for the best manicure, is a major chip that provides the opportunity for me to pick of the polish. But this girl cannot stop at one nail. I must proceed to pick of the polish of my nine remaining nails. My friend Cheryl does the same thing. In fact, a couple of years ago I purchased a "desk" supply of cotton balls and polish remover for us just so we could scrape off the stubborn streaks of lacquer that were clinging to life on our ghetto nails.
So then, what is a NAILGASM? It is a clean peel of the polish off of the nail. It leaves nothing behind. It is a triumph. A few weeks ago, I decided to try the new color gel manicure by O.P.I. I went with "Linkin Park After Dark" since I knew how the color was supposed to turn out (a very dark purple, perhaps closer to black). I did not want to risk an unknown color on a twenty five dollar manicure. I suppose I am cheap BUT, Andy, my manicurist boyfriend guaranteed the color would last for two weeks. "Lisa...two weeks...no chip!!!" He had me at "no chip", but I figured I should at least commit fourteen days to a color I was familiar with. I freakin' loved how my nails looked; shiny and new day after day for about five days. There I am, Omaha bound, strapped into the seat of Boeing when I notice it. Thand GOD I had a Xanax in me!!! There, on my ring finger of my right had was a BUBBLE!!!! I was faced with a decision: do I let it go, wait until I get to Omaha and a Walgreens so that I could pick and remove the GUARANTEED TO LAST TWO WEEKS POLISH, or do I start to pick? The dilemma was solved rather quickly. Because I was sitting in the middle seat of the plane, I decided not to gross out my neighbors as I flicked Linkin Park After Dark through the air. About four hours later (YES, I held out THAT LONG), I was finally settled in my bed at the Doubletree, four cookies to the wind, when I began to peel. Talk about worth the wait. I had one of the best NAILGASMS of my life. The polish came off my nails in one fell swoop. I nailgasmed TEN TIMES (ten fingers). It was A. MAY. ZING*. There was a neat pile of ten former "nails" on the night table.
I actually entertained the idea of investing another twenty five bucks just to experience the nailgasm again, but I got a grip and instead relived the moment with Cheryl upon my return to New York.
* A. MAY. ZING is a phrase coined by Robyn. It is also her Jersey Shore alias.
AL'S WOOD
A friend of mine, Al Williams, recently resigned from his position as a writing teacher. Why, during uncertain economic times where jobs are few and far between, especially jobs for English teachers, would he pick up and leave a job that was his so long as he did not royally screw up? Love. Oregon. Yes, love and Oregon. You have to give Al props. He is taking a chance on a girl who lives in Oregon. Granted, he will be living it up in Portland, but regardless, Al has left what he has known as the familiar (VERY Eastern LI) and is currently venturing toward what I hope will be a fulfilling leg on this next journey of his life.
Enough of the mushy stuff. Al and I have had our own bonding experience by the way of Project Runway. Despite the declining drama and lackluster designers, Al has pushed me to continue my viewing of the show. Our conversations had forged a bond that enabled me to feel comfortable enough to acknowledge a serious issue I had with Al; the driftwood displayed in the rear windshield of his Saturn. I am a firm believer that a rear windshield is not a shelving opportunity. People with stuffed animals in their “rears” really freak me out. Are these animals extras that do not fit on their bed? Are they winnings from one of those claw machines in the game room at Nathan’s? WTF? Even a box of tissues; what good will that box of tissues proudly displayed in the rear windshield of a car do you when you are driving and have to clear out a snot rocket? So, when I my eyes locked with Al’s wood, I wondered why the hell did he choose to display it in his car? Did he stumble upon this idea on Bravotv.com while checking out the Runway blog? Did he see this in Car and Driver? Basically, Al’s reason was as unsatisfying as a piece of dry toast. He just liked it there.
So it was fitting, that upon checking my mailbox at school, I noticed a familiar piece of lumber nestled amongst random crap that I had yet to thumb through. Yes, you guessed it. In my box, was Al’s wood. I was touched. Walking through the hall with this smooth souvenir of marine debris, colleagues questioned what I was doing. My response: “I’m looking for Al to thank him for giving me his wood.”
Al’s wood is packed up in my metal cabinet, but it will make its debut this fall amongst my display of pictures and various glass paper weights which I collect. I truly appreciate the token Al has bestowed upon me and hope that he finds happiness wherever he ends up. In some ways this is a bit poetic. Driftwood washes up on a shore, weathered and worn, perhaps traveling hundreds or thousands of miles. The wood could have been part of a boat, or served as home to some sort of sea life, yet if it washes up the shore and someone stumbles upon it. That someone picks it up and then displays it in their windshield; a new sea. Then, it is passed on to another and for as long as some will remember, it will be known as “Al’s Wood”.
Enough of the mushy stuff. Al and I have had our own bonding experience by the way of Project Runway. Despite the declining drama and lackluster designers, Al has pushed me to continue my viewing of the show. Our conversations had forged a bond that enabled me to feel comfortable enough to acknowledge a serious issue I had with Al; the driftwood displayed in the rear windshield of his Saturn. I am a firm believer that a rear windshield is not a shelving opportunity. People with stuffed animals in their “rears” really freak me out. Are these animals extras that do not fit on their bed? Are they winnings from one of those claw machines in the game room at Nathan’s? WTF? Even a box of tissues; what good will that box of tissues proudly displayed in the rear windshield of a car do you when you are driving and have to clear out a snot rocket? So, when I my eyes locked with Al’s wood, I wondered why the hell did he choose to display it in his car? Did he stumble upon this idea on Bravotv.com while checking out the Runway blog? Did he see this in Car and Driver? Basically, Al’s reason was as unsatisfying as a piece of dry toast. He just liked it there.
So it was fitting, that upon checking my mailbox at school, I noticed a familiar piece of lumber nestled amongst random crap that I had yet to thumb through. Yes, you guessed it. In my box, was Al’s wood. I was touched. Walking through the hall with this smooth souvenir of marine debris, colleagues questioned what I was doing. My response: “I’m looking for Al to thank him for giving me his wood.”
Al’s wood is packed up in my metal cabinet, but it will make its debut this fall amongst my display of pictures and various glass paper weights which I collect. I truly appreciate the token Al has bestowed upon me and hope that he finds happiness wherever he ends up. In some ways this is a bit poetic. Driftwood washes up on a shore, weathered and worn, perhaps traveling hundreds or thousands of miles. The wood could have been part of a boat, or served as home to some sort of sea life, yet if it washes up the shore and someone stumbles upon it. That someone picks it up and then displays it in their windshield; a new sea. Then, it is passed on to another and for as long as some will remember, it will be known as “Al’s Wood”.
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