Tuesday, April 29, 2014

Distraction Action





 
I’ve been a little distracted lately.

There’s been a lot going on. 

I mean…not me…I don’t have anything going on…as usual…but there seems to be a lot going on all around me.

And that’s distracting.

At least for me.

Because, actually, it doesn’t take much to distract me.
 

Like the second hand on a clock…that distracts me.

And that weird hum the refrigerate makes…that distracts me.


The fact that orange juice is actually the color orange…that distracts me, too

But I guess everyone’s distracted by those kinds of things…right?

Right…?

Now, I’m being distracted by the squirrels…again.

The way they run around my lawn, digging holes…everywhere.

That is really distracting me.

I mean just what are they looking for?

And shouldn’t I be looking too?

Because they seem pretty intent on finding it…whatever it is.

They’re not distracted at all.

And they seem pretty territorial, especially when I come out and start sniffin around in the grass, myself.

Like it was their lawn, or something.

Not that they do anything…they just give me that look…you know that look…all day long.

Tell me you wouldn’t find that distracting….

So it’s been difficult to focus, but different this time than last time…which to be honest, I can’t recall that clearly anyway.

You know…because of the distractions.

I was out talking to my neighbor and I couldn’t follow a word he was saying, because his nose was distracting me.

Not that there was anything odd about it.

It was just a regular nose, like any other nose…it just seemed out of place.

And then I realized it wasn’t the nose at all that was out of place.

It was the neighbor…I was talking to the wrong neighbor.

His nose was fine.

It was the rest of him that was off.

But I guess that kind of stuff happens to everyone…right?

Right…?

And I’m sure everyone has gone to the grocery store and been so distracted by everything going on inside that BIG super store that you forgot the milk…the milk you went in there for in the first place…especially if you’re in the hardware store, next door. 

So who can really blame you for not getting the milk under those circumstances, distractions or not?

And then, later, it finally hits you why the cheese spread tasted like putty over the weekend.

So I have to get past these distractions, screw my head back on straight and put my feet back on the ground, where they belong.

Because walking on my hands all day can be tiring.

And if I don’t, I’m gonna really find myself in a mess one of these days.

I could end up in the wrong house…or even the wrong town.

And that won’t end well.

Especially for whoever owns that house.

Because it might not seem like it to you…but I can take a little getting used to.

And the squirrels here do cut me a little slack… as long as I kick back 75% of what I find.
 
 
 
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Sunday, April 27, 2014

The Sunday Archive of Retort - 5/23/12

Appearances are Important 





I’ve been hearing a lot lately about body image.
Apparently it’s important what your body says about you in the way that it presents itself to others.
Like I have control over that?
 
From 5/23/12:

Appearances are Important

 

 

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 on Twitter   

 
 

 
 

Friday, April 25, 2014

Neither Hair nor Thair





 
 
I’m in hair crisis…which is not unusual.

I’ve been having some sort of hair crisis for years now, ever since my hair and I started having a falling out a long, long time ago.

In fact, I think my hair, what’s left of it, actually steps out on me at night, and not all of it comes back.

Yeah…

Not good.

Which is why it’s important to have someone around who knows exactly how my hair is numbered and where it’s all supposed to be at any given time.

Which brings me to the current crisis at hand.

It’s time for my annual spring haircut, and I can’t find my hair guy…my barber…the only barber I’ve known for the last 37 years.

Sal, from Avanti on Westchester Avenue…he’s missing.

If you’re familiar with Sal, you know he used to be in the various incarnations of the Korvette's/Caldor's/Kohl's shopping center for a million years, before he moved.

Which makes sense because if he was at the shopping center after he moved he would’ve just been standing on the sidewalk drinking coffee… you know, because he moved all his stuff.

See, I’m not a big fan of haircuts, which is why I don’t go all that often.

Never have been, ever since I was a kid.

Maybe because of that weird side wall tire look barbers back in the 60’s used to carve around my ears that made me look decidedly like Dumbo’s less intelligent cousin.

And I’m reminded of this because it was right around this time of year, back when I was just a wee tot, that my dad first took me to Sammy Passero’s Barber shop—located, then, just before the railroad bridge on North Main—to get my overgrown little blonde curls sheared, for the first time; I guess so people would stop referring to me as that cute little…so and so…despite the baseball glove he had glued to my left hand and the football surgically attached to my right.

He had talked it up as this big exciting adventure, and it was, at first, as a collection of interesting characters occupied all the chairs in varying stages of “shorn-ness”.

Sammy also had an interesting collection of old baseballs on display, which he happily showed off, pointing out the fading signatures of long ago ballplayers.

All very cool to a little boy, curls or no, until I was hoisted onto the booster seat, had a big white sheet thrown over my shoulders and a very tight piece of tissue paper wrapped around my neck.

Hmmmmmmm….

Then this little clipper like buzzy thing came out, and I was immediately spun around in the chair, away from the mirror, which I thought was great…“Wow…rides too!”…and soon, the little blonde curls started dropping onto my lap.

Now that’s odd, I thought.

After about 10 minutes, Sammy, again, spun the chair around to face the big mirror and to my surprise, an odd looking little boy sat directly in front of me…a mini version of Curly from the 3 Stooges.

Once the police cleared out after responding to a report of high pitched wails emanating from a storefront on North Main, Sammy poured me a scotch to calm my nerves—nah…I’m just kidding.  Actually Sammy and my dad had the scotch to calm their nerves. I had a grape lollipop, which had the same effect—and to tell you the truth, the Curly look was starting to grow on me…but coitanly not fast enough.

I stuck with Sammy for years, after that, and my hair eventually grew a little bit longer, at least on the top, with the same wide sidewall tire look around the ears. Not that it was always Sammy who did the cutting. Back then, on any given day, you walked into the shop, grabbed a seat and waited your turn until the next barber opened up. You just hoped you didn’t draw the guy with the stumpy thumbs.

As I grew older, I became more particular and would go into great detail, complete with hand drawn diagrams, as to exactly how I wanted my hair cut…meaning, no sidewalls and perhaps that little Superman curl in front. 

Sammy would listen intently, nod his head in agreement, spin me away the mirror…and in the end…the same ol’ same ol’.

Turns out my mom had been calling ahead all those years and telling Sammy, “Don’t listen to him…just cut it short.”

Of course Sammy eventually retired and I went off to college where, I’m a little ashamed to say, I did some experimenting…with the barbers up there.  

And if you remember anything about college in the 70’s—and to be honest who among us really do—it was a time when hairstyles were at best, ambiguous…and the style you left the shop with was often dependent on whatever aroma happened to be emanating from the back room, that day.

After school, in the late 70’s, I eventually stumbled onto Sal while I was wandering around the Shopping Center perusing the back of the new “Starship” album I’d just picked up at Korvettes’ very prodigious record department.

Hey, I need someone to cut my hair, I thought. And I think Mike uses this guy. Mike even got a job, so it can’t be too bad.

So in I went, and I’ve been going in ever since, even after Sal stopped being a “Barber” and became a “Stylist”, which basically meant I had to make an appointment and sit in a booth to get my haircut, which I actually liked better…until the booths were gone again and I was back on display in the front window.

But that’s the thing with barbers and mechanics; while styles change and techniques evolve… once you find a good one, you make sure you keep them.

And such was the case for me with Sal…at least as far as my hair was concerned—I wouldn’t let Sal anywhere near my brakes.

Until I went in for my quarterly haircut the other day and Sal and Avanti were goneempty…closed, not a trace in sight…not even a note.

My first thought was…I have to get my haircut more often…I’m missing a lot…and then my second…maybe I’ll just let it grow for the next 40 years.

So, filled with melancholy as one is wont to be filled after losing a  relationship of enduring years, I found myself back at the now Kohl’s shopping center, where it all began, passing by  Sal’s old place.

And it really took me back, because my mind started playing tricks on me as I heard a voice— Sal’s voice—saying, “Hello, Brian, looks like it’s time for your spring haircut.”

I smiled, remembering all the good hair days, and even the bad.

“Come on…I have an opening…I can get you in now.”

“Sal!” I exclaimed, as I jumped up into his arms, which was awkward, mostly because he was drinking coffee at the time.

“Sal…you’re not gone…you’re here!”

‘Right back where I started…or in the shop right next door to where I started. Those on again off again new parking pay stations were killing me, downtown.”

At least that’s what I think he said. All I knew was, I wasn’t going to have to grow my hair for the next 40 years, and luckily I had brought a whole new set of hair diagrams with me.

“So I was thinking if we try this, we might be able to solve that tricky situation with numbers 277 thru 842….”

And with that, Sal sat me in the chair and spun me away from the mirror to await the wailing that was sure to follow. .

Some things it seems never change.
 

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Tuesday, April 22, 2014

Just About Nothing





 
 
We’re a month into spring now and I’m still finding myself chilled every morning.

 
It’s got nothing to do with the weather, though, and really more about my neighbor leaving his bathroom curtains open after he showers.

Don’t really want to see that….

I’m also sure none of us want to see a story like this, either, which is essentially about nothing, mostly because it’s one of those days where I have nothing to say, let alone write about.

Yeah…I know.

Another one of those…..

So I thought I would try the old trick where I just sit down and start tapping something out and hope it turns into at least 4 or 5 hundred words of something, before my coffee gets cold.

Yeah…I know…doesn’t always work.

Obviously….

I guess it’s because I’m still getting over this past holiday weekend.

We again hosted about 327 of Z’s immediate family…my in-laws…for Easter.

Okay, that’s an exaggeration…there were really only 9 of them this year…it only seemed like 327 after my 23rd gin and tonic.

What…?

Oh, don’t worry…I switched to beer after that.

It’s not that I really needed that much gin…it just helps me cope.  

Plus, since there were only 9 of them this year, I was able to park and wash their cars in no time.

And I was able to eat in the house this time…although not on the same floor.

Yeah…I know. This act is getting old. I pull it out every time I get together with my in-laws.

Truth is they’re all just fine.  And yes…they do know my name, even without the name tag.

And they do tip pretty well.

All that.

But would it be at all amusing if I were to write about that?

Although I’m not implying that “this” in any way is either.

We actually had a nice time; even sat out on the porch in the sun for cocktails and munchies before dinner.

Which is pretty much the only time of year when you can sit on my deck in mid-afternoon without being turned into a sundried tomato in 15 minutes…at least until the sun drops behind the big leafy tree around 5:30.

Afterwards, we all made our way into the dining room and chowed down on 2 legs of lamb, which everyone couldn’t get enough of…except, you know, the lamb.

But there’s always goanna be somebody in the bunch who’s not happy.

Bygones…..

Z also made her famous Bunny Cake for desert, which you can see was devoured before I could get a good pic.

 
Afterwards, Z, always thinking, reconfigured it into a Raccoon Cake, which means we now have something to serve on “Davey Crockett” day.

Don’t ask me what that means. I told you I’m just tapping here. I’m not responsible for what comes out.

By 8, there was pretty much nothing left to eat or drink, so everyone started heading out the door, and this year I was able to recover most if not all the silverware as they passed through the metal detector.

I know that sounds weird, having a metal detector for your guests to walk through as they’re leaving….but the individual “wanding” took way too much time on New Year’s.

So there you go…nearly 550 words about nothing.

I know…not even close to entertaining, but it was the best I could do.

And it had nothing to do with the 23 G & Ts.

It was the beer….and the Sambuca…and the Anisette…and….
 
 

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Sunday, April 20, 2014

The Sunday Archive of Retort - 4/6/12

Springtime Renewal



Okay...a lot of you have read this one before... twice.

I like to dust it off around this time of year and spin it out there because I don't have too many better ways to turn this message.

So if you've read it before, I hope you enjoy it again, and for those of you who are new, I hope you enjoy it for the first time...and then again next year and the year after that...and so on and so on....


From 4/6/12:

Springtime Renewal



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Friday, April 18, 2014

Easter is Upon Us - And a Sonnet on a Bonnet?





 
 
Another Easter is upon us, so hares my sonnet on a bonnet.

Or not…..
 
 
You don’t see a lot of Easter bonnets anymore unless it’s in the Easter parade…on the avenue…Fifth Avenue.

Which is too bad because back when things where…I guess old…or new, before they became old…folks took a lot of pride in their Easter Bonnets…Fifth Avenue or not.

Especially my Uncle Tully, who actually enjoyed the tradition a little too much and took advantage of it all year long.

I’m sure there’s some sort of religious significance to the whole thing, so I won’t make fun…too much. But all I’m saying is...it was a fun tradition that’s gone the way of a lot of fun holiday traditions…like hunting for peanut butter and mint jelly sandwiches on Easter morning.

What?

That wasn’t one of your traditions?

Of course it wasn’t…that wasn’t anybody’s tradition…I don’t even know why I brought it up.

Seriously, I don’t …so let’s just drop it!

Of course, the traditional, traditional Easter traditions—at least in our house— were things like coloring Easter eggs, which I looked forward to every year—still do—because, let’s face it, who doesn’t like playing with food coloring.

You’ve never had broccoli until you’ve had purple broccoli.

Back then, my family went pretty conservative when it came to colors.  You know the basics: red, green, blue and yellow.

Sometimes, if you were feeling funky creative you would hold only half the egg in one color then dip the other half into another color to make a two color egg.

Yeah…crazy right?

But you know me, always the rebel…when I got down to my last few eggs I would often experiment with other hues and mix a bunch of colors together just to see if I could strike lighting in a bottle and discover a brand new, breathtaking, vibrant tint.

Although, unfortunately, I usually ended up with various shades of brown….

Still…one of these days….

Later, they came out with some of these decorative sticker things you could apply to your eggs, which—I don’t know—somehow always seemed like a cheat to me.

I was more of a hand drawn crayon colored bunnies and chicken guy, which I would scratch onto the side of my egg…if there is such a thing as an egg side, other than bacon.

I have to admit, though, I haven’t kept up to date with modern Easter egg decorating trends—you know, because I’ve been focused more on my pudding art—so I can’t really say if the old ways are the best ways.

But they were the best for me and I’ll leave it at that.

Besides Easter egg art is a personal choice…and that’s the way it should be.

Of course another fun Easter tradition has always been the Easter egg hunt, which can take many forms…inside…outside…up on the neighbors roof.

What…why else would those squirrels have been running around up there?  It was a legitimate assumption.

As our tradition went, after everyone was asleep, the Easter Bunny would come into our house, pop open a few Bud's, and hide all of our newly colored eggs in various places around the living room, but only the  living room.

And for some reason we just accepted that as fact and didn’t have a problem with it.

We were all strangely okay with the idea of curious characters, from the Easter Bunny to the Tooth fairy, roaming our halls at night…I mean, again, unless it was Uncle Tully parading around in one of his Bonnets, which did disturb us.

Unfortunately, as with most childhood marvels, when I grew older the idea of this over developed Easter Bunny hiding eggs around my house seemed a bit farfetched.  I mean Santa, I could buy…maybe even a Leprechaun or two…but a bunny on steroids?

I don’t think so….

Besides, I knew my mom wouldn’t stand for that, especially after she just had the carpets cleaned.

I mean have you seen what kind of trail a rabbit leaves behind?

Anyway, we continued to play along, even after we knew…one, because it was fun…and two, it was even more fun watching my dad sweat every year after we were only able to find 10 of the 12 hidden eggs.

In fact, one 4th of July we actually found one wayward egg crammed into the corner of the Barco Lounger.

“So it wasn’t Uncle Tully that smelled all this time!”

After the hunt, we would all dress up in these brand new, oddly grown up looking clothes, whereupon we were then dragged off to church to meet with the nuns and other kids, also dressed in the same sort of strange holiday regalia.

Kind of like a 1960’s convention of little Mad Men, Don Drapers and Peggy Olsons lining up in pairs, outside, on the street.

Then, after a couple of Manhattans, it was off to Grandma’s house for all kinds of food and festivities, which sometimes included hunting for more eggs, rolling eggs, tossing eggs, even juggling eggs…or just about any activity that had to do with eggs…except actually eating eggs…at least until later...once the ritualistic eating of our Chocolate Easter Bunnies was completed.

We would also join with our many cousins to put our new found Easter suits and dresses to the test, featuring various feats of strength and agility…many of which involved grass stains.

So those are just a few of the various Easter Traditions that took place in my family, when I was growing up.

I’m sure you all have your own memories and similar traditions, minus Uncle Tully.

Speaking of which...we were finally able to convince him after many years of pleading to abandon the Bonnet, which he did in favor of the full bunny outfit.

So if you’re looking out your window early Sunday morning, and you happen to see a rather large bunny, hippity, hopping all the way, don’t be alarmed…it’s probably just Uncle Tully, getting home late from his favorite hangout.

But just in case it’s not…maybe you should get to bed and pull the covers up over your head, nice and tight.

And, in the morning, check between all the little nooks and crannies of your couches, chairs, vases, plants, curtains, lampshades, shoes and any other small obscure, hiding places in your living room, where a large overgrown Lepus curpaeums might hide a small oblong shaped object, that will begin to smell like an over ripened Uncle by the 4th of July, if you don’t….

And have a great holiday while you’re at it!

 
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Tuesday, April 15, 2014

Not Good




 
It’s not good when you pop a stick of butter in the microwave to soften in the morning and suddenly hear sizzling and popping….

Not good….

It’s not good when you go out to bring in your newspaper and find your annoying neighbor reading it…who asks you to come back in a half hour…and if you could put real cream in his coffee, this time….

Not good….

It’s not good when go to butter your toast and find there’s some kind of green fuzz on the top of it…and the sides…but you eat it anyway…and like it.

Not good….

It’s not good when you take a picture of the fuzzy toast and post it on Facebook…and get a hundred “Likes”…in 5 minutes…and you like the “Likes”.

It’s not good when you pass out from lack of oxygen every morning tying your shoes….

It’s not good when find out later you mistakenly put on your wife’s shoes, because you couldn’t see your feet….

It’s not good when you like your wife’s shoes better than your own and decide to wear them…again.

It’s not good when you take a picture of your wife’s shoes on your feet and post it on Facebook…and get a hundred “Likes”…in 5 minutes…and you like the “Likes”….

It’s not good when your wife kisses you goodbye and mistakenly calls you Enrique…every morning….

It’s not good when Enrique finally gives you back your newspaper, but forgets to leave the sports section…..

It’s not good when the receptionist at the office you’ve worked in, for the last 25 years, always asks if she can help you….

It’s not good when your boss asks you to show the new guy the ropes, and tells you he’s gonna need to use your desk…

It’s not good if the new guy asks you for the newspaper and if you could put real cream in his coffee….

It’s not good if you actually go and get the coffee… and make a fresh pot, as well…

It’s not good if you get a voice mail from Enrique asking if you can bring Tai food home for dinner...and requests you leave it at the front door after ringing the bell….

It’s not good if you return Enrique’s call and ask how spicy he likes it….

It’s not good if you get in your car to pick up the Tai food and the guy in the back seat asks you to take him to Hoboken…and refuse to pay the tolls.

It’s not good if you drive the guy in the back seat to Hoboken, pay the tolls yourself, and ask him if he knows of any good Tai places in the area.

It’s not good if the guy in the Tai place chuckles when he hands you your food….

It’s not good if you chuckle along with him as he hands you your food…and tip him 30%…which makes him chuckle even more.

It’s not good if you leave the food at your own front door as instructed…and find somebody left a tip…but only 5%.

It’s not good if you sit at a computer all day and write silly stuff like this, in which people tell you the only thing that makes sense is the title…to which you agree…with no tip…and you don’t even like Tai food.

Not good…not good…not good…
 
 
 

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