A Tale of Two Parades on Memorial Day

 

stroppy - adjective - informal, British: bad tempered (Google).

I don't know about you, but Memorial Day anywhere in the U.S. of A. is a favorite of mine. Maybe it is because it appears to be the climax of spring (if it is cool and rainy) or the exposition of summer (if it is pleasant and hot). In the Northeastern part of the country where I live, the world is green again. It is a joy to be outside as the stroppy, blood-thirsty mosquitoes haven't quite reached peak domination. In short, there is a discernible taste of perfection in the surrounding air. Yet because we are living this life wherein dualities persist, there might be an aftertaste of imperfection to be had as well. Yesterday, within five square miles of where I reside, two commemorative parades in two bordering towns of about the same population stepped in front of nature to exemplify positive versus negative. 

The clash might have had something to do with perspective, though, since in the first parade, I marched and in the second, I spectated. The routes of both included the main drags of the municipalities, causing the cops to shut down traffic and cause a modicum of frustration. Both included the same ingredients for a typical, small-town Memorial Day parade: miscellaneous bands, makeshift floats on truck beds, familiar and unfamiliar organizations, antique cars (symbols of what we left behind technologically), unable-to-be- well-corralled Little Leagues and Scouts, whirring, whirling red fire trucks, intimidating military convoys, and police cars. However, the length of Parade One, held an hour earlier than Parade Two, was shorter in terms of participants and mileage. 

What separated the two was attitude. From my point of view as a marcher in Parade One, I could sense the mood of the crowds filling the sidewalks of Broad Street quite easily. It was brimming with ebullience. The citizens of the first town had awoken from the depths of the pandemic, and like newborn babes, found something engaging and entertaining in something that had previously been staid. (There is nothing like renewed appreciation!) We marchers received and reflected back the enthusiasm as humans tend to do very well. In contrast, Parade Two down Park Avenue in the neighboring town lacked the bounce of Parade One; but to be fair, I had a limited view since I sat on the sidelines and could not experience the entirety of the onlookers at each junction on the boulevard. But from my viewpoint, the marchers did not connect with the audience and seemed road weary after few steps on their pedometers. 

There is a bit of a takeaway here if you think of each parade as being a metaphor for life. Regardless of whether the route is short or long, or whether the contents of the parade (life) are more varied or not, if you dive into it as an enthused participant, living for each moment, your perspective will change. Things and people might appear rosier than they actually are, but who cares because you are immersed in the parade. On the other hand, if you sit idly by the sidelines or march distractedly, you may pick up on the negatives of the past and present and dwell in them. If you are optimistic, it is easy to get excited. If you are pessimistic, it is easy to become stroppy. 

In the end, state of mind always seems to come down to choice. To mix in another, more familiar metaphor: If the glass is half full, there is more to consume and appreciate in life. At half empty, life can run dry pretty quickly. On the day after Memorial Day, remember to make the right decision in perception. 

#word-to-words, #spilled thoughts, #vocabulary, #good advice, #personal essay, #vocabulary 

Coveting A Neighbor's Kid

covet - verb - yearn to possess or have (Google)

Although only the religious pay attention to the Ten Commandments these days, perhaps more of the irreligious should. Like it or not, we humans need rules to live by; otherwise, we stray, run amuck,  and consequently, wind up doing much damage to others and ourselves. The tenth of the Ten is simply, "You shall not covet," implying that you should forget about envying what others have, which is not easy. The idea of keeping up with the Joneses, wanting exactly what your neighbors or friends own in the way of material possessions is never a good thing. My neighbors and friends tend to err on the side of caution when it comes to coveting goods, but two have actually transcended the material norm seemingly to prefer my daughter over their own daughters. I know this sounds odd, unprecedented, but we are existing in the year 2022, a time defined by its moral ambiguity, so anything appears to go.

For example, someone I've known for many years, a woman with two grown daughters, told me a few years ago that she considers my daughter, also an adult, her third daughter. Another friend of mine, a husband of a close friend, pretty much told me the same thing. Both individuals are on the competitive side, having earned graduate degrees and a considerable amount of success in the real world. However, their own children or at least one of the two in each family, has been a disappointment in one way or the other. In walks my daughter, an only child but one who has earned accolades that could easily stand alongside my friends' accomplishments, ergo, making her a sensible surrogate for one of their ne'er-do-well adult children. I suppose superficially this is not a bad thing for my daughter except that both friends text her at all hours of the day and night, looking to engage with her, which makes her feel uncomfortable since she would prefer it if both parties maintained a relationship with me, a contemporary, as opposed to her, someone with whom they have little in common. As it is too difficult to be honest, she prefers to ignore the onslaught of texts, hoping that they will subside on their own. And they usually do. I, of course, have said nothing since I do not care to interfere. 

Why this situation is happening exactly, I can only speculate. Coveting is part of human nature, but what this may filter down to is acceptance, desiring to be liked by someone much younger so as to maintain one's youth. In short, both friends could probably be experiencing a just-beyond-mid-life crisis of some kind. Or their own children don't give them the time of day, so they are reaching out to one of the same generation who might. 

Or my friends might just be bored with what I have to offer them and yearn for a newer model similar to the original. Admittedly, I miss hearing from these people, miss feeling like I am a close friend. Perhaps it is I who covets the relationship my daughter has with these friends? Maybe all I need to do is take the time to reach out to them so that we can renew the friendship? Hmmm. Something to think about particularly if you are in a similar situation. I suppose the takeaway is just to steer clear of coveting, period. 

#word-to-words, #spilled thoughts, #vocabulary, #good advice, #personal essay, #vocabulary 

 

Derivatives of the Past in the Present

 

derivative - noun - something based on another source; adj. - imitative of a work of another person and  criticized for that reason.

Perhaps this entry will eventually strike you as derivative as I have certainly spent time on the subject of plagiarism in the past (notably on April 2nd). But for whatever reason, derivatives or perhaps just unheralded references to past creative achievements keep coming up over and over again in the present, twice in two weeks for me. 

Occasion 1: Two Mondays ago, my book club decided on meeting via Zoom because one of the members was able to cajole the author of the contemporary novel we had just read to join the on-line discussion since he had graduated from the high school in which the majority of us had taught English and actually had two of us (but not me since I had been instructing on the middle-school level at that time) as teachers. His book–not exactly a best seller, but well written and timely–the New York Times and Washington Post had reviewed favorably. If you go back to my entry dated April 2 ("Allusion as Homage versus Plagiarism") and reread parts of it, you'll be able to obtain some necessary backstory. As mentioned in the previous article, on the first page of his fictitious work that ironically centers on the theme of plagiarism, he alludes to the plot of Poe's "Masque of the Red Death," but seemingly for no real reason. Curious as to why he would do something like that, I asked him. Guess what? He had never read Poe's classic short story and had NO IDEA that the plot reference was not completely original. In short, he had "borrowed" from the past out of sheer ignorance. Yet what was even more surprising was that I was the only member of the erudite club who was quite shocked that he, his agent, or anyone in his publishing house (or the Times or Post) could have possibly bypassed something that seemed so obvious to me or anyone who paid attention in seventh-grade language arts when the narratives of Poe were introduced. One of my arrogant colleagues simply said, "Well, Poe's is a common plot line (is it?). I'm sure that he took the idea from another author himself." Really? I doubt it. (According to Wikipedia, Poe alludes to another writer's use of a castle as a setting and a character's name but not to the plot.) Writers in the nineteenth century had more education, imagination, and integrity than they have today.

Occasion 2: This morning, my daughter, a close friend, her daughter and I found ourselves escaping the unseasonable heat at the local AMC. The second installment of the PBS series Downtown Abbey has found its way onto the big screen. While we were watching, I picked up on more derivative material. For one, the character of Carson, the former butler at the estate, quoted Oscar Wilde's Wagnerian antagonist Lady Bracknell precisely at one point, yet perhaps intentionally since a majority of the British viewers might actually recognize the allusion from reading The Importance of Being Earnest in public school (which is private there). No one would pick up on the reference here (except my former students and I wouldn't put any money down on the table that they would) although I did notice that most laughed since Wilde's 19th century humor is perennial. Yet what should have been blatantly apparent to the American audience was the Downton writers' imitation of scenes from the movie version of the stage play, Singing in the Rain. Even the costuming in the scenes involving the filming and recording of a sound movie seemed to be copied precisely from the Gene Kelly classic. Were the producers of Downtown Abbey paying homage to the musical or just counting on the widespread immaturity and lack of cinematic knowledge of the audience? It is hard to say. And quite frankly, I don't even want to think about it. 

Without sounding like Bill Maher, I think the creative community in this country needs a bit more education between its ears. Writers and publishers as well as screenplay authors should have enough knowledge of the past so that they don't repeat it directly, intentionally or unintentionally. They should strive to produce original works as opposed to regurgitated copies. Even those who "fictionalize" their friends' true tales of life experience should at least change the settings and names of the characters so that they transcend "auto-fiction," the new norm when it comes to composing fiction. Doing the right thing can never be wrong. And if allusion is the objective, perhaps credit should be given to the originators so that the clueless understand that they are absorbing something of the past in the present. 

#word-to-words, #spilled thoughts, #vocabulary, #good advice, #personal essay, #vocabulary 

The Price of a Bonafide Love Letter

 

bonafide - adjective - genuine, real (Google).

How many of you out there in cyberspace have a bonafide, antique, handwritten love letter hidden somewhere in the depths of a drawer, perhaps beneath your socks or unworn, starting-to-yellow white lingerie or boxer shorts? If you were lucky enough to have one written to you at some point in your life, perhaps one expressing bonafide emotions, most likely you saved it and put it somewhere. (After you read the rest of this, go and find it.) Most likely you didn't sell it. Or did you? 

Over the weekend, I found myself browsing through much miscellaneous, rock 'n roll memorabilia at the Hard Rock Hotel and Casino in Atlantic City. At seven o'clock in the morning, I had two hours to kill before I would have to find a spot on the boardwalk so that I could cheer on my daughter and two friends running in the Rock and Roll half marathon (which isn't connected to the hotel). As a singer-songwriter and Jersey girl–born, bred, and at present, boarding in my own Jersey Cape Cod–I was drawn to the vault near the casino of the hotel, one room featuring a number of sundry artifacts once belonging to some of New Jersey's celebrity singers and musicians, luminaries such as Bruce Springsteen, Clarence Clemens, Frank Sinatra, Whitney Houston, Bon Jovi, etc. Most obvious, displayed on the back wall beneath the haven of plexiglass were all three pages of a bonafide love letter that Bon Jovi's guitarist Richie Sambora had handwritten in black ink on flowery, feminine stationery to one of his first paramours. 

Of course, being somewhat of a romantic voyeur, I had to read the whole relic, especially as Richie's script was so beautifully legible (unlike Bruce's lyrics displayed on an adjacent wall), and no one relies on good penmanship anymore. (In fact, most don't even know what it is.) The letter was stunningly forthright, filled with authentic feelings, feelings that often (usually) change over time. Such was probably the case, otherwise the receiver of the beatific prose would not have sold it to the Hard Rock Hotel. Most likely, a few months afterwards, the woman (who was not Heather Locklear) and Richie found themselves booked into separate rooms at the Heartbreak Hotel instead. In any case, I have to say that I feel sorry for Richie, for having one's soul exposed to the public on a daily basis can't be easy. But then again, I am quite sure he doesn't think about it often as he probably doesn't frequent Atlantic City. Could it be possible that he doesn't even know it's there? 

So what's the takeaway here? Even if your ex just happens to be a celebrity, try not to sell or discard remnants of a romantic past even if it didn't pass the test of time. You may just pick up the scent of nostalgia in the air and want a whiff of it in the present if only to convince yourself that once upon a time, true love was bonafide. 

#word-to-words, #spilled thoughts, #vocabulary, #good advice, #personal essay, #vocabulary 

Caveat Emptor and On-Line Dating

 

caveat emptor - Latin - "Let the buyer beware." The buyer assumes the risk that a product may fail to meet expectations or have defects. (Google)

When it comes to purchasing anything, caveat emptor should come to mind and stay there. Whether you are contemplating making a big purchase, such as buying a car like I am, or if you are thinking of signing up with an on-line dating app, you should be aware that the end result may not come up to snuff. There are always risks involved. I'd hate to imply that people can be bought and sold, but let's face it. We can be because we allow ourselves to be via agencies such as eHarmony and Match.com. I know because I experimented with both (and a few more "free" dating services) about four years ago without first making the connection between caveat emptor and internet hook-ups. The twenty-six "products" whose profiles I purchased and I dated not only failed to meet expectations, they were also seriously defective. Ergo, I walked away, dissatisfied and tentatively cynical. 

That being mentioned, I do know people who were successful with on-line dating services. Two women in particular set out to secure men ripe for marriage, both met available, relatively impressive men on J-Date, dated them for about a year and are now legally wed to their conquests. Are they blissfully happy? No. But perhaps they didn't take caveat emptor into consideration from the get-go and rushed into commitments based on superficialities. (What can I say? I did forewarn them.)

On the gender flip side, one of my platonic, single male friends, who is in his sixties, is currently exploring the cyber field of romance. However, his past two dates have made him especially wary. Both women who live on the Upper Westside of Manhattan are well-to-do, altruistic types with just the right breeds of dogs, adult children, and summer homes in the Hamptons. On paper, they come across as perfect just as many people, places, or things do in advertisements. Well, if you believe that Me-Too can extend to men as well, these women came up way short in terms of his expectations. After only a few short hours chatting up each of these women (on separate occasions, of course), both expressed themselves aggressively in public by pouncing on him when they thought the moment was especially right and giving him unneeded, unwanted mouth-to-mouth resuscitation in the French mode. Obviously, both thought he was ready, willing, and able, but he wasn't– albeit he didn't fight off either woman, which gave each the impression that he welcomed her forwardness. Stultifying chagrin rendered him fair game, I suppose. Afterwards, my friend, who prides himself on being decent and decorous, was quite disgusted, so much so that he is contemplating canceling his subscriptions to Bumble and Match.com and returning to meeting potential dates via outmoded means, either through friends of friends or in supermarket checkout lines, both equally as risky.

Don't misunderstand me. I'm not against looking for Mr. or Ms. Right on-line or anywhere else as long as he or she doesn't turn out to be Mr. or Ms. Goodbar. For that not to happen, caveat emptor must always be heeded. 

Good luck to all of you in the market of love. Carpe diem! 

#word-to-words, #spilled thoughts, #vocabulary, #good advice, #personal essay, #vocabulary 

Onomatopoeia in the Morning

 

onomatopoeia - noun - formation of a word associated with a sound (Google). 

                                Bam! Crash! Zap! Boom! Thump! Wack! Tick-tick-tick! 

When you just happen to live in between two construction sites (old homes being razed to accommodate new McMansions)–and not by choice–you experience an alarm clock of onomatopoeia daily around 7 a.m. when you least want to hear it: Bam! Crash! Zap! Boom! Thump! Wack! Tick-tick-tick! There is nothing quite like dueling demolitions, but that's not the point; onomatopoeia is. In my opinion, onomatopoeia is one of the the most interesting words in English. Some 16th-century Greek, who might have been in my situation or something like it, came up with onomatopolia or "word-making," which eventually segued into onomatopoeia (Google). Neither is easy to remember or spell but fun as long as you are just imagining cacophony on paper and not in the middle of it in actuality.

Onomatopoeia is quite common in spoken as well as written language. Most of us use it to enhance descriptions intentionally or unintentionally. For instance, right now, I am inches away from phoning the local police to alert them of the noise ordinance violation coming from across the street. (In this town, people are only permitted to create sound pollution between the hours of 8 a.m. and 9 p.m.) I'm guessing if I really dramatize the string of highly vocal verbiage aforementioned, the police will either get the message and contact the guilty party, the construction company, or think I've lost my mind entirely, placate me in the moment, hang up, and then do absolutely nothing. I'm thinking that since the latter requires virtually no effort at all except for the hanging up part, it might be the better choice of options. 

I'm guessing that those of you who live in cities think nothing of the discord that surrounds you because somewhere down the line, you have become inured to all of the din. Even the pitter-patter (a great example of onomatopoeia) of the rain goes unnoticed or is merely drowned out by man-made competition. 

What is positive to note at this juncture (the closing paragraph of this somewhat disguised rant) is that not all onomatopoeia is a reflection of hubbub. "Pitter-patter" (just used) is, like light precipitation, kind of innocuous, rhythmic. A world without any of it, good or bad, would be incomplete, hollow. Still, at 6:45 a.m., I prefer the buzz of the electric alarm clock to the boom, boom, boom of multiple hammers on two-by-fours. I think you get my drift. 

#word-to-words, #spilled thoughts, #vocabulary, #good advice, #personal essay, #vocabulary 

Nerds: Why They are Sexy

 

nerd - noun - (informal) - a foolish or contemptible person who lacks social skills or is boringly studious (Google).

Way, way back in the Dark Ages (a.k.a. the 1980s into the early 1990s), there was a popular series of campy Hollywood movies, all with some iteration of the original's title: Revenge of the Nerds. In them, the "geeky" leading male characters are stereotyped as being intelligent albeit terribly unattractive, yet they are not altogether lacking in social graces, ironically, as they tend to attract and secure the "hot" women characters. I use the adverb "ironically" because most do not believe nerdy men can actually accomplish this feat in real life when in fact, they can and do. Since the series, most have forgotten the original denotation (above), instead, latching onto more of a connotation. A contemporary nerd is no longer foolish or contemptible. It is possible that there are some who are a bit shy or a bit too erudite for their own good, but I wouldn't say that they "lack social skills" or are "boringly studious." The majority out there envisions nerds as those fond of crew cuts, black-rimmed glasses, white-collared shirts (or even madras). A completely winning personality doesn't usually factor into the equation. And it doesn't matter because intelligence and a sense of humor (which many nerds have because they have to) are–yes–sexy. (Oh, to be fair and woke, nerds can be women or nonbinary persons as well with slight alterations involving fashion.) 

Let's take a step back, though. Woody Allen, like him or not, has embraced the implied definition of "nerd" for decades, and he has done exceptionally well. For those of you who are on the young side, you probably don't remember that after Allen's comic masterpiece Annie Hall was released in 1977, he scored as being People magazine's sexiest man alive. No kidding. I'm being real here. Short, balding, black-rimmed-bespectacled Woody transcended the mold. No longer did the leading man, the matinee idol, have to look like a carbon copy of Robert Redford or Paul Newman. Mr. Allen proved that a well-written, creative film comedy, well-acted and directed, could make anyone a sex symbol regardless of looks.

Personally, I like nerds, Woody included. In fact, two of my closest friends and golf buddies–bachelor brothers whom I have known for forty years–are total nerds; but they are interesting, well-educated, and extremely funny. Now I may not attracted to them on a physical level, but I still want them around. 

Okay, so what's the takeaway here? "Don't judge a book by its cover." Just because a man's or a woman's appearance may not be considered beautiful by society's lofty standards (although they could be changing), doesn't mean you should write him or her off entirely as a potential mate. Human beings are superficial by nature, but most of us are rebellious enough to rise above the trait and give the nerd a chance to prove he or she is worthy of admiration, if not true love.

#word-to-words, #spilled thoughts, #vocabulary, #good advice, #personal essay, #vocabulary