Before anyone I went to Jr. High and found me on Facebook screams at me - believe me. I wanted to see you. I wanted to call everyone I know in NY. But it was the spur of the moment decision to go for a short trip for my dad's 80th birthday and then to see my mother- something I have been avoiding for a few years now.
I took Lorianne for her first trip to NYC and apologized profusely every minute of every day that her first visit to the Big Apple would be to see my crazy old relatives. She is a good sport.
Her first impression of NYC: Our luggage arrived on another flight (yes we are writing very angry letters to American Airlines about how our luggage was late and they lost all my crown jewels and flatscreen TVs I had in them worth millions of dollars.) This caused us to sit in JFK till 11:30 pm which then caused us to arrive at a Jamaica subway station at 1:00 am where Lorianne saw a rat on the tracks. In all my years in NYC I never saw one. For the rest of the trip she looked at all the tracks, poised with her camera, excited and hopeful.
Things were better the next 2 days because: My 80 year old NY Jew, foul mouthed, sexist, slightly racist father has a 60 year old African American girlfriend. This made my entire life. Also he is a hypochondriac and Lorianne is a germaphobe so they got on splendidly, comparing notes in a diner about whether one should not drink from a straw and because you'd get excess gas, or indeed use the straw so as to avoid touching your lips to the diner glass itself. When she offered to pay for breakfast, he said, "You try and I'll stab you," to which she answered, "You looking for a fight, old man?" The bond was permanently formed.
It went uphill from there. MY highlight was going to FAO Schwartz where Lorianne danced on the "Big" piano and I built and made my very own muppet (who I then named Ted). As we rode trains and looked for rats, visited the best candy store in the world, walked all over Manhattan for hours, and met my brother and his GENIUS daughter, things were looking up. My niece engaged in a political conversation with us on her views on Obama from last year, (when she was in 1st grade!) and I looked very smug. I had warned Lorianne that New Yorkers were smarter than West Coast people. I told her to go brag to my brother about her third graders who just seem to cry and masturbate. We then saw the longest running Broadway show, the Statue of Liberty... she took over 100 photos (none of rats but many of things she remembered from the show "Friends") and we ate more candy.
The trip took a darker turn when we rented a car and spent a short time with my disabled mother in Queens. We took her and her friend out and Lorianne was a real trouper, as she set up the DVD player I bought my mom and drew very large, easy pictures to show my mother and her aide how to operate it. This will be hit or miss as I saw my old 1981 15-ton VCR with half the parts missing still in my old room. We also took her to Red Lobster and she learned that she could ride a little cart all around Target and recall her younger, more active days (my mother, not Lorianne.) We tried to make her happy, and forgo'd? forwent a shower as it had a little old lady seat and some sort of catheter tube thingy hanging from the shower head. I wondered how her aides showered and Lorianne reminded me that they didn't even have to, since my mother doesn't have a sense of smell.
Besides Lorianne spilling water on my laptop- but it's fixed now and it was covered under warrantee!!! - things got better. I loved seeing snow, hearing people curse, eating off of everyone's plate, seeing my dad be the softest he's ever been with a very sweet woman, knowing my mom has something new to make her happy, and I have a niece who can take on Glenn Beck.
I love thee, NY.
Lorianne, Ted and I will miss you, but it's also good to be home.
Thursday, February 25, 2010
Saturday, February 6, 2010
Facebook for Generation -"Whatever the Heck I Am."
There are two types of people that use Facebook:
1. The younger set that take 489 photos of themselves and friends by sticking the camera above their heads and smiling
2. And people over 30.
And like many other ageist thoughts I have about young people, I don’t quite think they get the full benefit on Facebook. I mean, they’re showing current photos. Of themselves. To people who see them like that every day. How is that fun? You have to either post photos of yourself 18 years ago, or of yourself now so people who knew you 18 years ago can laugh, cry or be glad they didn’t end up with you. You may think they want to see photos of your kids, dogs, cats, new dining room table, etc. But they don’t. Unless they didn’t end up with you, then they want to see those photos so they’d know what their kids, dogs, cats and dining room tables would have looked like, had you stayed together. I, myself, was freaked out by the eighth grade photos of the children of a guy I liked when we were in eighth grade. It really is scary.
But no matter what my cynical wit may suggest, Facebook for the 30+ group is really amazing. It’s better and Cheaper (until they start charging for it) than therapy. You have a chance to contact people you lost touch with and maybe even still have misunderstandings or grudges with, and clean them up. Nothing feels better than contacting a person you dated 15 years ago who dumped you only to hear their 50 year old self say they had been an a—hole. What? It wasn’t me? Or that guy you obsessed about for 20 years- is not just a dad and bald. Lay that one to rest.
But on an up note, I have reconnected with people I have loved, who were influential in my life, and found little pieces of me again, that I had let go. I reconnected with the funniest person in college and stayed with her in Washington DC. She has the cutest kids ever and was as wonderful as ever. I reconnected with another old friend and stayed with her in Sundance (yes, Facebook causes travel). I found old crushes, old buddies, people telling me they always believed in me, and who know me very well, because some things just never changed. My friend reconnected with an old high school love who never forgot her and he moved here to be with her. I even was contacted by my (now 80 year old) 5th grade teacher, who has been contacted by everyone else she taught and wondered where I was- the amazing spirit and writer. If your 80 year-old 5th grade teacher remembers you, you can certainly pull up your pants and puff up your chest. You’re a hot shot now.
Yes, youngsters, I get how wonderful it is to post those handheld 590 photos of you looking hot. I myself blush, since I taught some of you when you were really young and have to see those photos now, but perhaps that’s how my 80 year old ex fifth grade teacher thinks of me. “Beverly, you’re only 11. Stop being so gosh darn sexy!”
So take a chance, look up that person who made a difference for good or bad, in your life. Face the “bad ones” from the point of view of the adult you are now, thank the “good” ones for all they’ve done. Give a piece of themselves back to the people who really made you who you are.
And then you can give them a chicken bone from Farmville.
1. The younger set that take 489 photos of themselves and friends by sticking the camera above their heads and smiling
2. And people over 30.
And like many other ageist thoughts I have about young people, I don’t quite think they get the full benefit on Facebook. I mean, they’re showing current photos. Of themselves. To people who see them like that every day. How is that fun? You have to either post photos of yourself 18 years ago, or of yourself now so people who knew you 18 years ago can laugh, cry or be glad they didn’t end up with you. You may think they want to see photos of your kids, dogs, cats, new dining room table, etc. But they don’t. Unless they didn’t end up with you, then they want to see those photos so they’d know what their kids, dogs, cats and dining room tables would have looked like, had you stayed together. I, myself, was freaked out by the eighth grade photos of the children of a guy I liked when we were in eighth grade. It really is scary.
But no matter what my cynical wit may suggest, Facebook for the 30+ group is really amazing. It’s better and Cheaper (until they start charging for it) than therapy. You have a chance to contact people you lost touch with and maybe even still have misunderstandings or grudges with, and clean them up. Nothing feels better than contacting a person you dated 15 years ago who dumped you only to hear their 50 year old self say they had been an a—hole. What? It wasn’t me? Or that guy you obsessed about for 20 years- is not just a dad and bald. Lay that one to rest.
But on an up note, I have reconnected with people I have loved, who were influential in my life, and found little pieces of me again, that I had let go. I reconnected with the funniest person in college and stayed with her in Washington DC. She has the cutest kids ever and was as wonderful as ever. I reconnected with another old friend and stayed with her in Sundance (yes, Facebook causes travel). I found old crushes, old buddies, people telling me they always believed in me, and who know me very well, because some things just never changed. My friend reconnected with an old high school love who never forgot her and he moved here to be with her. I even was contacted by my (now 80 year old) 5th grade teacher, who has been contacted by everyone else she taught and wondered where I was- the amazing spirit and writer. If your 80 year-old 5th grade teacher remembers you, you can certainly pull up your pants and puff up your chest. You’re a hot shot now.
Yes, youngsters, I get how wonderful it is to post those handheld 590 photos of you looking hot. I myself blush, since I taught some of you when you were really young and have to see those photos now, but perhaps that’s how my 80 year old ex fifth grade teacher thinks of me. “Beverly, you’re only 11. Stop being so gosh darn sexy!”
So take a chance, look up that person who made a difference for good or bad, in your life. Face the “bad ones” from the point of view of the adult you are now, thank the “good” ones for all they’ve done. Give a piece of themselves back to the people who really made you who you are.
And then you can give them a chicken bone from Farmville.
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