There were horses, and a man on fire, and I killed a guy with a trident

Yesterday was a pretty tense day around the ol’ Fortress of Solitude.  In anticipation of Irene’s arrival we got our bottled water, filled our bathtub, put away all of our deck and porch furniture and waited.

Thankfully, she didn’t do much damage around here.  Looks to be some localized flooding, but nothing too bad.  Or at least not enough that we can’t look back on some of yesterday’s weather coverage and laugh.  Because, seriously people, some of these intrepid individuals just about hurled themselves into the sea to demonstrate how bad things were.

But first, a brief detour.  As instructed by the good people at The Weather Channel, I texted my parents this morning to make sure all was well instead of calling, to conserve my battery just in case we still lost power.  I did break all of the rules (damn the man, Willard) and called yesterday as Irene cranked up to make sure Mom had filled the bathtubs. 

She did not, however, fully appreciate my kind and thoughtful gesture.  Probably because when I called I told her that I was calling because the people on the TV instructed me to check up on the elderly and infirmed.  And, um, Husband might have been yelling “ARE YOU OK, INFIRMED ELDERS???” in the background.  I kid because I love, promise.  No, really!  (But yeah, we really did do that.  Moving on.)

So after getting my text this morning, Mom (always the rebel!) calls back to tell me that they were fine but without power.  And that they had already driven around to check out the damage.  Teeeeerriffic.  As visions of my parents getting play on the news for being flood-rescue candidates ran through my head, Mom ‘fessed up that the REAL reason they ventured out was to go out for breakfast.  Because what’s a little flooding when you’ve got a hankering for some good diner eggs?

As sane people stayed indoors, all food-related establishments were closed.  Which left Dad with a problem – morning coffee.  Dad NEEDS his coffee.  Strong like hi-test gasoline and piping hot, every morning first thing.  Their power was out and restaurants were closed – what to do?

Dad is nothing if not a modern day pioneer.  As a result, when I called to check in, I couldn’t actually speak to Dad because he was perkily boiling water for coffee. Outside on their deck.  On my parents’ gas barbeque.  Pa Ingalls would be proud.

Beyond Mom and Dad, I have to laugh at some of these weather guys.  Yes, last night was practically Christmas.  Beyond the dangerous potential of the storm, this was the local guy’s big opportunity to finally get noticed and get that big call up to The Weather Channel.  And try to get noticed they did. 

I would be remiss if I didn’t mention one of our fine local weathermen, Adam Joseph.  First, the guy was on the air for 12 hours straight.  So he gets mad props from me for that.  However, there came a point where I didn’t think Adam would make it. 

At about 9:30 p.m., a pack of tornadoes started popping up around the area.  Adam, jacket and tie off and sleeves rolled up at this point, basically lost it.  He started gesticulating wildly around the map, spitting out the names of random cities that might be in the path of a tornado.  Which, mind you, at this point basically covered the entire greater Philadelphia region.

“Radnor!  Central Philly!  Conshohocken!  Broomall!  DREXELL HILL!  KING OF PRUSSIA!!!!”

Then Adam started screaming for paper.  “I need this written down.  This is too much.  I need paper!  PAPER PEOPLE!”

An hour later, Adam had both his paper and grasp on reality firmly in hand.  But that moment when he morphed into Kermit the Frog-doing-the-crazy-wave will forever make me smile.

Then we have the reporters who feel the need to actually try to get swept away by the ocean to prove their point.  If you tracked The Weather Channel at all yesterday, you may have seen the reporter stationed in Nags Head, NC.  During a hurricane, this guy decided to stand in the ocean.  As the wind and surf picked up in power, this guy doesn’t move to higher ground or even get out of the range of the ocean.  Nope.  Instead, he just widened his stance.  

There you go.  Don't get out of the way, just hunker down.  Because a lower center of gravity can defeat a frieking hurricane.  No problem.

As the day went on, he got closer and closer to doing a full split.  My black heart encouraged me to root for the ocean.  (No, of COURSE I didn’t.  That would be wrong.  Husband did.)

Finally, you may have heard of the enterprising young go-getter who stood right next to the boardwalk railing in Ocean City, MD to give viewers the fullest sense of the ocean’s fury?  He got covered in that ocean foam stuff that doesn’t dissipate and pretty much looked like Foamy the Snowman.

“It’s in my face as well…as you can imagine, it doesn’t taste well…it has a sort of sandy consistency to it.”

 

Yeah, um, about that foam.  For those of you that go to the beach, don’t ever go near that weird ocean foam again….organic matter is NOT plankton.  Guy pretty much made raw sewage foam snow angels.  (shudder)

For those of you yet to be hit, stay safe out there and please don’t eat any ocean foam!

Whatcha gonna do, brother?

To the Good People in the Programming Department at Food Network:

My family and I immensely enjoy your “Challenge” program.  Whether it’s making Rube Goldberg devices out of sugar or Disney characters draped in fondant, it’s all hands on deck in our house at 8 p.m. on Sunday nights.

However, I must bring to your attention a cruel injustice done during this past Sunday’s program.  Someone at your fine station decided to inexplicably attack one of the members of our geriatric population. 

This particular individual has done nothing but give to our good country.  For more than thirty years, he has fought.  He has fought for our rights – not just his own mind you.  This individual has fought for the rights of every man.  He has even fought for his life.

In short, he is a real American and I just don’t think it’s right to take an utterly unprovoked swipe at poor Mr. Hogan.

Sincerely,

Alison

Listen, Hulk, I know it might be crashing down and hurt inside, but you gotta take a stand against this cruelty - it don't help to hide.

Parenticus Sportian

“Let’s!  Get!  Fired up!”  (clap, clap, clapclapclap)  One hundred little voices ring out from the center of our high school’s courtyard.  The time has come – Girl #2 has joined cheerleading.

This isn’t our first time at the kid sports rodeo.  Each of the Kiddos has played soccer at one time or another, The Boy started t-ball, Girl #2 does gymnastics and Girl #1 swims.  So we have been to quite a few practices and games over the past few years.

Practices provide a unique opportunity for parent-watching.  It’s almost like bird-watching, with each sport having a specific species of uber-involved parent.  For now I’m going to focus on the male varieties of the species.

Soccer has the Beckham Dads.  These individuals can be found at every practice and game in rip-away warm-up pants and an Under Armor shirt, ready to be called into the game should the need arise.  As the games we see are generally played by 7 year olds, you can imagine that the need has never arisen for a parent to step in to sub for a fallen first grader.  But there the Beckham Dad waits, prepared to bend it at a moment’s notice. 

The Beckham Dad also has the charming attribute of directing his child’s every move.  “Joe!  This way!  No, attack!  ATTAAAAAAACK!! Now back!  Back!  BACK!!!! Get the ball, Joe, get the ball!  Defense!  DEFEEEEENSE!!!”  For two hours.  At top volume.  Please Joe, just get the ball and score.  For all of us.

Closely related to the Beckham Dad is the Varsity Blues Dad.  This individual played back in the day and hasn’t quite left those glory days behind.  Parent-kid game?  Yes.  Parent swim relay?  Sign.  Him.  Up.  He’ll show up in Speedos and tell everyone within earshot how he used to swim a 52 second 100-meter free.  Everyone smiles, nods and indulges him, secretly shaking their head at the aging, balding, waistline-expanding guy who insists on trying to recapture his youth.

Most recently, we spotted the elusive Bring It On Dad.  I had previously only seen this species on T.V. and was unsure whether we’d ever find a Bring It On Dad in his natural habitat.  Usually this particular species can be found on the kiddie beauty pageant circuit, shaking his groove thang and doing the Outfit-of-Choice routine right along with his daughter.

As I mentioned, Girl #2 has started cheerleading.  Practices began last week with the basics – learn the cheers, learn the moves.  I was watching the girls when all of a sudden I saw a dad step in line and start stretching.  Could it be a Bring It On Dad?  Sure enough, when the leader yelled (with SPIRIT) “READY???!?!??!” the suspected Bring It On Dad popped his hands on his hips right along with the girls.  Right L?  Check.  Left diagonal?  Indeed.  High V?  The highest!  

Sighting confirmed, I only have three words - GO!  FIGHT! WIN!!!

Please feel free to report your sightings of these and other species at kid sporting events around the country.

Keeping abreast of the situation

After a week spent blissfully cut off from civilization, we reentered the continental United States this morning with a bang.  Or, more appropriately, with a nipple.

Let me set the scene, if I may.  To get back to the mainland from our carless paradise, island-dwellers have to take a ferry.  After the ferry ride, everyone sort of runs around with their heads cut off at the terminal looking for their luggage.  While this is run with almost Disney-like efficiency and speed, there is nevertheless a general scrum as people spot their bags.

During the organized chaos, I see a newborn baby pretty much screaming his precious little head off.  I have nothing against newborns.  As I have little people of my own, I know the struggle.  I even remember the struggle.  Your kid is crying, you think everyone is not only looking at you but judging and looking up the number for the closest Child Protective Services office.  So I sympathized….until.

Everything was going along according to plan.  Screaming Baby had faded into the background commotion.  We were executing a precisely planned attack – Husband was completing the Tetris puzzle of repacking the car and I was corralling the Kiddos.  

Suddenly, I noticed that The Boy was a little….giggly.  He kept stealing looks across the departure loading road to a stairwell.  I followed his furtive little gaze and saw Screaming Baby and his mom.  Well, that’s not entirely correct.  I saw the back of Screaming Baby’s head and his mom’s right breast.

Teeeerrrriffic.

Listen, I get that a baby’s gotta eat.  Not trying to get into the Great Nursing Debate at all.  (But might I suggest nursing blankets for those expecting?)  However, at that moment, The Boy got more sex ed than I had really been prepared to give right off of a vacation. 

I nudged him.  Nothing.  Caught in the tractor beam of a free flesh buffet.  Finally, thankfully, Husband finished packing and I literally hauled my son into the car.

Husband’s reaction?  “Well, now we know The Boy’s a boob man.”

Charming.

I can’t wait to read his first journal entry on “What I Did This Summer.”

What is THAT???? Part 2

Just because I’m away from the crazy of everyday life, don’t think for a second that I’m not looking for blog gold.  Constant vigilance, people, constant vigilance.

My mom has been on a mission during this trip to find gnarled driftwood to bring home.  I get my special brand of, um, focus from my mom.  Some might call it a tendency to obsess, while Husband would probably say stubbornness.  (Husband:  LIKE AN OX!)  Once we get an idea in our heads, well, it’s lights out.  We are goal-oriented and that is that.

Last year, we decided to look for sea glass.  Instead of casual sunset beach walks, Mom and I would speedwalk-race each other down the beach, frantically scanning from side to side for a precious piece of sea glass.  It got uber-competitive, uber-quickly.  I don’t think I have to explain why Trivial Pursuit has almost resulted in blood?  No?  OK, then, moving on.

So, driftwood it has been for the past five days.  Yesterday, Mom came home with a special find from her walk.  She loves the gnarled and knobby qualities of the wood.

Me, I think the fine children she teaches are going to have the unfortunate opportunity to touch petrified deer poo.

So, my dear readers, I give the issue at hand to you….what is THAT????