Cranky Pants

I write so much about positivity, that readers forget I get cranky too. Just because someone is self-actualized and free of societal toxicity doesn’t mean they don’t still occasionally get annoyed. Here are five things I recently pulled on my cranky pants for:

HUMIDITY. I had an actual temper tantrum the other day because the air was 99% humidity as I plodded across campus to my class. I wondered where the 1% was, and how hard it would be to get to it, stand in it, and revel in it. By the time you read this, the humidity has probably broken, but I was really mad that day as I could actually watch my blown-out hair crinkle up.

PATIO CUSHIONS. I think they’ve had it. For the tenth consecutive early fall, my gorgeous crepe myrtle tree has deposited leaves and buds onto the cushions. Then when it rains or is very humid, the foliage sort of, like, melts onto the cushions. No matter how vigilant I am about sweeping them off and wiping them down, I’m not willing to quit my job in order to protect them, which is what I would have to do. I’ll store them neatly again in a few weeks, but I don’t know if they can withstand anymore abuse.

AT&T. I’m not quite distanced enough from what happened last week to tell the story objectively and coherently, but I promise to regale you with it soon. Abominable.

JACKSON HOLE, WYOMING. I cannot spend my fall there, not this fall, at least. I’m grounded, for the time being. But next fall I’ll be there, and my friend from Wyoming had better stop sending me pictures of lakes and mountains, or I’m going to kick his ass. He knows how jealous I am, and does it on purpose.

MY SONS. I’m joking, they rarely get me cranky, I just wanted to mention three of the best-looking, smart, accomplished, funny human beings on Earth who bang in and out of the house to-and-from their busy lives, reminding me that no matter what I do for the rest of my life, they are and will always be MY GREATEST WORK. Love you guys.

Remembrance

My son asked me last weekend if I remembered what I was doing on 9/11.

Sure I do, I said. I was teaching Romeo and Juliet.

Specifically, I was having a discussion with my ninth-grade students about the importance of the character Benvolio. He was the good guy, the peacemaker, the one who was always trying to make things right between the families. I was wearing my favorite brown suit and my favorite brown leather shooties.

God, I loved that outfit.

I also seem to remember that I was sitting on a desk while I taught. I cringe thinking about it now. If one of my student teachers did that during an observation, I’d let her have it. How inappropriate. What was I thinking?

Then an announcement came over the loudspeaker:

“Mrs. Oves, you need to pick your twins up from daycare. It is closing for the day.”

Then all the shit started to hit the fan. After I picked the boys up, I put them down for a mid-morning nap. Since it was such a beautiful day, I sat outside the house in a beach chair, just in shock. When the Hub got home we turned on the news, and didn’t really turn it off for weeks and weeks.

No one did.

To be honest, my readers, it’s been a tiring week. I’m bushed. Notice that my Press Kit is ready, so check it out, and coaching packages will be added soon as well.

Enjoy your weekend and let’s never forget.

“That Guy” in Two Parts

(Author’s Note: No comparisons are being made in this post between the horrific events of 9/11 and what occurred in my yard last weekend. That would be silly. The comparison here is simply this: no matter what the situation, there’s always “that guy.” Don’t be that guy.

Part I: 9/11

I was recently watching a documentary about the maritime rescues made in New York City on 9/11. What a fascinating story. We hear so much about ground crew rescues on that day, but we forget that party boats, fishing vessels and ferries evacuated hundreds of thousands of New Yorkers from the South Cove waterfront the day the Twin Towers fell. Great viewing stuff directed by Spike Lee on HBO.

Anyhoo, one of the captains of a rescue boat told a story, but first shared this anecdote: when he loaded all of the people he could onto his boat, they were understandably nervous. No one knew what was going on, or what else could happen. Imagine the terror and confusion. They asked the captain where they were going:

“New Jersey,” he said.

(Collective moan) “Oh no, God no, anywhere but Jersey!”

(Laughter among the passengers).

Here’s his story:

He pulled up to South Cove waterfront on 9/11, one of hundreds of boats that arrived on the scene to help with evacuations. As he pulled up, he realized there was no way to tie his boat up, and a man standing on the bank suggested he tie up to the trees, and run the lines across the wall. As he began to do so, this woman came up to him and identified herself as working for the Parks Department. Now picture it: in back of her was Armageddon- we’ve all see the pictures, some of us were there. Billowing smoke, people screaming, ambulances and fire trucks whizzing past blaring their sirens, passengers crying and covered in soot and dust. Most were shoeless, since they had taken their shoes off to run when the first tower fell. Out of nowhere this woman walked up to this captain as he began to tie his lines to the trees, and said simply:

“You can’t do that.”

He was flabbergasted.

“Can’t do what? Tie my boat to the trees so as to evacuate these people?”

“That’s correct,” she said primly “You can’t do that. I’ll report it.”

He laughed in her face and said what any of us would have said:

“So call the cops. And kindly move out of my way.”

I kind of hoped she was pushed in the water or something. Because no matter what the situation, there is always that one person.

Part II: My front yard

My son and his friends were in the front yard last weekend throwing a football around before they left for golf. One of the boys had brought his sweet Golden Retriever for a quick visit, and the boys played fetch with him on the lawn. He was one of those dogs who was all about “the ball”- he never took his eyes off it. Super cute and fluffy dog.

I was working on the patio and distractedly enjoying the boys’ lawn activities, but I eventually detected some kind of kerfuffle. I looked up to see the boys laughing and gesturing at an unpleasant-looking man walking away and disgruntledly making a phone call. Turns out he was angry because he had to walk in the street with his wife and daughter because he didn’t want to get near the dog.

“Dog belongs on a leash,” he mumbled at the boys, “I’m calling the cops.”

My son and his friends are kind, intelligent, mature young men, and they did not goad him. They apologized for the inconvenience, and as he walked away, informed him that they were leaving with the dog in a few minutes anyway. One of the boys who has just graduated from law school tried to get the man to come back so they could talk about it reasonably. The man wanted no part of reason and began to stalk around the block to get my address.

The boys did leave for golf a few minutes later with the dog, and whether police showed up to check my yard out remains to be seen. I did see a patrol car across the street, and thought how amusing the scene had to be from his eyes. An empty yard with a middle-aged woman sitting on a patio drinking a glass of wine and reading a college textbook. Just the adrenaline-pumping stuff he joined the police force for, I’m sure. I imagined the call to the man:

“Sir, there is no dog on that lawn. There are no young men on that lawn. There is nothing on that lawn. Just an old lady. Sorry.”

I can tell you that that unfortunate-looking man was pissed that he got no satisfaction. It was a gorgeous night so I stayed outside until dark, and I watched as he walked past my house no less than six times, looking at my property, texting and staring towards my house. As the week has progressed, I have noticed him walk past, multiple times a day, frustrated and just waiting and hoping to spot that loose Golden Retriever so he could call the police again.

He always looks very cross, and I wonder what his family thinks about the fact that they have spent good money to spend some family time in Ocean City with their young daughter, and he has squandered it acting as a one-man vigilante force.

So no matter how your week is going, you can feel grateful for one thing:

You ain’t that guy.

Daily Valor

The movie “Uncommon Valor” sits nestled in my heart next to memories of home, and love, and family. When I hear the actors talking through the television, I feel like my own brothers, uncles and cousins have entered the room. I know their facial expressions, I understand their personalities, and I can recite the dialogue. I have also never, not once, managed to not cry at the end. If you’d like a dose of humility, patriotism, loyalty and brotherhood, rent it.

But have those tissues ready.

I’m not crying, you’re crying.

It just happened to be on this past weekend, and I was able to watch part of it with my son. There is a scene where Wilkes needs to crawl into a narrow pipe, and Blaster gives him his medallion, telling him it’ll keep him safe. While in the pipe, Wilkes gets bitten by a huge snake, but manages to wrestle it and kill it. Bleeding and terrified, Wilkes throws the snake out of the pipe. Blaster looks at it, and yells into Wilkes:

“Don’t worry, it’s not poisonous. Told you my medallion was good luck!”

That’s life, isn’t it? You’re tired and worn, terrified and unsure, maybe bloody, beaten and battered, and there’s always some fool in your life coming at you with a version of Blaster’s line:

Could have been worse.

You should count yourself lucky.

Look at the bright side of the situation.

It’s a blessing in disguise.

(Next week, next month, next year, ten years from now) you’ll look back and realize it was all for the best.

I’m that fool in your life.

We’ve all been Wilkes in that pipe, counting his lucky stars to just be alive. I recently read a story about a woman who got in a car accident. Her car was totaled, her legs were crushed, but she told the interviewer it was the best thing that could have ever happened to her.

How can that be?

Because when the x-rays came back, it showed a tumor in her spine, that was operable. If she had never gotten in the accident, the tumor would never have been detected, and might have metastasized.

Michael Singer author of The Untethered Soul is a huge proponent of the belief that no matter how bad we think our lives are, there is something to be grateful for. He once spoke to a woman who was in the depths of despair over her son. A drug addict, he had committed armed robbery, and was incarcerated. She was inconsolable.

“How can you tell me that I should be grateful that my son is locked in a jail cell? How can I find the good in that?”

Singer looked at her.

“Does he get fed?”

She looked at him.

“Yes.”

“Is he warm?”

“Yes.”

“Can he read? Exercise? Go outside?”

“Yes.”

“Is he now safe from the streets, from violence, from freezing cold, from drug dealers, from sexual perverts?”

“Yes.”

“Then you should be grateful for at least that.”

Rent “Uncommon Valor,” and enjoy it with your family. You won’t regret it. I couldn’t find the snake scene, but embedded here is Sailor (Randall “Tex” Cobb) dancing free, with joy and abandon.

Here’s wishing you joy and abandon this weekend.

Land Lines

(There are a lot of movie mentions on my blog this week. It wasn’t on purpose, but hope you enjoy)

Growing up in a world with landlines was an alternate reality.

Remember pay phones? Memorizing phone numbers? Checking the answering machine? Getting a roll of film developed? Never ever having privacy? I remember stretching the house phone cord as long as I could for privacy to talk to that boy, while my brothers made kissy faces at me. The thought of it makes me laugh now.

So many things today’s generation will never experience.

Meeting in the bowling alley parking lot at 9:00 p.m. on a Saturday night, because that was the only way we could be sure to know where our whole gang was.

Having no idea what movies were playing, so you chose when you got there.

Waiting. Always waiting. Waiting to be picked up for a date, and looking out the window for the headlights. Waiting for your parents to pick you up at school, practice, the movies, because there was no way to contact them. Waiting outside the school for your friend to get out of class so you could catch a ride home.

And always getting lost, because you couldn’t read a map.

The greatest irony in life is that change is the most consistent thing we have. You can count on it.

I like watching old movies, and trying to catch anachronisms. You know, like seeing a character in “Gladiator” wearing a watch. But I gotta tell you, I was today years old when it occurred to me that while landline phones in movies have become anachronisms, they actually played a role in advancing the plot.

In old movies, if the character is stuck on the phone, he’s physically stuck, like he’s tied to a stake in the ground. In old movies, the businessman couldn’t put the client on speaker so he could look up that account or grab a drink. He couldn’t talk on Bluetooth, or walk out to speak to his secretary. A young girl couldn’t talk to her bestie while driving to the mall or walking to meet her. Two lovers actually had to talk in their homes.

I love the old movie “When a Stranger Calls,” based on the premise that the babysitter is getting prank phone calls from inside the house. The remake with Camilla Belle was interesting, because with a cell phone, now the babysitter is no longer stuck in the house, but wandering the grounds. And while it makes the movie more exciting, I still like the old version better. What could be scarier than Carol Kane’s face as she stares in horror at that landline?

Let’s do some more.

My favorite scene in the movie “Jaws” is when Chief Brody is trying to get his deputy’s attention from inside the harbormaster’s office because he can’t put the phone down, so he throws small stones at the window to get the deputy to turn and face him; when he does turn, Brody waves him violently into the office.

I thought that if “Jaws” was re-made today (don’t you dare, Hollywood!), and the characters had cell phones, the scene would be lost. There would be no frustration, no pebbles, no violent wave.

“Goodbye Girl”: Marsha Mason talking to Richard Dreyfuss on the phone, looking out the window to watch him standing in the pouring rain in a phone booth. This is when she knows he loves her and is coming back. Cinematically beautiful.

“Terms of Endearment”: Emma talking to Sam on the wall phone in her bathroom, as she stretches the phone cord and shuts the door to get a little private time. During this scene the viewer is treated to a sweet moment when her son Teddy comes in the bathroom to pee, and she tells him not to flush. “But you told me to always flush!” She whispers, “Not this time!”

“As Good as It Gets”: The seamlessly perfect Helen Hunt talking to Jack Nicholson at the end of the movie- she wants to apologize to him for her behavior, and both of them on their phones in their private bedrooms is intimate. And the plunk of that phone getting set down on its cradle is so satisfying.  

“Broadcast News”: Holly Hunt whispering to William Hurt on the phone in Albert Brooks’ kitchen, and Brooks says, “Can’t you pretend this is just a little bit awkward? You getting ready for this date?” The scene I’ve embedded is one of my favorite speeches of any movie of ALL TIME. ALL FREAKING TIME. I’ve always been a bit gaga about journalism.

“Say Anything”: Toss-up between the phone booth scene, where he utters the famous lines to his sister after Diane Court breaks up with him: “She gave me a pen. I gave her my heart, and she gave me a pen,” and the scene when he has no privacy to speak to Diane Court, so he is nervous and pacing, and using the phone as a prop.

“Falling in Love”: Meryl Streep and Robert DeNiro are so known for their complicated roles and foreign accents, that people forget this beautiful, simple, sweet movie of two married people who tried to keep from falling in love, but could not. Heart-wrenching. At the end of the movie, DeNiro’s character Frank calls Meryl’s character Molly at her home because he is going away and he wants to say goodbye to her. She has to veil the conversation from her husband, but at the end, leaves the house anyway to see Frank. I couldn’t find the exact scene but here is the final scene where they both say “Fuck it,” decide they have one freaking life, and they’re going to be with the one person who makes them happy. Meryl Streep just couldn’t get anymore beautiful than she is, and I could watch this train scene a gazillion times.

“Breakfast Club”: The whole movie. Because if there had been cell phones, there would have been no conversation, except for comparing videos and memes.

Thanks Go Daddy

small logo of Chrysalis Collective

So I’m reading this book on marketing websites, and it seems I have broken two cardinal rules of choosing a domain. 

First, I did not use a “.com.”

Pribyl warns me to not overestimate my readers’ IQs. That even if you log in once, you’ll default to “.com” the next time because it’s second nature, and you’ll never find me again. But isn’t that what autofill is for? Once you’re following, you don’t need to type the whole URL in, it’ll just pop up. I mean, sheesh.

Anyway, if typing in the letters O-R-G instead of C-O-M are that taxing on you, we wouldn’t get along anyway. Go read a cereal box. I mean, good things are worth it, right? 

Oh, and the “.com” version, while being strangely non-existent, was also ironically taken. Not by a website, but by some dumb schmuck who decided to buy it for ten bucks, then try to sell it to me for 8K. Yeah, right. And since I had already become emotionally attached to The Chrysalis Collective, I wasn’t about to try and bond with another domain.

And with that, chrysaliscollective.org was born. I went from the dot com world of posting about mani-pedis and artichoke dip, to the dot org world, where we have podcasts, help the homeless, and solve world hunger. 

It’s a lot of pressure, but I’m up for it. 

(I’ll still be blogging about fun stuff, too). 

The second thing the book suggests is to choose a short and easy-to-spell domain. Again, for the IQ-challenged.

Ruh-roh.

My domain name is obviously not short. And as far as spelling, I’m a fantastic typist, and even I have trouble manipulating the consonant blend of “c-h-r-y-s.” My fingers kinda fumble over the keys. Ah well. Again, autofill.

But since The Chrysalis Collective is devoted to change and all the mess that change embraces, and since my tagline is “Be You Now,” I steadfastly refuse to dumb down my URL for my readers. My readers are smart, educated, and passionate, and enjoy the finer things in life. And they certainly won’t be deterred away from provocative award-winning content by a few measly letters. That’d be like dying of thirst in the desert with only three steps to go towards a pitcher of ice-cold water, and deciding it’s not worth it and turning around.

Don’t be a silly goose. And yes, I just compared my website content to ice-cold water in the desert. 

Welcome to The Chrysalis Collective.

Apple Corp: The Final Episode

apple phone and earbuds

Greatest final endings in history, go.

Who Shot JR?

“The Usual Suspects.”

End of “The Sopranos.”

Last episode of “MASH.”

I. Am. Your. Father…..

Allow me to add to your list.

I had to purchase a new iPhone yesterday. The phone I have used and loved and taken care of since 2017 is kaput.

It’s tough for me to admit defeat, because I tend to be a lot of words that end in “s.” Relentless. Tenacious. Assiduous. Sedulous. Zealous. So for me to march into the phone store and nod my head like a sheep and agree to a new phone was tough tough tough.

There’s no real story to tell here. Apple won. They took away my camera, my voice texting, my autocorrect, my charge port, my GPS, and yesterday, my ability to make and receive phone calls. They played their hand and won.

Or did they?

Once the AT&T techs established that my phone had suffered irreparable damage and could not be salvaged, I looked them square in the eye, and told them to bring up my account. I tried to stand behind them as they were on the computer, but I was rebuffed.

“Sorry, ma’am, we’re not allowed to have customers stand behind us as we’re pulling up accounts,” the technician said sheepishly.

I moved quickly to the front.

“I’m sorry, I’ll stand in front.”

“Or,” he said, smiling, “you could sit down and relax.”

“Oh, well, I have a problem with sitting down and relaxing. Mind if I stand?”

“No problem. So what would you like me to do with your account?”

“Delete.”

“Delete?”

“Delete. Delete stuff until the price of the new phone does not raise my phone bill.”

And they did. They deleted stuff until I left with a new phone AND a lower phone bill. Yep, you heard that right. It took three hours of my time, but I stood in that store while those nice boys played around with the computer and crunched numbers until they got my phone bill forty dollars lower than it was.

To the victor belong the spoils.

So as you glide into your weekend, never forget that sometimes, hidden in your worst fears, is a prize. And sometimes, the obstacle IS the way.

Rose, Thorn, Bud

rose on book pages

Did an early beach morning after mass yesterday with a friend. Glorious.

Sunday beach mornings. Coffee, a scone and the paper, the acquisition of all three no problemo because stores are still quiet. The beaches like empty wind-swept plains, and all the space in the world to sit. I plunk down in my chair to listen to soft country music on my grasshopper-green transistor radio, and watch the lifeguards set up their stations. By the time families arrive, plodding through the sand with their wagons and assorted accoutrement, I am ready to head home.

But yesterday morning we didn’t want to head home. Even after three hours (my beach-sitting max), we didn’t want to leave. It was THAT de-lovely.

But head back we did. I had skipped breakfast, and for some reason, I couldn’t stop thinking about steak tacos. And oddly enough, when I looked in my beach bag for steak tacos, there were none in there. Which made perfect sense, because it’s quite common for me to NOT have steak tacos in my beach bag. So we left to go to a place where there would be a better chance of finding steak tacos.

Anyway, my friend sent me a link that asked me to provide my Rose, my Thorn and my Bud from Saturday. This is just a poetically-refined way of saying, “How was your day?” The Rose is a positive thing that happened, the Thorn is a negative, and the Bud is something you’re looking forward to. After I filled it out, I looked at it.

Dang, I thought, my Saturday looks boring AF.

But while it may have looked boring, it wasn’t boring to me. Chaotic summer Saturdays here at the shore are so invasive, so completely SOCIALLY INFILTRATING, that if I can’t escape the island on Saturday check-in days, I lie low and use them as an opportunity to attend to clerical and housekeeping stuff.

Saturday Roses:

Made banana bread with overripe bananas.

Washed and replaced all the household bedding.

Caught up with some of my sons’ friends before they all left for the city.

Made dinner for my youngest, who is NEVER home but for some reason that night, was.

Thorns:

Nowhere to sit at the local library. Did they miss the memo that the planet is reopened? I would really appreciate it if someone could tell me why the tables and study carrels have not been replaced. I got politely kicked out of the COMPUTER ROOM for using my personal computer at a computer lab table, no kidding. I left quietly and agreeably, but not before I quietly reminded the kind lab attendant that it is a “public library,” with nowhere to sit. I honestly think they’re trying to milk it until fall, so that they don’t have to deal with people using it as a hangout. If I’m wrong, feel free to change my mind.

Buds:

My new job, my new website, my son’s upcoming birthday dinner, and escaping island chaos this coming weekend for a special July Fourth celebration (more on this).

Here’s to a week filled with roses and buds!

More Cowbell

Will Ferrell snl playing cowbell

I shan’t be posting about gender roles today. I wrote it, but it turned out boring, and sounded bitchy and pretentious. I kept thinking it was missing something. And then it hit me.

Cowbell. It needed more cowbell.

It’s too nice out for such boorish drivel, and I want to play nine holes. So let’s have some fun, and do a:

June List of Five Things I Am Loving Right Now:

  • My Tuner. Eckhardt Tolle told me to buy one from his website to improve my mindfulness and alert my chakras. I’m wearing it right now, a small green and silver whistle attached to a silver chain around my neck. It’s just a tuner that I can blow whenever I get a negative thought, or when I want to come back to my center when I meditate. I only blew the tuner a few times today. Once behind a slow driver (tweeeet), once walking back to my car after waiting in a long grocery store line of tourists (tweeeet), and all the way home after I was stuck behind a guy at the toll booth who did not have an EZ Pass transponder, therefore the EZ Pass turnstile would not go up for him. Funny how those things work. We were all stuck behind him for ten minutes until an operator came and lifted the turnstile manually (tweeeeeeeeeeeeeet).
  • My New Website. My friend Jennifer is probably not reading this right now, as she tends to read my blogs in bulk, rather than daily. But just the other day, as we were discussing the reunion we are planning in the fall (along with our third Musketeer Katherine), she revealed that she now specializes in website design. “What a coincidence,” I said to her, “because I currently specialize in having a shitty website!” Yeah, so I’m thinking I will have this beautiful new user-friendly website by the end of the year or not soon after, one in which my sponsors can actually see their products being advertised. I want it to look polished and pretty like my favorite blogger’s website, who shall remain unidentified here because I am petty and immature, and I don’t want you to like her blog more than mine. So nanny nanny boo boo.
  • The “Colette” movie. Colette is one of my favorite authors, and Keira Knightly brought her to life for me. Even by today’s standards Colette was scandalous, and her Claudine books were even more so. My favorite part of the movie was when Colette confronted her domineering husband Willy about the fact that he sold the rights to the Claudine books without her permission. She stormed out, and demanded that her lawyers and book publishers identify her as the true Claudine author. She won that victory, and never spoke to Willy again. A racy, provocative flick, somewhere in and around HBO.
  • This DM on Instagram: “Hi Mary had a look over your profile seems like you are a great fit for @smoothmyballs. We are interested in working with you. Can you please drop them a message here: @smoothmyballs, and they will get back to you as soon as possible.” Oh, yes, indeed, you bet I will be sending them a message. I have to know what kind of job opportunity @smoothmyballs is offering me.
  • “Seinfeld” coming to Netflix.
  • BONUS: Here’s wishing you a weekend filled with more cowbell. Baby.
I gotta fevah. And the only prescription…is more cowbell.

Lunatic Fringe

It’s Cheat Day, fam.

Embedded here is the last scene in the movie “Vision Quest,” one of the most underrated sports movies on the planet along with “Win Win,” another classic wrestling movie. As a wrestling family, the song “Lunatic Fringe” by Red Rider echoed through our house, wrestling practices, warm-ups, and earbuds throughout three wrestling careers, hundreds of weigh-ins and fifteen years.

There’s no sport like wrestling. None. No sport even comes close. Once it’s in your blood, even as a parent, it’s there to stay.

This goosebump-inducing scene is right before Louden Swain finally gets his dream shot at wrestling Shute. One of our favorite family movies, and one of the best hype songs to warm-up to for anything from the gym, a contest, an interview or a presentation.

And no matter what your vision quest is, whether it’s that college degree, an entry-level position with that fancy company, award-winning roses or even just whiter teeth, here’s hoping you do something every day that chips away at the obstacles separating you from victory.

And I hope your Thursday lies somewhere between above average and the lunatic fringe. Because only by moving towards the lunatic fringe can one even hope to find anything nearing excellence.