The Road to Nostalgia is a Haunted Highway

On a recent road trip to Michigan for a family reunion, I decided to take a short side journey to visit my childhood home in Ohio. And though I’d been warned “you can never go home again,” it wasn’t as nostalgic as I thought it would be. In fact, the old neighborhood had grown so full of tall trees and massive shrubbery that I couldn’t even see my old house from the street. Not all of it anyway. The pines and maples my parents had planted way back in the sixties were now towering over the structure, surrounding it in a dark forest-like atmosphere that made it look more like Snow White’s cottage than a two story colonial. In my memory, the yard was always very open and the trees were much shorter and you could actually see the sky and clouds, and even lay out to get a tan. (Before we all learned that wasn’t such a great thing to do.) But now, it was rather dark and foreboding, and didn’t hold any of the charm I’d remembered from my youth.

So, after about ten minutes of staking out the old neighborhood, I continued my journey to Cleveland, which would be the halfway point and my rest stop for the evening. As a child, I remember countless trips to Cleveland every Christmas to visit the Twigbee Shop at the Terminal Tower Higbees, and then seeing all the touring companies of Broadway shows when they played at the Hanna theater downtown. So though Cleveland had always been somewhat of a joke among comedians when I was growing up, especially after the Cuyahoga River caught on fire, it would always hold a special place for me.

But again, like my old neighborhood, Cleveland almost seemed like a foreign country to me. The downtown area, which was usually busy on a normal weekday, seemed all but deserted when I arrived on a Wednesday afternoon. There were numerous stores that had been boarded up or were out of business, and the streets were pretty empty. There wasn’t a hustle or a bustle to be found anywhere. Even at five o’clock when most people would be hurrying to get home from a long day at work, there didn’t seem to be much action on the streets.

The next day, on my way to Michigan, I passed by a giant Uncle Sam on the highway. It reminded me of traveling across the country as a kid, and stopping at every tourist attraction that claimed to have the “world’s largest ball of string” or the “fattest chicken on record.” Finally, something from my youth that I could hold onto. I immediately pulled over and took some pictures.

Later the same day, I saw a “Big Boy” restaurant and stopped in for another possible trip down memory lane. As a youth, I’d always loved the Big Boy burgers and shakes, and all the comic books and toys you could get by going there. It became one of my family’s favorite haunts when we were on road trips. (Well, that and Stuckey’s, whose billboard signs along the roadway were notorious for enticing the tired traveler with their “world famous pecan logs” or souvenirs and novelties for the kids.) And though the Big Boy burger didn’t taste as great as I’d remembered, and there weren’t any comic books to be seen, it was nice to spend a little time in an atmosphere that reeked of good old-fashioned kitsch.

But the most memorable piece of the trip came when I happened to notice a sign along the Michigan highway that read “Prison Area. Please do not pick up any hitchhikers.” The very fact that they had to post such a sign was rather disturbing, as it obviously meant they’d not only had a huge problem with such occurrences in the past, but that it continued to be a touchy issue in the present. It also made me feel like there must be a preponderance of prison riots and breakouts in the area that would allow such hitchhikers to suddenly emerge on the highway at all. And if that wasn’t bad enough, there was a similar sign posted about two miles down the road, which meant the problem area must be growing. Whatever the reason for the signs, I didn’t stop or pull over for food for the next fifty miles, let alone pick up a hitchhiker (which I would never do anyway.)

So those are the highlights of my little road trip to the Midwest. Have you had any trips this summer that took you down your own memory lanes?

The Bitter Blandness of Boring Betty

When “Ugly Betty” first premiered several years ago, I'm sure I wasn't the only one confused about the title. Were they actually calling the lead of a prime time TV show "ugly," and in public no less? Even stranger, they seemed to be promoting ugly as a good thing. And true to their word, when poor Betty finally burst upon the scene, she appeared to be a sort of stereotypical assembly of every flaw and physical character imperfection they could find…minus any noticeable zits or warts (which surely might offend the sensitive ABC audience). She did have glasses though. And braces.  And bad hair. Not to mention an incredibly eclectic sense of style which presumably would land her in the "no-dating" zone for most of her hum drum life.

But then, like a glimmer of hope, Betty landed a plum job at a high powered fashion magazine, and it would only be a matter of time before we saw the Ugly Duckling turn into a beautiful swan. After all, that’s what we’ve come to expect from countless Disney movies and romantic comedies…the ugly girl always becomes more pretty than the pretty girl by the end of the film. Well, it’s been three years now, and Betty still looks like the poster child for Blackwell’s Worst Dressed List. True, her outerwear has moved away from looking like an ethnic parade float to a colorful canvas of expensive knits and fabric. But with all her acquired knowledge and face time with so many high fashion divas, you’d think she’d do a much better job of coordinating her daily appearances. As it stands, she still looks likes she’s dressing for a tea party at Salvador Dali’s.

And why, after three years, does she still have braces? She must have the worst dentist in the world, because underneath those metal facades, her teeth look perfectly fine. And what about those thick eyebrows and horrible glasses? Hasn’t her years of employment at Mode taught her anything about personal grooming?

All that aside, my main contention with “Ugly Betty” these days is how boring and bland it’s become. It used to be great to tune in just to hear what clever puns or phrasing Vanessa William’s character would throw around. But now those lines have become predictable, and the plotlines of the show have become tired. I’m so sick of Betty always getting into stupid situations and then being bailed out at the last minute. It’s a formula the show has used from the beginning, but now we’re so used to it, I almost want Betty to fail miserably just so we’ll see something different. She’s the eternal “good girl” whose need to always do the right thing inevitably ends in disaster, with everyone blaming poor Betty for even trying. Been there, done that, let’s move on. And don’t even get me started on her brassy shrew of a sister. Someone needs to put a muzzle on that mouth and teach her a few things about social etiquette.

I hope if Ugly Betty comes back next year, they finally shed the Ugly Betty image and make this girl a real person. Or at least a superficial version of a real person, which is much more than she is right now. Because at the moment, both Ugly Betty and her show are about as interesting and surprising as wet cardboard. And that’s being generous.

But that’s just me. What are your thoughts on Ugly Betty?

Musical Mockery #2--My Comcast Bill

My friend Michael is at it again with another Musical Mockery. This time his target is Comcast. After recently switching to Comcast's Triple Play option, he received a horrendous bill. And because Comcast was less than responsive to his complaints, he decided to write this little song to parody his experience. To watch the short video, please click on the photo above.

Cat Clips--Sneak and Snore

Please click on the photo above to watch the next installment in the "Cat Clips" series, entitled "Sneak and Snore." In this episode, the male cat tries to find out more information about "Honey's" newly developed schizophrenia.

Cat Clips #46--Accent Antics

Please click on the photo above to watch the next episode in the "Cat Clips" series. In this episode, Tuck tries to reintroduce himself to the male cat.

Dog Days--Winter Break

And now for a little change from the regular Cat Clips videos...it's time for a few Dog Days. In this episode, Bailey's mother tries to coax her outside on a particularly warm winter day. To watch the video, please click on the photo above.

Cat Clips---And Tipi Makes Three

Today's episode of "Cat Clips" features the introduction of a new member to the cast--Tipi. To watch the video, please click on the photo above. In today's installment, "And Tipi Makes Three," a new addition arrives in the house, with some very interesting aspirations.

NOTE: Winners of the latest "Henson's Hell" contest will be announced on Friday. Good luck!

Mouth Organ Karaoke--Summer Nights

Please click on the photo above to watch a short one-minute film from the "Mouth Organ Karaoke" series. In this video, the Rubber Duck Players perform their rendition of "Summer Nights" from the hit musical "Grease," accompanied by the Hohner Organ in my mouth.

Bird Bits--House Hunting

Please click on the photo above to watch a short one-minute movie from the "Bird Bits" series entitled "House Hunting." In this episode, a Cardinal realtor is showing a Robin some new bird house options.

How to Deftly Deal with a Distracted Listener

Have you ever been in the middle of a conversation with someone when you suddenly realize they’re not even listening to you? Sure, they appear like they’re listening—they nod their head at various intervals, or interject pointless questions to keep you going. But as far as "active listening" is concerned, they obviously “checked out” long ago.

This practice is becoming a standard during phone conversations, when people are easily distracted by other factors while talking to you. Especially people who insist on calling you when they’re in traffic jam, so you can listen to them constantly scream expletives at other drivers. (So much fun!) Or the parent who calls you just as his child is having a tantrum, so you can suffer through two simultaneous conversations—the one the parent is having with you, and the one the parent is having with his child. And guess which conversation eventually wins? That’s right, the escalating argument with the child. Sometimes the parent even leaves your conversation to go yell at his children, and then never returns. They also forget to hang up the phone, allowing you an uncomfortably intimate peak into their domestic dynamics, an opportunity best left untaken. (Trust me!)

Nevertheless, I am used to people zoning out during phone conversations. We tend to be a society addicted to multi-tasking, so most phone conversations now take place while people are working, driving, on the computer, reading a book, or any number of other actions which allow them to talk at the same time. (However, if I ever hear anyone flush a toilet at any time during our conversation, I immediately end the call. After all, there are certain “distractions” I don’t need to be a part of.)

So during phone conversations, I give some leeway when it comes to a person’s attention span. But when someone is standing directly in front of you and you suddenly notice their eyes glaze over, or their attention shift to the table next to you, chances are they’re thoughts are elsewhere. At this point, I usually stop talking, allowing their processing system to catch up on their lack of participation. The more abrupt, the better, because this will immediately jolt the inactive listener into “defense mode.” They suddenly become very attentive and scramble to remember the last tangible thing they heard you say. Usually it was something you said at the beginning of the conversation, a realization that not only embarrasses your distracted listener, but hopefully keeps them attentive for the remainder of your exchange.

So whatever happened to good listening skills? Have we become so busy and over-extended in our lives that we need our conversations served to us in small bite-size portions in order to fit them into the rest of our schedule? To me, there is nothing more satisfying or stimulating than a good conversation with people I enjoy. I hope the era of text messaging doesn’t eventually encapsulate our interchanges into a series of blips and beeps, because the human voice is a terrible thing to waste.

But that’s just me. What do you do when you notice someone zone out during a conversation? Or do you even notice? (Which may have completely different implications.)

The Cathartic Chaos of Camping

Today I am a guest blogger on Matt Urdan's blog, "Meltwater. Torrents. Meandering. Delta." So please click on the photo above or the link below to read all about my chaotic history with camping. And stay for a while to visit Matt's great website. You won't believe some of the photos--amazing!

The Cathartic Chaos of Camping

Enjoy!

I Never Knew--A Mother's Day Poem

For Mother's Day this year, I decided to write my mom a little poem. She's always been the "unsung hero" in our household, and I would like to give her a fitting tribute. My efforts are certainly less than she deserves, because her impact on my life is undoubtedly more than I can ever say. But here's my humble attempt to put my thoughts together in a creative way. I love you, Mom!

I Never Knew

I never knew my mom could laugh,
Until once late at night,
She laughed so hard she woke me up,
And gave me quite a fright.

I never knew my mom could care,
Until I got the flu,
Then night and day she stayed with me,
She helped me see it through.

I never knew my mom was proud,
Until she heard me sing,
Her face was beaming all the while,
Her eyes were watering.

I never knew my mom worked hard,
Until I saw the bills,
And how her job helped pay them all,
To free our life from ills.

I never knew my mom was strong,
Until I saw her fight,
Defending people without a voice,
To help protect their right.

I never knew my mom could cry,
Until dad took a trip,
Away on business several months,
Her tears would often drip.

I never knew that mom meant love,
Until I moved away,
Some time would pass before I knew,
I missed her every day.

I never knew my mom at all,
But now I know her better,
For truth to tell, my mom was glue,
That held our home together.

Happy Mother’s Day, Mom!

Mouth Organ Karaoke--ROCK AND ROLL

Please click on the photo above to watch a short one-minute movie from the "Mouth Organ Karaoke" series. In this film, a small baby goes on an adventure and experiences a different type of "Rock and Roll."

Do You Waffle, Pancake or Popover?

There was a wonderful tradition in our house when I was growing up. Every Sunday morning my father would get up early so he could fiddle around in the kitchen, preparing one of three favorite family breakfasts---Waffles, Pancakes or Popovers. To make sure we got up in time for Church, the smell of cinnamon and maple syrup would wake us, and we’d happily trudge down to the dining room to see which of our three favorite meals he’d prepared. Not only that, but we’d also have to guess what secret ingredient he’d added that week.

For you see, my father didn’t rest on his laurels when it came to making the perfect pancake or award-winning waffle. He was constantly trying to improve on the recipes Aunt Jemima and Bisquick had already established. Adding a few drops of fresh orange juice or a tablespoon of wheat germ was common, but he also experimented with other spices, fruits, and flavorings. Sometimes he even ventured into the confectionery world, with surprise additions of chocolate chips, M & Ms or peanut butter. But mostly, he stuck with the basics, preferring to experiment with the mixture itself, rather than trying to overpower it with a lot of bells and whistles. (Or in my case, chocolate and peanut butter.)

The one experiment that truly went wrong was when he somehow found a recipe for Sauerkraut pancakes, a combination I still don’t understand to this day. But apparently if you added a small amount of Sauerkraut to the recipe, it gave the pancakes a moister flavor, or some such nonsense. (What can I say? It was the late sixties. Someone was probably on an acid trip when they came up with the formula.) Anyway, nowhere in the recipe did it say you had to chop up the Sauerkraut into tiny pieces before putting it into the mix. So my father, always diligent when it came to following recipes, threw whole pieces of Sauerkraut into the bowl. This created quite a mess when the batter was then poured onto the skillet. Needless to say, the pancakes ended up looking like small baseball mounds, with weeds poking out from all directions. Even when we drowned the pancakes in maple syrup, it didn’t help the taste. Or the weird texture. After that, my father was a little less daring when it came to tampering with the family classics.

The long-standing staple of Sunday mornings had to be the pancake. We had pancakes on a fairly regular basis; certainly more often than both waffles and popovers combined. Probably because it was the easiest to prepare, and was a virtual winner every time.

In our family, we liked our pancakes of the thinner variety. Not necessarily silver dollar size, but definitely silver dollar consistency. I was never a fan of the thick heavy pancake you find at most IHOPs and Denny’s. They are weighted down with so much dough and filler, you can’t even get through one, let alone a stack of three. But with my father’s light and airy pancakes, I was able to eat eight to twelve, an astonishing feat for someone so young. Slathered with butter and dripping with syrup, these tempting little treats always started the day off on the right foot. (Though halfway through the church service we attended afterwards, I would begin to feel the after-effects and often doze off during Communion.)

Waffles were also a favorite in our household. But for some reason, they’d often make the transition from breakfast to dinner. And more often than not, we would eat Waffles at night rather than on a Sunday morning. I’m not sure why this was exactly. Maybe because the waffle iron took so long to heat up and go through its cycle, it somehow elevated the meal to a more important status. Whereas pancakes could be turned out pretty fast, there was nothing to quicken the pace of our old waffle iron. One waffle every five minutes was about all it could handle, which meant most of the waffles were put in the oven to warm until the entire process was completed. This meant that some of the first waffles would be a little crispier than the final waffle off the iron. Still, the little pockets and holes were perfect for filling with butter and syrup, and gave me my first basic lesson in how to compartmentalize.

The final Sunday morning treat, and certainly my favorite, was the Popover. An English tradition that my father somehow incorporated into our heritage as well, the popover was a magical creation that took the longest to make, but was definitely the most fun to eat. With its soft airy interior and crispy outside, it was the perfect vessel for honey or jelly or anything sweet. I loved to break them open and watch the steam rise, as the doughy interior screamed to be covered in butter. (Or Country Crock, or whatever was in the plastic tub in the center of the table.)

The popover had to go through a two-step process in the oven, which was so critical to its success, my family practically didn’t speak until the batter successfully made it through the popping process. Sometimes we’d even monitor the progress through the oven window, just to make sure all the little cups of batter were rising properly.

But no matter which of the three Sunday morning treats we had, it was always the best meal of the week. Even if it meant we’d have to go to Church afterwards. (Which of course, as a child, I really hated…BORING!) Which makes me wonder if my father’s motivation for creating these amazing Sunday morning concoctions had less to do with making something delicious, and more to do with making sure we got to Church on time. Either way, I will always associate Sunday mornings with my father’s creative cooking, as I continue to carry on his tradition to this very day.

But that’s just me. What’s your favorite Sunday morning meal?

The Key to Kyle XY

How did a show about a boy without a belly button become so intriguing? And I don’t mean because the storylines always contain a nice blend of science fiction and soap opera. I’m intrigued because some of the topics are pretty risqué, especially given that it’s an ABC Family Channel show. For example, past episodes have included pretty frank discussions of teenage sex, pornography, infidelity, pot smoking, alcohol and drug abuse, cancer and even masturbation. Not the typical subject matter you’d expect to find in a Disney produced vehicle. But there it is nonetheless, cleverly mixed in with mystery and adventure, so you don’t notice as much.

Granted, these issues might not be new to network television, but they are somewhat new to family television. Except that ABC touts itself as “a different kind of family,” so I guess that means we don’t have to pretend we’re living in the 50s anymore. But does that also mean that Disney might try to instill this new kind of honesty into their other iconic stories? Imagine an updated version of “Cinderella” where the stepsisters complain about nothing but menstruation and cheating boyfriends. Or a modern day “Pinocchio” where the little wooden puppet is put in jail for executing indecent acts with his nose. And I shudder to think what might happen between Snow White and those seven little men.

Don’t get me wrong. I like this honest approach to such mature subject matter; I’m just surprised the producers haven’t gotten a lot of flack for doing it. Maybe it’s because the show is partly Science Fiction, so the conservative family organizations don’t give it much attention. They figure since there’s no such thing as a genetically created human being, there must also be no such thing as masturbation and drug abuse? Or maybe because Kyle has amazing powers and super-human intelligence, not to mention great eyes and a killer smile, they equate him with another immaculately conceived human being? (Oh come on, you don’t think there are some pretty heavy Jesus overtones in Kyle XY?)

At any rate, I like this show. The various members of Kyle’s extended family have grown on me; particularly the brother, who has matured into a good little actor. Some of the most poignant moments from last season were scenes when he and his “girlfriend” were going through the hardships of talking about her Cancer.

And then there’s Matt Dallas, who is unabashedly charming and innocent as Kyle. He was a good choice for this role, because there is something almost inhuman about him. His line readings are sometimes mechanical, and his facial expressions somewhat limited, but that only lends to his credibility as a manufactured object. Though, for the entire first season, I thought maybe he was wearing a wig because his hair always looked the same. Even in a windstorm, it had that “fresh-out-of-the-package-and-glued-to-the-head” kind of look. But in Season Three, it looks like he’s progressed beyond that style.

Too bad he can’t also progress beyond his annoying girlfriend, whose pouting and prissy personality is as bland as Tilapia. After two years of playing the martyr, I think it’s time she moved to college for good. And took her mean old mother with her.

But until that happens, I’ll still tune in to see what taboo topics the show plans to investigate this year. Maybe Kyle’s female counterpart Jessie will decide she really wants to be a transsexual or a cross-dresser, or both. Or Kyle’s supportive adopted parents will start a weekly “key party,” where they begin swapping more than stories with the neighbors. Whatever the major themes might become, you can bet that Kyle XY will explore them with honesty and integrity. Because that is the key to Kyle XY. The show has heart. And with heart, you can conquer anything.

But that’s just me. What do you think of Kyle XY?