June 2004 Archives

I'll be away from a computer for a week. No email, no blogging, no CNN.com. In fact, even though there is a computer up at Broad Creek (the scouts can receive one email a day), it's about 10 miles away at reservation headquaters. Even if I wanted to use the computer, I'd have to get in my car and drive to it. But I should be back blogging - I hope with a humorous story or two to tell - next Sunday. Of course, by that time you'll all be away for the Fourth of July weekend. So we'll see each other anon.

Any bets on how many spam comments I'll get?
K-

Today was packing day. When you head off to Boy Scout Summer Camp, you have to bring a lot of things with you. Much of what you bring with you is stuff the boys should be bringing but forget: paper, pens, band-aids, and so on. But I"ve also got to bring along a lot of "Scout Stuff". Some of what I do as Scoutmaster is teach and train the new boys in the ways of scouting. They'll want to learn how to tie knots, so I bring along practice ropes. They'll want to know how to use a map and compass, so I bring along my compass and topographic maps. If it were just me going, I'd bring along my chair, my book, and a cup of coffee.

I'll get to loaf some - well, make that a lot - but I'll also be a Scoutmaster.
K-

I was sitting on the couch last night when I needed something from upstairs. My youngest son was up walking about in the kitchen so I decided to ask him to go up. We really hadn't been talking about anything, in fact, we had just gotten home from our weekly scout meeting. So I decided to prevail upon his good will.

"D-, how would you like to do me a really big, big favor?"
"OK, just as long as it doesn't have anything to do with your feet."
K-

Last night my younger son and I traveled to Broad Creek Memorial Scout Reservation for a pre-camp meeting of scoutmasters and senior patrol leaders. I am the former and D- is the latter. The drive to Broad Creek is a little more than an hour so he and I had ample opportunity to chat. Like most father/son chats the subjects were wide-ranging, from how the "wings" on race cars work to reminiscences about Cub Scout resident camp to how all movies seen in health class are gross. One snippet of conversation, in particular, sticks in my mind:

Says D-: "What's that head-chopper thing called? The one with the big blade that drops down?"
"A guillotine? It's actually named for the French guy that invented it."
"Yeah, that. I heard you actually stay alive for a while after your head is chopped off. You can actually see your own dead body."
"Now how would they know that? Do they have records from the French Revolution of people's heads saying 'Wow, I can see my own dead body.' as they lie there in the head basket?"
"It's true! I swear. The head is still alive even after it's chopped off."
"Where did you hear all this?"
"From a kid at school."
"A kid at school!?! And you believed him? What is he... an executioner?"
"Well, at first I didn't believe him."

I wonder what finally convinced him.
K-

The American Film Institute has named its list of the 100 Best Movie Songs of all time. AFI's pick as the No. 1 movie song - Over The Rainbow - comes from one of my very favorite movies: The Wizard of Oz.

Most people don't feel the same way about The Wizard of Oz as I do. I think this is because the movie has been over-shown and, well, you know, familiarity breeds contempt and modern audiences no longer appreciate what a great movie it is.

Just by sheer dint of seeing The Wizard of Oz so many times, I've committed large portions of its dialog to memory. My favorite part is when the Wizard has just finished passing out things to the Scarecrow, the Tin Man, and the Cowardly Lion and he launches into this oration describing how he's going to return Dorothy to Kansas in a balloon. Wonderful! Actually, anything spoken by Frank Morgan and his many characters are my favorite parts of Wizard of Oz dialog.

Over the Rainbow is clearly an outstanding choice for the No. 1 song although on any given day, I'd be inclined to choose AFI's No. 3 choice, Singin' In The Rain, as my top pick. It's so hard for me to separate that song from Gene Kelly's dance number when I think about it, and all that combined could make Singin' In The Rain my No. 1 pick depending on my mood. But it's hard to say... The Wizard of Oz vs. Singin' In The Rain... Judy Garland vs. Gene Kelly... what a tough choice. I don't know, I just can't choose.

If I only had a brain.
K-

Yesterday my younger son commented that I haven't been blogging as much as I used to. He's absolutely correct. Summertime outdoor chores, work, several family events, and a general paucity of blog-worthy material has reduced the frequency of my blog entries.

But I feel bad for D-. "I like reading your blog," he said. "Especially when it's about me."

So here goes... a blog entry just for D-:

Hey, bosco, you've been sleeping mighty late in the morning since you got out of school last week. You need to get your ass out of bed and do something. You're not spending all summer lying in bed, playing video games, and accomplishing nothing. You've got trumpet to practice, you can go for a run, and you need to get packed for camp. If you can't find a little more motivation to do something constructive, I can provide you with lots of chores around the house that will give you that great satisfied feeling of accomplishment.

Do you think he'll like it?
K-

I've got to get serious with my planning. You see, starting this Sunday I will be Scoutmaster for a week at our Boy Scout Troop's summer camp venture to Broad Creek Memorial Scout Reservation. I'll be gone for a week returning on July 3. I've got so many things to do before going: make patrol lists, get troop gear, call drivers, pack my stuff, and pray.

This will be the third time I've been summer camp Scoutmaster and I've been assistant Scoutmaster three times more. Most of the time things go OK. Making this year extra-fun is that more than half the scouts going with me are first-year scouts. As in "just finished 5th-grade, probably never been away from home, have no idea where anything is" first-year scouts.

First-year scouts are the only Scouts that get homesick. I had 3 or 4 succumb to homesickness a few years ago. What an effort that can be. Homesick kids walk around crying and moping, everything becomes an issue, all they can think and talk about is going home. If they could turn all that energy being miserable into energy being happy, they would have an incredible time. As Scoutmaster my job is to make sure they stay at camp the whole week. Homesick kids need to learn that they can survive a week away from Mom and Dad (or their dog or their Nintendo or their air conditioning). And as cruel as it sounds, I have no intention of sending a first-year scout home no matter how homesick. I work hard to keep them busy, keep them fed, keep them dry, keep them having fun, and never, ever let them get near a phone while they're in camp.

Then there are the first-year scout parents. They're so cute. So many questions, so many concerns.

• "Will they be able to get a shower?" (Yes, but most new scouts frequently eschew that amenity. That's why we encourage swimming merit badge for first year scouts.)
• "What about bathrooms?" (We have them! The Scouts call them latrines; you may call them outhouses. As an added bonus, we'll give your son a chance to clean them, probably twice.)
• "Ticks?" (We have them, too. Lots of them. Make sure your son knows what they are and let an adult know if he finds one.)
• A common liberal soccer-mom question: "Are there rifles there?" (Absolutely! It's one of the most fun things we do. And your son will be taught how to shoot safely.)
• "Can he call home?" (Nope. Send care packages, emails, and letters but you can't call him and please don't ask him to call you.)
• "Can you make sure he's wearing clean clothes?" (You've gotta be kidding me.)

We tell the parents to pack socks, a T-shirt, and underwear in ziplock bags, one bag for each day the boy is in camp. That way the boy has clean clothes everyday. One time a first-year mother thanked me for washing her son's clothes and putting them back in the bags.
K-

Today is Father's Day. To celebrate my kids decided that they would sleep in till 9:30 AM. This way my expectation of their paternal adulation would be allowed to build and mature. So much more special than having them down in the kitchen slaving over a hot stove preparing me coffee and breakfast for when I come down first thing in the morning.

But it was worth the wait. I got some kitchen gadgets I was hinting around about and a great box of chocolates.

Who knows what the day will bring? The weather in Maryland today couldn't be more beautiful.

Perfect weather for sitting on the deck with a book.
K-

Quote heard by the Beckett Haus gardner early this morning as the proprietor was preparing for an outdoor get-together later in the afternoon...

"The cicadas are gone but now the Japanese beetles are here. If it's not one damn bug it's another."

K-

Last night was A-'s Eagle Scout Court of Honor. It was really a joint Court of Honor. Another scout who has been with A- in scouting since first grade received his Eagle, too.

I wrote the script based on various and sundry pieces of things I found on the web. Only two SNAFUs: I forgot to bring the troop's American flag to the ceremony hall and we were forced to say the Pledge of Allegience saluting a flag on a scout's shirt and A- kind of muffed his recitation of the Scout Oath. He was mortified but surprisingly most scouts seem to get the Oath wrong at their Eagle Court of Honor. Everything else went OK.
K-

D- just called me here at work. He was chanting...

"Last day of school... It's the last day of school..."
"Last day of school... It's the last day of school..."
"There's no more school... There's no more school..."
"Last day of school... It's the last day of school..."

He seemed happy.
K-

As I have for the last four years, I'm going to Boy Scout summer camp this year. Our troop spends two weeks during the summer at two different summer camps. The Scoutmaster likes one camp, I like the other. So I'm always summer camp Scoutmaster at Broad Creek.

But because I'm over 40, the Boy Scouts require me to have an annual physical. Under 40 you only need one every 3 years. This means I've got to visit my doctor each year. Now to satisfy the Boy Scout form, all my doctor has to do is listen to my chest, palpate a little, look in a few orifices in my head, and he's done.

My doctor, however, feels that as long as I'm in for a visit, he's going to give me the full, complete inspection even though I have no complaints and am otherwise healthy. ("From soup to nuts," as he likes to say.) I don't really mind the EKG, the fasting blood test, or peeing in the cup. But he feels it's his professional duty to chastise me about my weight. I'm sure I'll get the "Body-Mass Index" lecture again. And he feels compelled to probe areas I'd prefer unprobed. I really am not looking forward to today.

One thing though... the day can only improve after my physical.
K-

I've gone a long time thinking I was the only one. At least I'm the only one I've ever encountered. All those craft fairs I've been to unable to find personalized nameplates and door signs. Now I've discovered there are more of us.

We have the same name. We're both from Michigan. But in one important respect we're distinctly different. I still have all my hair.
K-

The cicadas are waning. Most everywhere you go lie cicada carcasses at various stages of decomposition. They did a number on my dogwood; I'm hoping it'll survive.

Garrison Keillor, that incisive observer of humanity, even penned a Cicada Song for us. He performed it recently when he was at Wolf Trap where, evidently, the cicadas were so bad they had planes passing overhead dropping fruit bats and ushers wielding tennis rackets.

Cicada
O the seventeen-year cicada it crawls out of the ground
It has no self-esteem issues, no identity to be found
It does not go into personal counseling for months
It's only job is to have sex and it only does it once

The Rapture Baptists are waiting for, with no suffering or tears
The cicada gets something like that about every 17 years.
No philosophy, no economics, just demand and supply.
Was it good for you? It was good for me. And now it's time to die.

I saw the latest Harry Potter this weekend with D-. I saw the first one but missed the second one so I was a little concerned that I wouldn't understand key plot points. But the movie pretty much stands on its own. D- loved it and I found it to be an entertaining diversion but I think it helps to be a Harry Potter fan. Emma Thompson has a small role and I always enjoy her. The most exciting part about the movie was that I bought the tickets online. You find the theater, then select a date and show time. When you arrive at the theater, you put your credit card in a machine and - Voilá! - out come your printed tickets. Way cool.
K-

Well, it's Friday at Plugs and Dottles. Not much happens on a Friday around here. I get even fewer hits today than I do during the rest of the week. So I thought I'd use this lull in visitation to put on the curmudgeon's mantle. I'm sure what I'm about to say is anti-child. Maybe it's anti-education. Hell, it's probably anti-American. But it's my blog, there's no one here to listen, and I don't care. So here goes...

I think success in the National Spelling Bee proves nothing about a person's ability. I disdain champion spellers. I mean so what? BFD.

This is not to say that I think spelling is unimportant. Far from it. I believe good writing skills are paramount. Grammar, punctuation, spelling, and writing style are all important skills to master as you go through school. Everyone needs to know how to write, and write well.

But who really cares that a 14-year-old can spell autochthonous correctly? Does he know what it means? Can he provide me with synonyms? Can he use it properly in a sentence? This year's National Spelling Bee winner also spelled arête, sophrosyne, sumpsimus, and serpiginous correctly on his way to capturing the spelling crown. "Sophrosyne" and "sumpsimus" aren't even listed in my American Heritage Dictionary. They are words so obscure or archaic that a major American dictionary has declined to include them. While the ancillary knowledge the winner acquired while preparing for the bee will likely be of use, I need go no further than my word processor to find the support I need to be similarly well-equipped. And just because it's a word, and just because I can spell it correctly, doesn't mean I should use it. What is wrong, you ask, with sophrosyne? No one knows, for sure. There is nothing wrong, really, with any word - all are good, but some are better than others. So much annual adulation wasted on a skill of no lasting import. Give me the technology or science fair winners. Those kids know something useful and are able to apply it.

I put champion spellers in the same category as people with high IQs, professional skiers, and Monopoly grand masters: they are at the pinnacle of an activity that is fundamentally unimportant. Fun? Sure. But important? Not at all.

My ideas may be crazy but I still have sophrosyne.
K-

Conversation between high school graduate A- and his younger brother, D-, walking out of commencement ceremonies last night:

"So can we call you a college student now?"
"Well, no, I don't think you can call me a college student yet."
"But you're not a high school student."
"Duh, I just graduated."
"Well if you're not a high school student and you're not a college student, what are you? You're just kind of there."

Chance would be so pleased.
K-

Well, A- had his trip across the stage last night at commencement. It was most-definitely a proud moment. We took pictures, hugged, reminisced, and cried.

Of course, now that he's an adult and venturing out into the real world (college actually, where he'll discover that he's still at least 4 years away from the real world), what's A- going to do today?

Here in the Old Line State, the high school seniors - and by extension the parents - have a most unusual tradition. Immediately after graduation, all the kids pack their bags, grab their boogie boards, slather on the sun block, and head on down to "Senior Week" in Ocean City, Maryland.

It really is lunacy on the parent's part. After 18 years of watching what they eat, enforcing curfews, setting limits, basically trying to control their every move, we say, "OK all you 18-year-old kids, go on down to the ocean for your first unsupervised trip away from home. Spend a week down there in tight bathing suits, lying in the sun, and living totally unsupervised with members of the opposite sex. Have a great time. Be sure to brush your teeth."

Of course, the folks down in Ocean City try hard to provide ample information to the kids and assurances to the parents. I found the link on the Ocean City Senior Week website.

So off A- goes with three of his best buddies to share a house with 3 girls. This'll be the longest time he's lived without any adult supervision.

As Miracle Max and his bride, Valerie, once said:
"Goodbye, boys. Have fun storming the castle."
"Do you think it'll work?"
"It'll be a miracle."

K-

Well, I guess I have to blog today of all days. A-'s graduation ceremony begins in a little more than 3 hours. No more finals, no more rehearsals. He gets to wear a special stole for being in the National Honor Society and two other cords for other significant accomplishments. He's excited. His family is excited.

I'm cooking all things A- likes: grilled Turkish spiced chicken, parslied potatoes, blueberry muffins, brownies and ice cream, and spinach. (Well, OK, I'm the one who likes the spinach. But A- doesn't really like any vegetables so I figure if I'm cooking...)

At the grocery store today I overheard two ladies talking. "He'll be in the 5-day 4-year-old class," one said to the other. She didn't realize how fleeting such conversations are. She'll turn around only to find her son walking across that stage at Merriweather Post Pavilion.

Don't it always seem to go...
K-