Pinball Wizard

     I just saw the coolest video.  Nirvan Mullick produced a ten minute video about Caine Monroy, a nine year old who built his own cardboard arcade.  Caine spent his summer vacation going to work with his father at the family's used auto parts business.  Besides playing on the swing strung up in a tree in front of their building, Caine, who loves arcades, decided to make some arcade games from the multitude of cardboard boxes lying around his father's store room.  Unfortunately, there wasn't much foot traffic in front of the junk yard, so Caine didn't have any customers - until Nirvan Mullick came in to buy a part for his 1996 Corolla.  Nirvan couldn't resist purchasing a fun pass which entitled him to 500 plays for just $2.00.  Five hundred plays for just two bucks!  When Nirvan learned that he was Caine's only customer, he organized a flash mob to show up at the arcade, and he incorporated this into a film about the little entrepeneur.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=faIFNkdq96U

Besides being a nice story about a creative kid who knows how to amuse himself, I saw some good parenting in this video.  Caine's dad George is not a father who disappears in the morning and shows up again at night.  By taking Caine to work, George becomes Caine's primary parent during the summer.  The psychologosts can't write enough articles about the importance of the father in a child's development.

http://www.citizenlink.com/2010/06/15/fathers-are-vital-to-healthy-child-development/

George is building Caine's confidence by supporting the arcade project.  He challenges Caine to build a claw machine instead of running out and buying one for him.  He's teaching Caine about business and possibly grooming him to take over the family enterprise.
     This film also demonstrates another of life's immutable facts.  No matter what resources kids have at their disposal, they'll have the most fun playing with the boxes.
        

 

Waste Not, Want Not

     My puppy Mardi is a vigorous chewer, and I was running through a rawhide bone each day.  This was getting expensive, but what could I give her to chew that would keep her away from our shoes and the furniture?  The answer was on the internet – bully sticks.

     My research told me that bully sticks last a long, long time.  They are a natural product and dogs love them, so went to Petsmart for a bag of bully sticks.

     The object of my search was not hard to find.  It was right there in the aisle with dozens of other dog chews.  There were dental chews for clean teeth and rawhide chews sized from a petite three inches to yard long specimens that looked like dinosaur bones.  There were plastic chews called Nyla-bones, but I wasn’t sure I wanted my dog to swallow the little bits of nylon that she would surely gnaw off the toy, so I chose the bully sticks.

     The first order of business was to read the package.  Bully sticks might stain fabrics.  That’s no problem because I can put an old towel under the dog while she enjoys a session of chewing.  They are “proudly” made in the United States.  That’s a plus.  Finally, I checked the

ingredients – 100% beef pizzle.  What is pizzle?  I asked a woman shopping next to me, “Do you have any idea what beef pizzle is?”  No, she didn’t.  I threw the question out to a group of shoppers in my aisle.  I got blank looks and shrugs.  I decided that if I didn’t know what comprised a bully stick, I wouldn’t buy it. 

     I returned home pizzleless and went straight to the internet.  I went to Google and searched “pizzle”.  Pizzle is an old English word for penis.  Next I googled “beef pizzle.”  Here’s what I found on www.bullysticks4dogs.com :

Bully sticks, also known as beef pizzles, pizzle sticks, beef sticks, steer stix, are made from 100% bull penises. Bull penis is a single ingredient of bully sticks. Some suppliers and merchants say that they sell bully sticks made of "beef tendons" or "dried muscles" as that part of the anatomy is a tendon and muscle indeed, and this may sound less repulsive for some people with psychological barrier thinking of feeding bull privates to their furbabies.

The article went on to explain the manufacturing process for turning you-know-whats into dog treats, but I won’t go into that here.

     My surprise turned to mirth.  Next, I sent emails to everyone I knew.  When my husband got home from work, I told him.  That’s when we reverted to adolescence. 

     “Where’s the dog?”

     “Eating her pizzle.”

     “Where would you like to go out to eat tonight?”

     “The Western Pizzler.”

     “Don’t be such a pickle puss,” became, “Don’t be such a pizzle puss.”

     I received responses to my emails.

     “Yuk!”

     “Don’t give those nasty things to your little girl.”

     But the little girl loved them, and a good sized pizzle lasted a week.  That was worth at least seven raw hide chews.  We decided to stick with bully sticks.

     I think these old saws pretty much sum up the bully stick experience:

     A wise head makes a closed mouth.  Remember that one the next time you are tempted to ask the general populace the definition of a word.

     You learn something new every day.

     And finally: Waste not, want not.  

Dollars and Sense

     Alexa Von Tobel is a financial guru who runs a web business( http://www.learnvest.com/) that offers a program to the masses to get themselves out of debt and on a firm financial footing.  Her basic advice, "You gotta have a plan."  Once you set up a 3-5 year plan, you employ Ms. Von Tobel's five financial principles:

Live by a budget
Prioritize debt repayment
Have six months of emergency savings
Start saving now for retirement
Negotiate your salary  (Huh??)


Ms. Von Tobel will share the basics for free, but you have to pay for a customized strategy to solve your individual financial mess.  A cynical person might say that the only person getting richer here is Ms. Von T.  

http://finance.yahoo.com/blogs/daily-ticker/5-keys-financial-success-142148289.html

     Another of Von Tobel's charges is that financial literacy is not taught in school.  At this point, I puffed up and felt proud of my Hainesport School primary education.  Mr. Seiler, Hainesport's seventh and eighth grade math teacher in the mid to late 1960's, taught us how to manage a checking account.  We learned how to write checks, record them, make deposits, deduct account fees, and balance our accounts.  If Mr. Seiler could have followed us to high school, I'm sure he would have taught us about household budgeting, financing cars, and buying houses.
     The last bit of information Ms. Von Tobel drove home was that 61% of Americans live from paycheck to paycheck.  She probably has dollar signs flashing in her eyes thinking about the sheer numbers who could subscribe to her plan.
     I have another suggestion.  Everyone should read a book titled The Wealthy Barber by David Chilton.  This very readable book will teach you pretty much everything you need to know about personal finance.  The book's main character asks his successful father for some financial pointers.  The father says that he learned how to manage money from the town barber.  He takes his son to the barber for a haircut and some pecuniary advice.  The son returns regularly for haircuts which also include a monetary lesson.  The barber covers Ms. Von Tobel's first four principles and much more.  He does not touch on negotiating salary, though.  I'm thinking that most of us don't have much room to negotiate in the salary department.              
     Along with money for college, I gave this book to my niece and nephews as a high school graduation gift.  June is approaching.  I suggest including a copy of The Wealthy Barber with your gift to the graduate.  It might be what keeps them from being in the 61%.      


       

Peep, Peep

           Easter is Sunday, April eighth.  When I was a kid, people practiced a terrible tradition of giving chicks to children as Easter presents.  Chicks are fuzzy and cute and can live in a cardboard box.  Chickens are neither fuzzy nor cute.  They'll peck their way out of the box and walk around the house, pooping as they go.  Thank goodness that the only chicks we give today are made of chocolate or marshmallow.  I had my experience with chicks as a youngster.  It didn't have anything to do with Easter, though.  It was about the Hainesport School Science Fair.  

     I was in the seventh grade, and I needed a science project.  My teenage neighbor was visiting the house during the time I discussed the Science Fair with my mother.  Our visitor described a high school student’s project – the hatching of chickens.  The young scientist showed the hatching process from egg to fuzzy, yellow peep by breaking an egg into a jar of preservative each day of the 21-day incubation period. 

     I was fascinated by the idea of twenty-one jars of almost-chickens floating in formaldehyde.  Also, I was sure to win if I, a seventh grader, could reproduce a high schooler’s project.

          My parents set up a Sears incubator, a remnant from years before, when they raised chickens and sold eggs.  It was made out of gray metal, the same as garbage cans.  It resembled a giant cake dish with an equally giant cover.  The cover had a little window and some air vents.  The not-so-high-tech interior contained a light bulb, a thermometer and a pan for water. 

     As soon as the apparatus was set up in the basement, on top of the ping-pong table, I put the fertile eggs inside, plugged in the incubator and began my chicken production.

     I had learned that the eggs should be placed large end down and pointed end slightly up.  The humidity should be fairly high; that was the reason for the water pan.  To keep the temperature at 100 degrees, I adjusted the vents.  During the first eighteen days of incubation, I turned the eggs four to six times.  So that I didn’t miss turning any eggs, I marked the shells with an “X” on one side.  I didn’t turn the eggs during the last 3 days.

          Since my parents vetoed cracking open an example every day - it would be a waste of a good chicken and might be too gruesome a sight for the dainty first graders who would be inspired by our projects - I had to study pictures in books, then draw posters showing the twenty-one days of development.

     Everything came off without a hitch.  My written report was exceptional.  My posters were artistically rendered.  A fluffy peep, kept out of reach of children, attested to the success of my project.  I won first prize!

          In addition to the chick on display at the science fair, there were eighteen more of unknown gender running around one corner of the basement.  My parents viewed them, the girls at least, as a source of free eggs.  The excess eggs could be sold to pay for feed.  The boys would be meat on the table.  I had a feeling I would be working on this science project for years to come.

     As I said, the sex of the chicks was unknown because it is difficult to determine the male or female status of a newly hatched chicken.  It is an art that was, for years, known only to certain Japanese people.  Then, in 1933, the secret got out when two Japanese scientists published a paper explaining the technique of separating the boys from the girls.  For my family’s purposes, we waited until our brood started growing feathers.  By about six weeks of age, we could distinguish hens from roosters.

     The birds grew and left the basement to live in a rehabbed coop.  They could exit their chicken house and run freely in an enclosed area.  The fence was about eight feet high but, as an added precaution to prevent escapes, my father trimmed their wing feathers.   The girls grew into contented layers.  As planned, all but one of the boys became stewed chicken.  Maybe another child would have balked at eating his or her science project for dinner, but I don’t remember having felt guilty.  My attitude was probably tempered by the fact that tending chickens was added to my list of chores.

     My education in chickens continued for several years.  One of the first things I learned was that those sweet, fuzzy peeps grew up to be cannibals.  The poor bird at the bottom of the pecking order had a miserable existence.  If blood was drawn, the attack was merciless. 

     Another thing I learned was that chickens have a pouch in their throats called a craw.  It contains gritty things like little stones that they have picked up.  The craw grinds up what chickens eat before the food passes on to their stomachs.  Sometimes, the craw gets clogged up, making the bird crawbound.  This happened to one of our chickens.  In order to prevent almost certain death, my father disabled the hen, sliced open her neck, cleaned out the craw and sewed it up.
     Laying hens live about seven years.  As they age, they produce fewer eggs.  We kept the chickens three or four years and gave them away when they started eating all the profits of the egg business.  Finally, my science project had ended.

Me, tending my parents' original batch of chickens in 1955

     For all who celebrate Easter, have a wonderful holiday.  I'll be back on Monday.

Maintenance

     Sometimes my father would talk about his military service during World War II.  Once I asked where they showered when they were tramping around the forest and sleeping in fox holes.  The answer was, "We didn't."  Of course the next question was, "How long was it until you could get a shower?"  The answer, weeks, made me turn up my nose.  Despite what your mother told you when you were growing up, humans don't need a daily bath or shower.  We also don't need deodorant.  No, I'm not going to confess that I gave up my Lady Speed Stick in 1999.  I bathe every day and use deodorant (and baby powder and a yummy after bath spray I got at Bath and Body Works).  However, my dermatologist would, no doubt, advise less bathing since my skin gets really dry in the winter.  The best hygiene advice is to wash your hands lots, and keep them away from your face.

http://www.nytimes.com/2010/10/31/fashion/31Unwashed.html?_r=2&pagewanted=1&ref=fashion

     There are a lot of other health rules out there that can be ignored.  People don't necessarily need eight glasses of water per day.  Said water does not have to be filtered or come from a pure underground spring.  Plain, old tap water is fine - actually, it's preferred.
     I recently read an article that tells us we can break other health rules.  Here goes:

1. Extended wear contact lenses, the ones you sleep in, can last 4-5 weeks, instead of two weeks, if you take them out at night.

2. You don't have to visit the dentist twice per year.  Once is enough if you are not having a problem.

3. You can eat any time of day or night.  The total caloric intake is what is important, not the time of day the calories are consumed.  So, have a bedtime snack.

4. You don't need to throw milk out when it reaches it's expiration date.  Take a sniff.  If it smells okay, then drink it.  If it tastes bad, no problem.  The main ingredient in cheese and yogurt is spoiled milk.  My sister once asked if she should throw out a container of yogurt that had reached it's expiration date.  My brother-in-law's answer, "What's it going to do, go fresh?"  If yogurt isn't fuzzy, it's good to eat.  If cheese is fuzzy, trim it off.  What lies beneath is fit to lay on a cracker.

5. You don't have to brush and floss twice per day.  Once, at bedtime, is enough.  I'll ignore this one and continue with the twice daily routine.

http://health.yahoo.net/experts/menshealth/9-healthy-habits-do-you-no-good

Here's my rule:  Relax.  Don't sweat the small stuff.  It's good to know that if you do sweat, a shower and deodorant is not mandatory.

Bleep

          I taught a private knitting lesson yesterday.  When things got a little challenging, my student said, "I hope I don't start to swear."
         Ah, a kindred soul, I thought.  "Go right ahead," I encouraged.
          I learned the joys of cursing in 1968 when I was fifteen years old.  The person responsible for that was the girl who sat in front of me in study hall.  She accomplished her task innocently enough – she loaned me a tattered copy of a book she had found in her mother’s collection.  By today’s standards, Betty MacDonald’s tale, The Egg and I, was a chaste account of a city girl transplanted to the country.  She chronicled her adjustment to life as the wife of an egg farmer.  For the heroine, learning to farm also meant learning to swear.  Uttering “hell” and “damn” became as natural as breathing.  To round out my education, my study hall friend next loaned me Mr. Blandings Builds His Dream House written by Eric Hodgins.  Mr. Blandings found that building a home in the country was impossibly frustrating unless one blew off a little steam by calling a few things "Christ-bitten."

     Reading curse words was one thing.  Saying them out loud was another.  I did not begin swearing in earnest until I became a college student.  The Rutgers Daily Targum, our newspaper, was peppered with obscenities.  We were required to read Chaucer, Shakespeare and Ben Johnson, all of whom used swearing and sexual references in their works.  At this point I found that I could let a few choice words slip out in front of my mother.  Soon we were both swearing like sorority sisters. 

     The outside world was not as hip as mom and I, but it didn’t take long to catch up.  Characters on the regular television channels began swearing like Mr. Blandings.  Characters on the cable channels used George Carlin’s list of seven dirty words and even added a few new ones. 

     I found a series of swearing dictionaries in the bookstore and purchased English/Spanish and English/French versions.  Why was I collecting profanities? 

     Toward the end of his life, my father suffered a stroke.   He lost his ability to speak, that is, until he got upset.  Then he could unleash a stream of expletives.  What was going on here?  Could dirty words be so deeply ingrained in our brains that they remained after other speech was lost?

     I learned that human brains do not store swearing in the same area as regular speech. Language, a higher function, resides in the cortex or outer layer of the brain.  Swearing is connected to the limbic system and basal ganglia deeper (and safer) within the brain.  The limbic system houses memory and emotions.  The basal ganglia play a role in impulse control.  Curse words are not just words, but words bonded to emotions and self control. 

     People swear to relieve stress.   Perhaps this venting prevents physical violence. Even chimpanzees have a grunting, spitting, and gesturing ceremony that looks like a swearing match. 

     Swearing is tied to culture.  It seems the more private the matter or the more revered the subject, the more ways people will find to disparage it.  Body functions, religion, and your mother are all fair game.

     When I read those funny books in high school, I began to feel grown up.  The dirty words made the books adult literature.  Swearing and laughter go together for me, but I’m not one to curse when I get angry.  I would rather use big vocabulary words then, so you know how smart I am.

     Sometimes, for a little fun, I get out those dictionaries and practice cussing in other languages, and I laugh my a - - off!

Beer and Jaeger Schnitzel

     Every March for the past several years I have taxied my three older friends to the annual German-American Cultural Society dinner dance.  My immigrant pals look forward to this outing.  They have a little wine and stuff themselves with sauerkraut, spaetzle, and red cabbage.  After dinner, they dance the night away. Of course, they polka, but they also waltz, two step, and tango.  It seems to me that every native born German has been instructed in the art of ballroom dancing.  The musical program is always provided by Willi Aust, a lone accordion playing, bi-lingual singing gentleman.  Willi has a ruddy complexion and one of the brightest smiles I've ever seen.  He'll lead the crowd in so many renditions of "Ein Prosit" (a German ditty that's kind of like chanting, " Chug, chug, chug!") that you should have a designated driver for the ride home.

  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dD2-aSbcW0s

Willi Aust

Willi and dinner chairperson, Debra White 

     The program for the night doesn't change much - they discuss a little business, get down to eating and dancing, sell some fifty/fifty tickets, and hand out some door prizes.  I like the way they open the event with the Pledge of Allegiance and close it with singing "God Bless America."  It's fun to get into cahoots with your roots and party German style, but no one has forgotten that they are American.

Me and two of my gals

     My three buddies were transplanted to U.S. soil.  It's here that they have flowered gloriously.  They are three of the most beautiful blossoms in my bouquet of friends.

     FYI - The German American Cultural Society of South Jersey is a non-profit organization dedicated to promoting and fostering German culture.  If you would like to learn more, call Warren Kahler, President at (856) 227-2297 or email: kahler900@comcast.net.
Dirndls and lederhosen not required for membership!