My Town Monday Series - Washington, DC at night

For this week's installment of Travis' My Town Monday posts, I have done a night tour of the DC monuments.

Whenever I have a friend come into town who has never been to Washington, DC, my favorite thing to do is to take them on a driving tour of the monuments. First off, I am not a big people person so the crowds during the day drive me crazy. Luckily at night, there is hardly anyone around. Secondly, the monuments are absolutely beautiful at night. Below is a picture of Pennsylvania Avenue which takes you right up to the Capitol Building. Lining the avenue are federal government buildings, from the Old Post Office to the National Archives. This is federal government worker central.

Copyright by wyntuition available from Flickr.com

Heading down to Constitution Avenue, we drive parallel the National Mall. For those of you who do not know what the National Mall is, it is not a shopping center. The Mall is the term used to describe the open national park area that starts from the steps of the Capitol building and leads all the way to the Lincoln Memorial, a distance of approximately two miles. All along the National Mall, from the Capitol to the Washington Monument, there are the Smithsonian museums. This link will take you to a map of the National Mall and show you exactly where all the museums are as well as the lovely outdoor skating rink. The museums are simply spectacular. Starting at the Capitol, past the reflecting pool, you will find the brand new National Museum of the American Indian on your left and the East wing of the National Gallery of Art to your right. And straight down on either side are The National Air and Space Museum, the Museum of Natural History, The American History Museum, the African Art Museum, the Holocaust Museum and the funny round Hirshorn Museum. You could spend days wandering the Mall and still not see everything there is to see. And these are just the museums on the National Mall. There are even more museums in DC.

Copyright by Scott Ableman available from Flickr.com

From the Capitol steps, if you look straight down the great expanse of the Mall, you will see the Washington monument. And beyond it is the Lincoln memorial. To me, seeing the Washington monument during the day does not excite me. It is a tall pointy white building that does not show itself to great advantage during the day. But at night, this funny thing becomes an architectural marvel and a thing of beauty.

Copyright by ashoe available on Flickr. com

Behind the Washington Monument, there are the war memorials. There are three very different memorials for three different wars. World War II, The Korean War and the Vietnam War. The World War II memorial is an amazing sight at night. It is really a plaza with a rainbow pool and 56 granite pillars surrounding it which represent the unification of a nation at war. There are two large pavilions that mark the north and south sides of the plaza. They symbolize the two important battle theaters of WWII, the Pacific and The Atlantic theaters. There is also a Freedom Wall with 4,000 gold stars to honor the more than 400,000 Americans who lost their lives during the conflict.

Vietnam Memorial Copyright by doclam01 available via Flickr. com

The Vietnam War is now world famous as the winning entry of at the time, a 21 year old architecture student. Two long black granite walls which grow in height into a large angle, the corner meeting at the two walls highest points. The memorial bears the names of 58,000 servicemen killed or missing during this conflict. I have been to this memorial many times since it was built in 1982. Whether I see it during the day or night, in crowds or alone, this memorial always moves me to great sadness, cocoons me in a silent peaceful mourning for those whose names grace this beautiful monument.

The war memorials seem to be situated in such a way that they point to the Lincoln memorial. Like some kind of ancient Greek temple, the large seated statue of Lincoln is surrounded by 36 columns. There is even a bookstore on the first floor.

This night time drive through the monuments would not be complete if I didn't take you by the Jefferson memorial and the tidal basin. A little domed building holds the bronzed statue of Thomas Jefferson but more importantly some of Jefferson's most famous phrases are etched into the walls. "We hold these truths to be self-evident: That all men are created equal. That they are endowed by their creator with certain inalienable rights..."

If you are planning to come to the DC area, now is the time to come for at this particular moment in time, the cherry blossoms have begun to bloom. And all along the tidal basin where the Jefferson monument sits, the hundreds of cherry trees that line the banks of the tidal basin are beginning to wake up. Delicate snow white and pink petals are blossoming on branches that have been bare too long. Within a few days they will all burst forth to unveil a great canopy of fragrant cherry blossoms. Walking along the basin promenade, under the boughs of spectacular color, you will fall in love with our nation's capital.

Delicious new treat sensation

Today a friend of Oldest brought over a box of Japanese cookies. They looked innocuous enough with pictures of some round red fruit in front although it was all in Japanese. Somewhere on the side I can make out the words Kisyu Ume and inside the foil wrappers, the word Pretzel. After her friend left, Oldest brings over the cookie box and asks if she can have one.

Sure go ahead I say. Eagerly she opens the box and shoves a stick in her mouth. All of a sudden a curious and utterly horrible expression overcomes her face and she immediately spits out the cookie.

"It tastes disgusting," she says. She hands me half of the long, thin pink stick she had just bitten. Curious I take the inoffensive looking thing. It has the strangest perfume-like fragrance but with the added funk of rotten fruit notes. Just the smell alone is enough to put you off of it, but then I took a small bite. Oh Lord she was not lying! Please get this horrible taste out of my mouth!!!!! I cannot describe the salty, vinegary, sour, rotten and generally disgusting taste that assaulted me. I spat it out and tried desperately to rinse the taste out to no avail. Hours later I could still smell the faintest whiff of the perfume-like-rot clinging to my lips. I realize only after looking it up that Ume is salted, pickled plum and while it is a delicacy in Japan, it is also an acquired taste.

"What's going on?" Angus asks with a curious look. She has been busy playing in the other room and only comes over at our riotous ways. Oldest quietly hands her another stick from her very full pack.

Angus grabs it and pops it in her mouth. The immediate look of horror that overcomes her sends me and Oldest into laughing fits.

"Why did you let me eat that?" Angus asks with a look of utter betrayal on her face.

"Because it was too funny," I reply wiping my eyes.

Youngest has been watching the proceedings the whole time with absolute fascination. Angus tries to foist the rest on Youngest but Youngest runs away. She is no fool.

At that moment, Da Man returns home. Oldest and I look at each other and we begin to grin and giggle. Angus realizing our evil intent, begins to run towards her father, intent on warning him.

"NO Dad! Don't eat it..." I catch Angus and wrapping a hand around her mouth plead with her not to say anything and bribe her with more Pokemon cards. She agrees but decides she can't watch the carnage and runs away.

"Hi Dad! Welcome home!" Oldest says, all smiles.

"Hey honey, I'm glad you are home, S gave Oldest a box of cookies but we can't make out what they might be. Here try one and tell us what you think."

Da Man reaches eagerly for a cookie and take a large bite. The immediate reaction is all that we could have hoped for as aghast he runs to the kitchen to spit out the cookie. I thought I was going to have a coronary laughing as hard as I did. The look of horrified revulsion was beyond priceless. I only wish I could make him eat it over and over again for my general amusement.

Oldest and I are debating what to do with the rest of the nasty treat when I say, "Hey, Auntie is coming over for dinner tomorrow!"

Oldest and I grin evilly. I place the box carefully back into the pantry. I cannot wait to see my sister's face when she tries our new treat.

My Town Monday

Alright, since I am currently in New York City, having enjoyed Easter Sunday with my folks, I have decided to be perverse and write My Town Monday post for Travis not on Brooklyn, but on Washington, DC. In fact today I am going to take you through Georgetown. Why would I pour salt in my own wound after my Hoyas humiliating defeat at the hands of upstart Davidson? Because I am just that kind of masochist.

So when I speak of Georgetown, I am not speaking of the University, although it is located here. What I am referring to is a neighborhood of Washington, DC which sits along the Potomac River.

Copyright mutbka from Flickr.com

Long before the white man came to its borders, Georgetown was known as Tahoga and was a peaceful Indian village. There are no real documented facts to what happened to the Indians. But let’s put it this way, once there was a thriving Indian village, insert white people, and then there wasn’t.

After killing off, I mean, relocating all the native Indians, the white settlers founded Georgetown in 1751. This predates the establishment of Washington as a city. In fact, Georgetown was originally part of Maryland and was a busy Maryland tobacco port. When the District of Columbia was created in 1791, Maryland lost Georgetown to the newly developed capital.

Tourists love to come to Georgetown. It is known as a shopping and eating mecca for the fashionable elite of Washington, DC. But a little known fact about Georgetown is that this chic, elegant, neighborhood that is almost exclusively white and ridiculously expensive to live in, was once the center of a thriving slave trade and an all black community.

In a Washington Post article by Andrew Stephen, dated July 16, 2006, he speaks about Georgetown’s hidden history and how a “combination of legislative, social and economic pressures gradually forced nearly all the black people out, turning the neighborhood into the wealthy, effectively all-white enclave it is today.”

“Between 1865 and 1870, its black population increased from 1,935 to 3,271. Over the next two or three decades, a skilled black working class started to emerge alongside a handful of black professionals. But countless laws and regulations that continued well into the 20th century prevented true economic and social emancipation: Only white passengers were allowed to ride on Georgetown's new electric streetcars, for example, enabling them to commute to Washington for well-paying jobs that were effectively denied to blacks. Then came a series of economic blows that began to seal the fate of Georgetown's blacks. The Potomac silted up, virtually ending the industrial effectiveness of Georgetown's harbor. The Chesapeake and Ohio Canal, which flowed through Georgetown and was crucial to many businesses such as flour and paper mills, flooded disastrously in 1889. Blacks were the first to lose their jobs when countless firms went bust. By 1910, the black population of Georgetown had peaked, and when the Great Depression struck 19 years later, more and more blacks found themselves displaced by whites taking menial jobs.

C&O Canal copright by Bethany L. King from Flickr.com

"Perversely, FDR's New Deal then began to work against blacks in Georgetown. Thousands of well-paid white government workers poured into Washington, creating further demand for housing and pushing property prices ever higher in Georgetown. "The dispossession of the Negro resident [of Georgetown]," the Conference on Better Housing Among Negroes reported, "is jointly managed by the city's leading realtors and their allied banks and trust companies. Two pieces of legislation passed in the 20th century by none other than Congress itself, though, were the final straws for Georgetown's blacks. The ostensible purpose of the District of Columbia Alley Dwelling Act of 1934 was to get rid of slums; but I suspect that to a House with only one black member and a Senate with none at all, slums and blacks were synonymous."

"Then, in 1950, Congress passed the Old Georgetown Act "to preserve and protect places of historic interest," but it had the effect of making Georgetown's gentrification legally enforceable. It was pushed through despite fears from "Negro groups," The Washington Post reported at the time, that it "might drive them from the area." Less than a decade later, Georgetown's black population had dwindled to fewer than 3 percent, and in 1972 The Post noted that fewer than 250 remained, 'so few that some Georgetown residents are unaware they are there.'" (Stephens, Andrew. “Georgetown's Hidden History.” Washington Post. 16 July 2006.)

You don’t see any of this history in the wealthy Georgetown of today. The Georgetown business association claims that “Our village in the nation's capital is widely known for its historic charm and European feel.” The historic charm they refer to does not include the slave trade or the fact that at one point Georgetown had a reputation of being one of the worst slums of Washington. No mention of its sordid past is made. No discussion of the anomaly of several African-American churches, like the oldest Mount Zion United Methodist Church, filled with churchgoers who do not live in Georgetown.

Waterfront copyright by M.V. Jantzen from Flickr.com

The concept of putting the word “hidden” with “history” is always appalling to me. History must be an open book so that we can learn, understand and always remind ourselves of the good and bad of humanity. And so I share this post and this article with you today so that one day when you do come to Georgetown, you can look around you with a clear eye of what the fancy shops and restaurants of Georgetown really cover and how the richest real estate of Washington, DC was virtually stolen from the Native Indians and African American communities.

Next Monday, I will give you more of a walking tour of DC and less of a history lesson.

I am not here

I have lost my mind. I am not here. I am going blind. Too many papers to grade. Too much of it crap. I am not here. But enjoy this funny video instead.

My Town Monday Series Part 2

I forgot to participate in My Town Monday with Travis last week due to sheer and utter forgetfulness brought on by age and stupidity. So this week I wanted to make sure I prepared myself ahead of time. Here are some fun facts I dug out about Brooklyn:

• Brooklyn was once a separate city. In 1898, it was united with the other four boroughs (Queens, Bronx, Manhattan, and Staten Island) to form what we now know as the City of Greater New York.
  
• Brooklyn's population of nearly 2.5 million people, would make it the fourth largest city in the U.S. today, if it was its own city.
• Brooklyn is located on the island of Long Island but is not considered part of Long Island.
  
• The Brooklyn Children's Museum is the world's first museum for children.

Today I wanted to take you somewhere that I loved. The Brooklyn public library - the Grand Army Plaza library. If you ever saw the movie Matilda and remember the scene of Matilda walking to the library with her red wagon full of books, then you have a sense of what I was like. The closest library to me was a good fifteen blocks away. If I was lucky, my mother would walk me down once a month and let me stack up with as many books as I could that we would wheel away in her little portable shopping cart. Then we would hit the A&P for some groceries on the way home and maybe buy me a Coke. When she wasn't around, I would walk down myself. I was taking public transportation and walking everywhere since I was 8 years old. I was the quintessential latch key kid.

I wasn't allowed to watch alot of tv and my folks were always working so I spent alot of time reading. It was my gameboy, my playstation, my cable channels - it was all my entertainment. Children these days are so spoiled with all the electronic gadgets and toys out there that they have really lost the pleasure of a good book. Something I have rectified in my own house by being the Big Bad Mommy and banning all electronic devices on school nights. Since my kids just received a Wii as a present from their Aunt, this rule has been a huge sore point in the house. But I am evil, I laugh at their whining, I scoff at their pleas for fairness. It's not fair? I growl, you lazy little ingrates have no idea of what unfair really is. Stinky Mommy they call me.

Anyway, my local library was pretty small, but when I was thirteen, I discovered the central library. My father drove me there when I had to do a book report and all the books I needed were not at my local branch. I remember walking in and being awed at this big beautiful library. The huge, high ceilinged reading rooms and the impressive number of reference librarians. Soon after, I would take the bus and transfer twice to get to the library on my own.

The library is located on Eastern Parkway and Flatbush Avenue and as you can see from the above picture, it is huge. It was built in 1941 and its architecture was created to resemble an open book, with the spine on Grand Army Plaza and the building’s two wings opening like pages onto Eastern Parkway and Flatbush Avenue. Above the door, a lovely inscription that says "When men have wit to read and will to know - the door to learning is the open book."

This was the library that opened up my world to a world of books I never imagined. Science fiction, fantasy, historical novels, regency novels, etc. What my little library had in limited supply were now availabe in endless supply. It was heaven. I spent alot of time there shifting from the first floor reading room to the right of the front doors and the second floor reading rooms depending upon the location of various smelly vagrants that would inhabit comfortable areas of the library. Now don't get me wrong, if I were homeless, I would probably spend all my times at the library also, but I have this thing with my nose. I can't breathe if it stinks. So sitting anywhere near a homeless person would irritate the crap out of me. And there was this one very large homeless person that always sat in the first floor reading room right smack in the middle of the room. When he was there, there wasn't a spot far enough in the room to get away from the wretched smell. Plus, he had or pretended to have Tourrets Syndrome and was prone to shouting out random things like "Gonorrhea!" and "Suck my Dick!" Usually the latter would come out when any female walked by so I wondered how real the Tourrets was. And it didn't matter if the girl walking by was a perky young thing or an 85 year old saggy breasted granny, he wasn't very picky. However, no matter how many times he was escorted it out, he would always be back in a week or two. Quiet for the first hour or so before screaming STD terms and requests for a blowjob would finally send him on his way. Luckily the library was big enough that there was always another reading room far enough I could run away to.

When I started at NYU, I finally found a library that I would love more than Grand Army. NYU's Bobst library is an architectural marvel and the best place to hide and study. A place of windows and cubicles and millions and milions of books. Bobst became my new favorite library, but I never forgot learning how great a library was at Grand Army. Or how annoying a stinky horny homeless man could be.

Random Funny Things My Kids Say - Part 8

For awhile now Youngest has been calling random people she sees Humans. It is her way of differentiating people from animals. I didn't think anything of it until she began doing it loudly in public. Only then did I realize how funny and potentially offensive, it sounds. For example, the other day at my local supermarket, the high school students at a nearby high school came in a huge swarm. Youngest watched the mass exodus and announced in her loud child's voice, "Mommy the HUMANS are coming!!!"

No matter how many times I tell her to say people, person, man, woman, boy or girl, she prefers to use the term Human. She might tack on boy or girl to differentiate what kind of human, but that is as far as she goes. For example:

Mommy that human boy waved at me!
Look at that funny human.
The human has a dog!
Is she a bad Human or a good Human?
That Human picked his nose.
Is that a Human out there in front of our car?
Why did that Human cross the road?
What's the matter with that Human?

So I took Youngest to Target, my favorite store in the whole world, and we were being rung up by the cashier who was the most tatooed, pierced, dyed person I've seen since leaving NYU behind. Her head was half shaved/half dyed with bits of purple, magenta, aquamarine and black with about ten piercings in one eyebrow, both ears and a big stud in her nose. Her makeup was Marilyn Manson style goth black. Needless to say, Youngest was scared. She was sitting in the child seat of the shopping cart and she kept hiding her face in my coat while the cashier was ringing us up. At one point, Youngest peered out to look just as the cashier looked straight at her. This so surprised Youngest that instead of hiding her face in my coat she just screwed her eyes shut tight and asked me in a loud whisper, "Mommy, stop that Human from looking at me!"

"Shhhhh!" I said, embarrassed. "Don't be rude."

Youngest refused to open her eyes.

"Are we done yet?" she asked, eyes still tightly shut.

Cashier smiled sardonically at my apologetic smile.

"Whatever," Goth girl said, "I like when kids are scared of me. Then they leave me alone."

I mumbled an apology, took my receipt and started pushing the cart out. Youngest finally opened her eyes and peered carefully around me to take a final look at the Goth girl. When we were finally safely out of the store she announced, "Mommy, that was Noooo Human."

"You might be right," I said.

Asians with Unexpected Accents

When I first came down to Washington, DC, I met my first Texan Asian American at law school. Listening to his twangy Texan drawl, I laughed and said I’d never met an Asian with a southern accent before.

He replied, “Sheeeeeeet, I never met an Aaaaaaaaasyun weeeeth uh Nyooooo Yoooork acceeeennn beeeefore neeeether. Yoooooo tawk reeeeeal funny. Yooooo sound lak dat Nanny gal on teeeeee veeeee.”

Uh, Fran Dresher? I’m from Brooklyn, not Staten Island. Needless to say, I was a bit offended.

“And you sound like Gomer Pyle, Golly!” I mocked.

“Ahh, doooohn know whooooo you’re tawkin’ about,” he laughed good naturedly. “Yoooooo dun taaaaaawk toooooo fast."

“And, yoooooooo talk tooooooooo slow!” I replied. Needless to say we became good friends even as we mocked each other viciously. He reminded me of a Korean American comic I saw a long time ago on Comedy Central. Too bad I can’t remember his name cause that boy was funny. But he did this piece about his friend J.B. Daniels. Apparently the J.B. doesn’t stand for anything, so when J.B. went to get his driver’s license, he wrote in “J” --- only, “B” ---- only Daniels. When he got his license it read, Jonly Bonly Daniels. I think it was funnier in person. But for me, part of what made him so funny was the novelty of seeing an Asian American with a southern accent.

This was hit home for me the other day when I was at a restaurant and a sweet older Asian couple was sitting next to me. They looked to be in their late sixties and they were really cute together. When they ordered their meal, they spoke with thick southern accents which made me do a double take. I guess I am so used to older Asians speaking with immigrant accents, that I was surprised when they were not as I had stereotyped them. I loved it! I immediately got into a conversation with them and learned more than I probably ever needed to know. But they were the Lims from Atlanta, Georgia, and they were 4th and 5^th generation Chinese Americans who were visiting their grandkids. I adored them and would have gladly adopted them myself.

They reminded me that Korean Americans are newer immigrants. 80% of mainland Korean Americans are first and second generation only. We are the ones with parents that gave us all American names which they promptly mispronounced. My best friend Sylvia’s name is forever pronounced Sylbeeahh. Virginia is Bahjinyah. Bill is Pill. Sam is Sahm. Barry is Bally. Sarah is Sallah. You get the picture. Don’t even think about throwing them off with a Spanish name. I remember my mom calling Ricky Ricardo, Licky Leeeeecahdo. Baballoooo! Licky loves you!

Random Loveliness

Copyright Maki_C30D

Barter
by Sarah Teasdale

Life has loveliness to sell,
All beautiful and splendid things,
Blue waves whitened on a cliff,
Soaring fire that sways and sings,
And children's faces looking up,
Holding wonder like a cup.

Life has loveliness to sell,
Music like a curve of gold,
Scent of pine trees in the rain,
Eyes that love you, arms that hold,
And for your spirit's still delight,
Holy thoughts that star the night.

Spend all you have for loveliness,
Buy it and never count the cost;
For one white singing hour of peace
Count many a year of strife well lost,
And for a breath of ecstacy
Give all you have been, or could be.

My Town Monday Series

I have joined Travis Erwin for his My Town Monday series where you get to see a little part of various bloggers hometowns. Please pop on by to see Travis and the growing list of travel logs.

So I was going to do the DC area where I now live, but I realized I had already done one recently. Instead, I thought I would give you a little taste of where I grew up. Brooklyn, New York. Specifically, I’m going to talk about Coney Island. Most people have some idea about what Coney Island is, a beach, an amusement park, the roller coaster ride. But I had some fun researching a little bit more about a place that I took for granted growing up.

Copyright Dalton Rooney

When I was young, my parents would take me to Coney Island for the day. We’d drive or take the train down and walk the boardwalk and spend a day in the sun. Because of the way Coney Island beach is situated, it is in sunlight all day long. I loved going there as a kid because of the amusement park, the bumper cars, all the rides, the scary people in the haunted house. Seriously, there were some scary people there, and they didn't even work there, they just hung around drinking beers out of little brown baggies and heckling anyone who walked by. Part of the charm of Coney Island was the colorful inhabitants, half naked women, Hell's Angels motorcyclists with huge guts and huger tatoos, immigrants speaking no English, selling cheap wares. It was one loud, messy, obnoxious noisefest.

As I got older, I realized that the beach was dirty and the boardwalk cheesy and the amusement park shady. I stopped going there when I hit my teens, preferring to go to nearby Manhattan Beach which was smaller and cleaner, and had cuter boys. But I still rode the boardwalks. From where I lived near Ocean Parkway and Avenue P, I could ride my bike straight down to Brighton Beach, also known as Little Odessa. From there, I’d pick up the boardwalk and ride down to Coney Island and back, a round trip of approximately 10 miles for me. It was always a wonderful ride. So when I thought back to Brooklyn, I wanted to revisit a part of my childhood. Turns out PBS decided to do it for me, producing an American Experience program on the history of Coney Island. Below are excerpts from its transcripts.

“On September 1, 1609, one day before he discovered Manhattan, Henry Hudson discovered Coney Island, a five-mile long waste of sand dunes, scrub grass and "coneys," the wild rabbits that gave the place its name. Coney was still a wasteland two centuries later when, in 1847, a side-wheeler from Manhattan began tying up at a makeshift pier on the island's western end. Out on the beach, men served clams and beer under a crude pavilion, amidst raucous bouts of three-card monte and a dice game called "buck-a-luck." "It is a well known fact," one visitor complained, "that picnics are often arranged for the sole benefit of pickpockets, prostitutes and swindlers." Dead bodies were sometimes found rolling in the surf. At the eastern end of the island, as far as possible from the disorder of the west, three vast frame hotels went up.” (American Experience, Coney Island, PBS broadcast, 2000)

“In 1876, the centerpiece of the Philadelphia Exposition was moved to Coney -- an observation tower whose steam-powered elevators lifted people 300 feet above the sea. It was the tallest structure in the United States. After descending from the tower, daring bathers could go for nighttime swims, pulling themselves along ropes under the hissing blaze of primitive arc lamps. People called it "electric bathing."

In 1884, LaMarcus Thompson invented a gravity-powered ride he called a Switchback Railway. The roller coaster was born. Before long, there were refinements-- the Loop-the-Loop and the Flip-Flap railway. The Flip-Flap could take only four passengers at a time, frequently damaged them and soon went out of business. By 1893 the New York Times declared that Coney Island had become "Sodom-by-the-Sea" and worried that its reputation would keep people away. Coney Island astonished, delighted and appalled the nation and took America from the Victorian age into the modern world.” (American Experience, Coney Island, PBS broadcast, 2000)

Coney Island and its three major amusement parks reached its peak popularity in the 1920s drawing millions of people on a nice summer day. But it began to decline in popularity with the start of World War II. Two fires destroyed two of the major amusement parks, Dreamland in 1911 and Luna Park in 1944. The last original park, the Steeplechase, finally closed in 1964. The nations oldest wooden roller coaster, The Cyclone, is still operational at Astroland amusement park. While The Cyclone was built in 1927 and owned by the City, it is operated by Astroland amusement park by a franchise license since the 1950s.

It was also at Coney Island that Charles Feltman invented and sold the first hot dog in 1867. Feltman was a food vendor who sold pies out of an old cart. When his customers asked for sandwiches, Feltman knew that he didn’t have the room to hold the ingredients for sandwiches. Instead, he came up with small charcoal stove and a tin box which he built into his cart to boil sausages and keep his bread rolls. And that is how the hot dog was born. From that illustrious beginning, Nathan’s Famous original hot dog stand first opened in 1916 and is now a landmark of Coney Island. Every 4th of July since 1916, it has sponsored an annual hot dog eating contest. In the last decade, the contest has attracted international television coverage due to amazing contestants from around the world.


At the 2007 contest, Joey Chestnut won by eating 66 Hotdogs & Buns in 12 minutes! This picture shows him holding 60 hot dogs with buns, to give you an idea of how much food we are talking about in the span of 12 minutes. Notice how skinny he is. Him and the previous winner, another skinny man from Japan, can put away more hot dogs and faster than men three times their size and weight. My max is 2 hot dogs before all the chemical preservatives in the hot dogs begins to nauseate me. Just the idea of eating that many hot dogs makes me want to puke my guts out. Once out of sheer torturous curiousity, I watched a telecast of an eating contest. The first time a contestant started gagging, my sympathetic vomit reflex kicked in and I had to change the channel. There is something completely wrong with deliberately eating that much food. How is this a contest? Unless it is a contest for measuring how insane you are. For this incredible feat, he won $10,000 and a yellow mustard belt. $10,000 would barely cover my medical bills if I ate that much.

Speaking of crazy people, the Coney Island Polar Bear Club is a bunch of crazy people who like to swim at the beach during the winter months. The highlight for them is New Year’s Day when additional crazies can join them for a swim in freezing cold waters wearing only a little swimsuit. And this is good for you because women find blue balls so very attractive. It reminds me of that Seinfeld episode. You know the one. Penis. Cold water. Equals shrinkage. How sexy. Viagra anyone?

Last but not least, Coney Island opened up a minor league baseball stadium in 2001. KeySpan Park is the home of the Brooklyn Cyclones who are affiliated with the New York Mets. But since I am a Yankees fan, I have nothing more of interest to add to that.

So that's it for now. Next Monday, I will find some other interesting information about Brooklyn before I move back to talking about my current local place of residence. I hope you have found this somewhat entertaining. If you didn't, then make sure you lodge your complaint with the angry little pig up in the right hand corner of this blog. Please speak loudly as the pig is a little hard of hearing.

My Clarity of Night entry

I know many of you have already read my entry over at Jason's for his awesome story contest. But I also realized that since I didn't post it here, some of you may not have read it, so I am throwing it up here also. Now if you haven't gone by Jason's please do, I have read some incredible, amazing writing there not only by fellow bloggers (guys you all rock!), but also by tons of new writers who I am in awe of. Wow there is alot of talent out there!

The contest was based on a beautiful picture of a bare branched tree. Most of the entries were dark, depressing, sad, scary - it was definitely an interesting view into how all different writers interpreted this one same picture. I myself did not go that route, and by now I'm sure you must have realized that if I can incorporate excrement or flatulence into anything I write, I will. I got alot of terrific comments which made me happy. This is definitely a fiction piece because I reworked things all 3 of my kids said and fashioned one precocious little boy out of them. Then I reworked dialogue to flow evenly over 250 words. So it rose out of true conversations but has been reworked to a fiction piece. Thanks to those of you have had read it and commented.

Entry #19

Do Trees Sleep?
by Ello


Tommy stared out the window at the bare limbs of the dogwood tree in the backyard.

“Mom, do trees sleep?” he asked his Mom who was busy preparing dinner.

“Yes, they sleep during the winter. That’s why their branches are bare. They’re hibernating. And in the spring, they wake up in all their glory.”

“Oh yeah! I know about hibernating. Like bears. They eat lots and lots of food and get really fat and sleep all winter long. And their body eats the food they already eated in their fat bellies while they’re sleeping.”

“Er, um, something like that.”

Tommy sat at the kitchen table. He grabbed an apple and began to munch.

“Um, Mom?”

“Hmmmm?”

“Do bears poop while they sleep?”

Mom paused in mid slice. “Uh, no. I don’t think so.”

“But then, where does the poop go?”

“I think they just hold it in until they wake up.”

“But won’t that give the bear a tummy ache?”

“I don’t know…”

“Cause when I gotta go poop and I try to hold it in, my tummy hurts real bad. I wouldn’t be able to sleep.”

“Seriously, I’m not sure…”

“AND they must have the biggest, stinkiest poops in the whole world after months and months of not pooping! That’s really gross!” Tommy howled with laughter as he warmed to his topic.

“OK, enough! I don’t want to hear another word about poop!” Mom was exasperated.

Silence again for several minutes.

“Mom?”

“Yes?”

“Do bears fart while they hibernate?”

Dream Man

The other night I had a dream about my latest crush Clive Owen. We were standing on a deserted boardwalk at the beach, the winter ocean waves breaking hard against the cold sand. A chill breeze ruffling through his sexy hair pushing a stray curl across his forehead. I reached over to brush the curl away. He grabbed me up into his arms and stared deep into my eyes.

"Run away with me," he said with his sexy British drawl, "forget about everything and let's fly to Paris."

"But Paris is full of sh*t!" I replied in despair. "You know how deathly afraid I am of stepping in dog crap."

"So what, it's just semantics. We'll go to Singapore instead," Clive replied. "I hear their streets are real clean. No dog is allowed to poop there for fear of being sentenced to death. Plus they have wicked chicken and rice."

Be still my beating heart, I swooned, he is tempting me with food. In my dream, I actually looked over and saw my husband's sleeping form snoring peacefully away as the boardwalk behind me morphed partly into my bedroom at home. Da Man slept on, unknowing that his wife was contemplating running away with a sexy phantom man.

"Alas," I sighed, "I can't go for that. No-o-o No-o-o. No can do." Oh yes, I blew off the incredibly sexy Clive Owen by singing the riff from that famous Hall and Oates song, but with a sexy Indian accent. "No can do. I'm so into you. But no can do. Can't sleep with you. Sucks for you. And me too. Chicken Vindaloo. Lobster stew." Suddenly, I had turned into Dr. Seuss, and I was hungry.

He walked away disappointed, dejection clear in the way his head hung low, sorrowful brown eyes gazing back at me in defeat. His leather trenchcoat blowing with the wind as he left me. And as he began to disappear in the mist that began to form in my bedroom/boardwalk, he turned one last time in silent entreaty, I waved back despondently and hollered "NO CAN DO! I LOVE YOU! BABBALOO!" From Dr. Seuss to Ricky Ricardo. Dreams are weird.

Still in the dream, my husband wakes up all sleepy and wondering why there was mist in our bedroom and asked me "Whas sup?"

I gazed down at his sweet dopey sleepy face and said, "I just gave up Clive Owen for you, now where the hell is my god damn big ass ten year wedding anniversary diamond ring already!"*

He blinked and said, "She-e-e-et, I'm not the one who gave back a perfectly good diamond ring that fate and fortune tossed right at your feet." **

And then I woke up.

Dreams are so bizarre. I hope Johnny Depp shows up tonight. I may not be caring about a ring then.

* FYI - we've been married fourteen years and I never got a real engagement ring because he was a student at the time. As you can see, I'm still waiting.
** Never tell your husband that you found expensive jewelry only to give it back. They'll never let you forget, even in your dreams.

Random Stuff

Merry has tagged me with an interesting meme where you have to sum up your life in 6 words, like that famous Hemingway story. "For sale: baby shoes, never worn."

I came up with two:

Once I suffered, now I’m blessed.

and

Be careful! Watch out for crap.

And while the first one is actually quite a succinct write up of where I am now in life compared to where I was previously, I think I gotta go with that second one cause it has so many meanings. For example, this is like my most famous motto to the kids whenever we are walking in the park or in certain city streets famous for people unable to pick up after their dogs. Since I have already done a long blog post on my hatred of dog poop, I will restrain myself now. But an interesting perk from my irrational fear of stepping in dog poop is that I find quite alot of lost stuff on the ground. You see, I spend so much time with one eye on the ground that I hold the world's record for finding the most lost money. I have found wallets, purses, jewelry, and cash just about everywhere, from singles and twenties to once a fifty dollar bill. In my younger days, when I was broke and no one was around, I would keep the money. Nowadays, I give money found to the homeless or to the church cause honestly, found money is usually not lucky money. And you get better luck if you give it away or return it to the rightful owner (not always possible).

Just last week, I was walking out of my favorite restaurant with my friend V and our kids after a nice meal. I came out of the front door at the end of the whole group and as I stepped out, I immediately spied something shiny on the ground. It was a HUGE ASS diamond ring. It was at least two carats, platinum setting with additional diamond bagettes on both sides of the solitaire. The thing was not only huge, but it was a heavy ring. It was easily a $20,000 ring or more. (V, if you are reading this, chime in and back me up on the size of this ring!) And since I consider myself a diamond connoisseur, I can assure you that it was a good diamond (not best quality - but good enough in cut and color to be quite expensive). I could not believe someone could have dropped their diamond engagement ring on the ground like that. The first thought that popped into my head was of a hysterical woman freaking out when they found that they had lost their ring. So I immediately turned around and went back to the restaurant and handed it over to the owners, who I know pretty well, and told them that I was positive someone would return that night to claim it. Turns out I was right, an hour later a panicked woman returned, claimed her ring and ran out. Although she did thank the owners, they were miffed on my behalf that she didn't want to try and contact me to thank me for my honesty and reward me. Now honestly, I was not seeking any reward of any kind. I was just thinking about how horrible I would feel to lose a ring like that and did not want anyone else to suffer. But the owners were so indignant that they comped me a nice appetizer with my dinner, which was totally unexpected and sweet of them.

The other thing I like about my 6 word story is that it also applies to life and the drama that can come with it. I dislike drama intensely. I don't like being dragged into other people's crap. If it isn't my business, I like to keep it that way. Recently a friend of mine was telling me how she inadvertently got roped into a huge dispute between two other casual acquaintances. I told her to stay out of it, she didn't listen to me and what happened? Crap exploded all over her face and now neither of these two casual acquaintances will talk to her anymore.

"Ha, ha!" I laughed at her and said "I told you to stay out of it! They still talk to me but now they hate your guts."

"Screw you," my friend says. Oh yeah, I deserved that, I was rubbing her nose in the crap. But hey! I did warn her!

See, you can't win with other people's drama. Unless your family or best friends and you can't help but get dragged in, you have to watch out for and stay away from other people's crap, because it will stick to you and leave a nasty stinky mark all over you. And that's all I have to say about that.

So if you can come up with a six word story that sums up your life, please feel free to post it and let me know. I came up with some more just as I was typing this like:

Ha, Ha! I'm better than you.

No I did not eat it.

Please try to go potty again.

So sorry, did I do that?

I know something you don't know!

Help! The wolves are after me.

I was lost... and still am.

These aren't the droids you seek.

I really, really stink at this.

Random Monday Story

Lana has tagged me for another random facts about me meme. I was thinking that I didn't have anymore random facts but how can that be true? I am a walking enigma after all. But I am not going to come up with seven random facts, instead I am going to tell you a funny true story.

When my husband met my father for the first time, my dad gave him a nervous breakdown.

We had come up to NY for the weekend and were having lunch with my parents at a midtown restaurant. Da Man was so nervous his palms were soaking wet. Arriving at the table, my dad positioned Da Man right in front of him and proceeded to grill him like he was applying for a job with the title "Possible Husband Material."

The first question he asked was "What are you planning to do with your life?" Da Man started to babble inanely about his plans to attend law school and get a good job, etc. Halfway through his rambling answer, my father cut him off with a sharply raised hand almost in his face as he stated, "Enough! Next question, ..." Frankly, I don't remember the next series of questions, all I can remember is the sheer look of horror on Da Man's face as he sweated his way through a series of probing questions about his past, education, family background, ambitions, philosophy of life and the state of his health. I am sorry to say that my mom, my younger sister and I sat next to the showdown trying desperately not to laugh. With every stumbling answer, my father would cut him off, sooner and sooner, impatient with Da Man's awkward babble and anxious to ask all of his questions. Nearing the end, as all of us, except my soon-to-be husband, enjoyed our delicious lunches, my father asked the following question:

"What are Ellen's three worst qualities?"

I looked up with alarm to see my dad smiling a very enigmatic smile.

"Um, she doesn't have any," Da Man answered with a strained smile in my direction.

Before I could smile back, my father announced in a near shout, "Wrong answer!"

"Hey, Dad!" I was indignant.

"You shouldn't ask him such a question," I said with a reassuring pat on Da Man's arm. By this point, a nervous tic has appeared under his left eye.

"No, I'll tell him the right answer," my dad said bombastically. "First, bad temper!"

I looked at my dad in open-mouthed astonishment. By my side, Da Man nodded his head eagerly.

"Oh yes, I've witnessed it many times," he said, relieved to no longer be the focal point of my Dad's attention.

"Second, big spender," my dad continued as he paused to down his sake.

Da Man, rushed to refill my dad's sake cup, at the same time nodding his head so vigorously, he reminded me of one of those large headed bobble dolls. I began to fume.

"Third, too stubborn," my dad announced, extremely pleased with himself.

"DAD!" I said.

"It's ok honey," Da Man said soothingly. "I still love you."

And with that, my Dad and my soon-to-be husband shared a smile of perfect accord for the first time.

Random funny commercial!

FYI - I so want to get that ring tone!!!!!

Random Funny Things My Kids Say - Part 7

Although I hate shopping, I had to go to the mall this weekend to buy some presents. It was pretty packed, as the mall was having big President's Day Sales. We drove around and around with no luck. The only spot open was 1 of only 3 maternity parking spaces near the doors. Angus asked why we didn't park there and I explained it was because I wasn't pregnant and that the spots were specifically for pregnant women who would have a harder time walking into the mall from far away.

On our fourth go around, we finally spotted a space fairly close to the doors. All the kids were cheering when I pulled in and parked. As we walked towards the doors, we watched as a huge Hummer pulled into the one and only maternity spot left open. While waiting for a car to pass us, I got mad when I saw a short, tubby man jump down from the driver's side of the Hummer and walk ahead of us into the mall.

Oldest, who is the law enforcer of the house, immediately yells out in her high carrying voice,"Hey, he's not a pregnant lady! That's against the rules! He can't park there! What if a pregnant lady comes and there is nowhere to park?" Tubby man starts to walk faster. Ok - usually I hush the girls right up before they can say rude and impolite things to people, but here was someone who deserved it. So smiling evilly, I forced the girls to keep pace right behind him.

Youngest shouts out, "But he has a big fat tummy like a pregnant lady! Maybe he's pregnant too!"

This is too ridiculous for Oldest who then says, "Don't be silly, men can't get pregnant."

Angus yells, "I know! He's pregnant with too much food that he ated! And he has to go poo poo!"

"Ill, ill, ill! You are so nasty!" The other two scream and laugh as Mr. Tubby begins to speed walk/trot away as fast as he can. Hopefully a lesson has been learned, but I doubt it. I slow down, now that Mr. Tubby is too far away and I turn to my middle child.

"Angus, why is everything about pooping with you?" I ask.

"Because poop is funny!" she replies.

Pictures of Me

My department has requested that all faculty provide a picture to be placed on the department website. Problem is, I hate pictures. Hate taking them and am never happy with any that have ever been taken. Even on my wedding day, my photographer, a typical rude Korean man, announced that here was a wedding where the groom outshone the bride. But since he was gay, I put it down to jealousy until I actually received the wedding albums and realized the little fucker was right. Da man outshone me in every shot except for the one of me throwing the bouquet, and only because he wasn't in that shot. Even now, whenever a guest wanders over and looks at a wedding picture, Da man will shoot on over to point out how much better he looked than me. It was August, I was in a twenty pound silk dress sweating my ass off in a New York City park. He, on the otherhand, drank alcohol of every kind at every moment of the day into the night so that by the time we got in front of the officiant, Da man was actually swaying like a slighty inebriated sailor causing me to giggle furiously.

But I digress. I am not keen on the idea of taking a picture for the website. Why do they need a picture? What does plastering my face on a website do to further their academic experience? Think of the harm a disgruntled student could do with my picture? In law school, there was a nasty little bugger who lived in the apartment below me and my roommates. He had pretty much asked us all out in a row and after summarily being rejected by all five of us, he proceeded to cut out our facebook pictures and place them onto the bodies of animals and hung them up on the school student bulletin board. Apparently I was a donkey. We told everyone he had a small penis and wet the bed. He never bothered us again.

So what to do about this picture thing. I thought maybe I could draw a picture of myself instead.





Hmmmmm, this one was a little too cutesy. Too girly.









OK - I tried to add breasts and instead they look like I'm wearing one of those donut life preservers under my armpits. But I'm a pretty realistic artist as one breast is slightly larger than the other and apparently when not restrained they both point away from each other.









This one was better. I'm not really a dress girl. I live in pants. But it was still too happy.











Here we go, that's more like it. Wait, WTF? Is that a gun or a hair dryer in my hand? What the hell did I draw that for? I'm either going to kill you or give you a stunning hairdo. And why the hell am I dressed like a pirate?






Who am I kidding? I am no artist. I have a better idea. Why don't I just post this instead:
What's that? You don't like your grade? Come shake my hand...

Random Funny Things My Kids Say - Part 6

My husband goes to the gym to lift weights and comes home all pumped up. He walks into the bathroom where I am emptying the laundry hamper and whips off his shirt to stand and admire himself in front of our large mirrors.

“Check this out!” he says as he flexes and poses, showing off all his muscles.

“Very nice dear,” I say, hardly glancing at him as I continue sorting laundry. I get this alot.

“You’re not even watching! Look!” he insists as he begins to add sound effects to his poses.

"Grrrrrrrr, GRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR! UNH, UNH, UNH, GRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR!"

Youngest happens to walk in and stares at her crazy father as he continues to grunt, grimace and pose. Noticing her standing next to him, he makes one last grimace (mean face) and grunts right at her while lifting his arms up and flexing his biceps in the classic bodybuilder pose a la Arnold.

“Daddy,” youngest asks very seriously. “Do you have to poo poo?”

“No,” he responds, quite insulted.

Youngest shrugs and walks out, leaving me hanging onto the side of the bathtub laughing my ass off.

He gives me a dirty look and says, “That’s YOUR daughter," and slinks off sullenly.

Oh yes, that's my girl!

Random funny pictures

A close friend of mine came back from Atlanta, Georgia where she was visiting her sister and told me about this funny sign in her sister's neighborhood. I howled when I heard about it and demanded that she make her sister, who I am friends with also, take a picture for my blog.

Apparently the neighborhood had put up the sign in order to remind motorists to slow down and watch out for the kids. I'm not sure if this is exactly what they had in mind:

The morale of the story, when paying by the letter, don't be cheap, or it will change the entire meaning of your sign.


Which reminds me of another classic writing blunder which is pictured below:


Ha Ha!
Underneath that
I love funny writing blunders!

Time of Chaos

I'm having a hard time keeping up, sorry everyone! Excuse me while the blog goes cold for a few days. School started this week for me and chaos has ensued! The last few weeks have been hard as I was trying to prepare for two new classes with new syllabi and new textbooks to read. Academic books are a nightmare to read. I get two lines in and my mind is wandering off to when the new season of Top Chef begins. Listen normal people don't talk like this so why should we read like this. And for all those academics that actually do talk like this, please understand that this and the huge metal rod up your collective asses is why you can't get laid.

But I am off tangent again. See what a problem I have. Yes, I was a bad girl and procrastinated a little too much. So this week I am paying for my sins. Please forgive my absence from here and blog world as I subject myself to academic self-flagellation of the most torturous kind as I try to pull a miracle out of my butt and hope to con my students into believing I know what I am talking about. I am sure to be back with much funny business about uptight students and assinine academics but until then, I shall leave you with an old but classic funny.

Random Funny Things My Kids Say - Part 5

Lately Angus has been asking for a skinnier winter coat. She inherited a very nice warm Land’s End winter coat from Oldest, but it is very puffy and she complains that it makes her look like a blue snowman. Oldest now has a long less puffy black winter coat which Angus covets. It is not as warm but Angus just doesn’t care about that. At six she has already decided that it is better “too look good then to feel good, dahling!” However, she has a perfectly good coat and I have told her a million times now that she is not getting a new coat this winter.

So we were driving in the car when Angus announces that she wants to tell me a story. Sure I say, go ahead.

“Once upon a time there was a big, huge, ugly monster with blue hair and green skin and long needles for fingers and sharp knives for teeth and he was really really strong and he ate children and he lived in a big snowy cave. One day a group of children were sledding on the hill when their sled fell into a hole in the middle of the ground and dropped them down into the monster’s cave. The children saw the big monster running to get them and they were screaming and running and finally they saw a small little hole in the middle of a wall that was the only exit in the entire cave.”

“Wait a minute, back up. How come there is a hole in the middle of a hill like that? Didn’t someone see it and report it? Wouldn’t they fix it? Wouldn’t the police have found the hole and captured the monster?” oldest asks.

“Be quiet, this is my story,” Angus says. “And so the children all squeeze out of the little hole except for one little girl who has a big puffy coat. Her coat is sooooo puffy, she can’t get out and the monster catches her and eats her up.”

“Did he eat her coat and her boots too?” Youngest asks.

“Yes!”

“Yucky!” Youngest cries. (Apparently eating a coat and boots are yuckier to her than eating a child.)

“And the other children got out safely because they all wore skinny coats and then they cried and cried about their friend cause they missed her lots,” Angus says.

“Why didn’t the little girl just take off her coat?” Oldest asks.

“Because there wasn’t enough time,” Angus says.

“Maybe it wasn’t the coat, maybe the little girl was too fat,” the skeptic says.

“NO SHE WASN’T FAT! HER COAT MADE HER FAT, THAT’S ALL!” Angus shouts. “If her mother had bought her a skinnier coat, she would have made it out of the cave safely and she wouldn't have been eaten.”

“But why doesn’t the monster just break through the hole and eat all the other children too?” Oldest asks.

“Because he doesn’t fit in the small hole!”

"But you said he's really strong..."

"He is really strong!"

“So how does he eat if he can’t get out of the cave?” Oldest asks.

“He eats whatever falls in from the top of the cave like squirrels and mice and rabbits…”

“And children!” shrieks youngest.

“Well he can’t be such a strong monster if he can’t get out of the cave,” Oldest says.

“Yes he is! But the cave is made out of metal and he can’t get out.."

"Caves aren't made from metal! You don't know what you are talking about!"

"I don't want to talk to you anymore, you’re giving me a headache!” Angus is angry.

Oldest rolls her eyes. “Just because your story doesn’t make a lot of sense…”

“MOMMY! She’s being mean to me!”

“AM NOT! And the only reason you told that story was cause you want Mom to feel guilty and buy a new coat for you even after she told you a hundred times that you can’t have a new coat so who is being mean now?”

“THAT’S NOT WHY I TOLD THE STORY!”

“IS TOO!”

“IS NOT!”

“IS TOO!”

“YOU’RE A MONKEY FACE!”

“AND YOU SMELL!”

“EVERYONE BE QUIET THIS INSTANCE!” I shout out as I see Youngest grinning in her seat with her hands over her ears.

All is quiet in the car for a few minutes when I see Angus (who sits right behind me) lean forward as far as she can and whisper something to me.

“Um, so Mommy, do you think you could please please PLEASE buy me a skinny coat?” she whispers.

“HA! I KNEW IT!” shouts Oldest from the very back row.

I think I need a drink.