We Miss You Burnt Umber

I rolled through Target last week and got caught in the school supply traffic jam. I was actually searching for a garden item but of course summer ended in a retail sense two months ago.
Two cute girls were pleading for the Hannah Montana backpacks while mom checked off the familiar school supply list items. There was excitement, stress and near panic as parents and kids negotiated the needs and wants of back to school shopping.

I don’t recall school supply shopping being such an event when I was a little rascal but I sure remember new school supplies.

The big ticket item for me was always the book bag. The name has long been replaced by backpack but there was a time when students looked as though they were heading to a bowling alley instead of a mountain hike. Little kids carried handled vinyl bags with Fred Flintstone or Barbie while high school bag were two-tone with the school logo and colors on the side.

Maybe what made school supplies so exciting was how good they looked compared to last year’s supplies. Erasers and glue were not attractive by the end of school. We had used or eaten most of the non-toxic paste and the Elmer’s Glue was permanently sealed at the nozzle. Stick erasers were either broken in half or covered with a slick coating of dirt and grease from the bottom of the book bag.

The yellow #2 Ticonderga pencil and clear Bic pens were standard issue on the 1960’s supply list. Marble composition notebooks, stacks of 3-ring binder paper and theme tablets also topped the list.

One special pen that we all received in grammar school supposedly taught us “The Palmer Method” of handwriting. The long slender pen was also perfect for gnawing on as we practiced rounding out our cursive letters. I am sure that my handwriting would be more graceful if I hadn’t chewed my pens down to the refill each year.

The king of all school supplies was the new box of Crayola Crayons. Whether it was a set of eight or 64 (sharpener included), the yellow and green box of perfectly formed crayons meant school was about to start. By the school year’s end, they were banished to the teacher’s crayon bucket of lost (crayon) souls.

Many school supply items have changed through the years but a crayon is still a crayon. No matter what color they are, crayons have a distinctive feel and smell that can instantly transport adults back to their childhood.

According to Crayola’s official history, Edwin Binney and Harold Smith invented crayons in 1903. The line was expanded from 8 to 48 colors in the 1940’s and again to 64 colors in 1958. Along the way colors such as Prussian Blue, Indian Red and Flesh were dropped. Others like Orange-Red, Blue-Grey and Burnt Umber were “retired” and added to the Crayola Hall of Fame – seriously.
There is a sense of optimism and hope when you crack open those school supplies in August. You might sharpen your favorite pencil and imagine the blank notebook page as a metaphor for the new school year. Then again maybe it’s just writer’s block.

Either way, have a great school year kids and remember - don’t chew your pens.

First Class Gold Class Cinema

My old boss Dean Speicher once said that everyone can afford to go first class…it’s just that not everyone can stay as long.

He was referring to the limo he had hired for the evening but he could have been talking about the new Gold Class Cinema in Fairview.

Whether you call it first-class or just over the top, no one is arguing that the Gold Class Cinema is very different than other movie theaters.

Located in The Village at Fairview on Stacy Road, Gold Class Cinema offers eight small theaters that seat either 40, 32 or 24 seats each. The seats, which are arranged in small groupings, are comfortable recliners that raise or lower with the touch of a button. A tray rests between the seats with a dimly lit call button that summons a waiter.

This is where Gold Class kicks into high gear. An on-site chef will prepare a wide array of meals or snacks for you and your date while you choose from 80 different wines and a full range of cocktails.
Gold Class spared no expense providing a comfortable lounge experience outside the theater. All seats are reserved in advance so movie goers are invited to relax in the lounge as they wait for their movie.

“We’re all about the escapism of watching movies,” says Mark Mulcahy, vice president of marketing. “We want to provide the ultimate movie-going experience for movie lovers.”

That experience, according to Mulcahy, includes removing the stress of going to the movies. “I’ve rushed a dinner and skipped dessert more than once trying to get a good seat in the theater. Reserved seating takes that anxiety out of the equation.”

There is a price for luxury. Movies run $25 per person on weekends after 12 pm and $25 all the time for non-members although members only pay $20 on weekdays and weekend mornings. Membership is free and painless so there is no reason to pay the higher rate.

At this point you are probably asking why anyone would pay so much for the same movie that costs $9 down the road. Think about two local golf courses. The same game of golf can be played on a crowded municipal course for $35 or a spacious premium course for $65. One cost less but at the end of the day the other experience is much more relaxing.

The concept came to the U.S. from Australia and Europe, added Mulcahy. There, a cinema might have 10 regular theaters and two VIP or “Gold Class” theaters. When the first Gold Class opened in Los Angeles, a decision was made to build stand alone premium theaters.”
Today, the chain operates six theaters in the U.S. including Los Angeles and suburban Seattle, Chicago, Austin and Dallas (Fairview).

If you are still scratching your head about how Gold Class can be successful, consider the numbers. Since opening on May 7, the Fairview location alone has attracted 20,000 members and is adding about 4,000 more per month.

Gold Class is feeding that buzz with special promotions that tie into the movies. Viewers attending the new movie “Eat, Pray, Love” for example, can experience a taste of all three countries and cuisines featured in the movie. The theaters are also available for private events and parties (think Super Bowl).

Still not convinced?

“It’s something you have to experience before you can appreciate it,” adds Mulcahy. “People need to escape at times and we certainly offer that opportunity.”

What Gold Class does - for a price – is enhance the entire movie going experience. The sound is better, the chairs are bigger and the service is classier. Did I mention that they offer blankets and pillows?

Postcards From Scout Camp

Dear Mom- Having some fun but plenty of rain. The dock is under 2” of water. Made beginner swimmer because I couldn’t do side stroke. We are going on a campout Wednesday under the stars. I am going for athletics, first aid, leatherwork, camping, hiking and pioneering. See you soon. – Tim

That pretty much summed up my week at Camp Tamarack in July 1968. It wasn’t exactly “Hello Muddah, Hello Faddah” but I am sure that the postcard from scout camp was appreciated.

As I recall, we were required to each write a postcard home on the second day of camp so that our anxious parents would get some communication before we arrived home on Sunday. Barring any medical emergencies or bear sightings, there wasn’t much to report on day number two.

For those readers unfamiliar with Boy Scout camp, the week followed a very predictable schedule. Parents and kids would haul their “stuff” down the road from the parking lot and into the campground. Open air campaign tents were neatly lined up on wooden platforms with the sides and doors rolled tightly. Before unpacking, our troop of scouts quickly changed into bathing suits and headed to the waterfront for the dreaded swimming test. Actually, only lousy swimmers like myself dreaded the swimming test. The beginner tag I earned disqualified me from most waterfront activities except rowboats which were lame by any standard.

The only thing I dreaded more than the swim test was the lake itself. The mountain lake was about 65 degrees and a murky brown color. The lake bottom was a combination of muck and weeds which worked well for the small fish but not for small fry Boy Scouts. The greatest motivation I had for passing the swim test was not letting my feet touch the lake bottom.

Because many parents lingered past dinner, our Sunday meal was usually something special like turkey. This also set the stage for turkey soup, turkey sandwiches and turkey casserole later in the week.

Campfires have always been a big part of the scout experience and camp always started and ended with a big one. The teenage counselors would build a fire that could be spotted from outer space while the campers doused themselves with insect repellent. The aroma of Off repellent and kerosene filled the air as we sang silly songs about the Titanic and meatballs.

Back at the campsite, adult leaders forced, yes forced, the scouts into the bathhouse where they were required to wash up and brush their teeth. It was probably part of some promise they made to our parents. We then carefully tied down the tent flaps which made no difference to the mosquitoes but did create a line of defense against skunks and raccoons.

Waking up at sunrise was never much of a problem early in the week. Mysterious noises from the woods and tall tales from the older scouts ensured that we would not sleep at all until later in the week when we were too tired to care.

Following a hearty breakfast of oatmeal and cold cereal we set off to attend merit badge classes. That explains the postcard’s reference to “going for athletics, first aid, etc.”

The first day’s merit badge classes were broken up with lunch and swimming lessons. Just before dinner that second night, I wrote the above mentioned postcard.

Despite the brown water, mosquitoes and sleep deprivation, I was having a great time at Camp Tamarack. It was just hard to convey that in a postcard. If only I could have texted home to say: OMG – passed swimming but cold water – LOL – CUL8R.

Wonders of the SkyMall

Ladies and gentlemen - please return your seats to their upright position, raise your trays and stow all portable devices as we begin our descent.

Those last 15 minutes or more of a flight can be long ones if you don’t have a good book. Then again, there is always SkyMall – the catalog of catalogs.

I have never actually purchased an item from SkyMall but I have spent countless hours on airplanes turning the worn pages as we began our descent.

I know that most of you have done the same thing. Maybe you finished a book or forgot a magazine or just couldn’t sleep. Whatever the reason, you found yourself lusting for electronic objects you didn’t even know existed 30 minutes earlier.

Just open SkyMall and suddenly you feel the need to buy a self feeder for your cat and stairs for your aging dog.

SkyMall, Inc. was founded in 1990 and originally offered goods from other companies' catalogs for same-day delivery to customers arriving at select U.S. airports. To accomplish the same-day delivery promise, SkyMall operated its own warehouses located on the grounds of selected airports. The company later began offering catalog merchandise to travelers flying most of the nation's air carriers and dropped the same day services in favor of a more traditional catalog approach.

The airline pocket catalog has a circulation of 20 million and is seen by approximately 88% of all domestic air passengers, according to the SkyMall website. That figures to about 650 million travelers annually which means you can sell a lot of CD towers and garden gnomes to that crowd.

Thumbing through a recent issue of SkyMall on my way to Jersey, I was once again tempted to purchase electronic objects like the hovering blimp and voice-activated R2D2 robot. I was also intrigued by the promise of medical devices that would cure my sore back, balding scalp and tired feet.

If there is one theme in this catalog; it would be objects that your spouse will find totally useless.
For example, you can now purchase a dog house shaped like the helmet of your favorite football team (Helmutt House), a remote controlled Tarantula or a pair of seats from Texas Stadium ($649). Maybe you could get your spouse to go for the $3,700 full size arcade game that houses 125 classic Atari and Capcom games!

I found the scariest items in the catalog section called Gadget Universe. For only $199 you can become your own acupuncturist. “Diagnose and heal yourself,” says the ad. Now that’s a scary thought.

The Head Spa Massager ad claims that “the patented Italian design incorporates Japanese engineering…like thousands of tiny fingers simultaneously massaging your scalp.” It doesn’t say whether the tiny fingers are those of Italians or Japanese.

Kids will absolutely go nuts for the marshmallow bazooka that “launches edible missiles up to 40 feet” and the Children’s Electric 1948 Indian Motorcycle that can probably launch a child up to 40 feet.

I think pet owners and people with big CD collections are SkyMall’s easiest targets. There are no less than 4 pages of massive CD storage devices (an IPOD would be cheaper). Attracting pet lovers are the Canine Geneolgy Kit that analyzes your dog’s DNA, the Indoor Dog Restroom with antimicrobial artificial turf and the new Pet Doorbell set.

It’s probably not fair to poke too much fun at SkyMall. It distracts millions of travelers who are afraid of flying. It also lets us dream of gadgets that would be fun to own even if they are impractical.
Did I mention that the Telekinetic Obstacle Course is on sale for $99.95?

Your First Was Probably Your Worst (Car)

Snap, crackle, pop is a good sound to hear from your bowl of cereal but it’s not so good when your car says it.

I was turning our 1969 Dodge Dart through the intersection when I heard the snap. I continued forward as this crackling or tearing sound came from under the hood. That was quickly followed by a loud pop. The front wheel had snapped off. Technically the rocker arm had rusted and detached from the frame but the end result was the same.

The fire engine red Dart had come to our family through marriage. I brought a beat up 1957 Chevy to the altar and my wife Ann contributed the Dart. Both were our first cars and had nostalgic value despite their mechanical flaws – and there were many mechanical flaws. Neither one, however, would be considered the worst car we ever owned.

That honor belongs to the 1972 Volkswagen 411 that is parked behind the crippled Dart in the photo. The car had several cool features but the gasoline heater was not one of them. Located under the back seat, the heater would burn gasoline and then convert it to heat. Unfortunately it caught fire on a regular basis which required the panicked driver to pull over, flip the rear seat and put out the fire. It gave new meaning to the term hot seat.

The Foundation for Allen Schools recently held a classic car show at the Village of Allen. The event mostly involves people standing around and staring at each other’s cars and talking about car stuff. I took advantage of the captive audience and asked folks to describe the worst car they ever owned. I then posted the same question on Facebook to some friends. Their nominations sound like a who’s who of bad engineering and taste.

“My worst was a 1975 Pinto Wagon. It was mostly Bondo and had 156,000+ miles on it. It ran for 10 minutes after you turned the key off.” – Rich Hardt, Riverton, WY.

“The worst car was my first car. It was a 1952 Dodge Wayfarer that I bought in 1975 for $75. I knew nothing about this at the time, but in 1952 Dodge had what it called a "gyromatic transmission." It had a clutch, but you didn't have to use it. Whenever I would stop, then step on the gas, it would lunge forward in a jerky motion. It was shaped like a football so at least it looked cool.” – Mark Sceurman – Bloomfield,

“My worst car was also my first. It was a 1960 VW bug. It had no A/C, no heat, no radio, no gas gauge, and only 3 of the 4 cylinders worked reliably. It cost me $200 and I was thrilled to have it.” – Barry Lanier, Allen, TX.

“I had a 63 Dodge Dart that ran on quarts (of oil) per mile. It was my first car and I was happy just to have one.” – Dave Barnes, Allen, TX.

“My 1978 Toyota Corolla had an 1,100 cc engine. It was so weak that I had to turn off the AC to climb hills – in Texas!” – Robert Weaver, Allen, TX.

“My worst was my first, and I loved it - a used Renault R8 ($450 in 1975) with a rear engine and front trunk that opened from the windshield end. The manual gearbox was set up for a driver seated on the right hand side of the car, the carburetor frequently got stuck and had to be adjusted by hand and I can't think of how many times I started the car by pushing and popping the clutch.” - Patrice Keegan, Boston, MA.

“The worst for me was an 83 Chevy Citation. It was impossible to drive, had almost no clutch and no power.” – Rod Griffin, Allen, TX.

“I thought my 1981 Renault Fuego looked cool but it was a bad car – a really bad car.” – Keith Taylor, Allen, TX.

Mark Wynn of Princeton said it best when he admitted that “The best thing that ever happened to me was that someone stole my 1973 Chevy Vega. The worst thing that ever happened was that the police found my 73 Vega.”

Squeezing Forty Years Into One Paragraph

It all started on Facebook with a message from someone I hadn’t spoken with in 40 years.

Pat Sharpe-Dunn, a grammar school classmate, sent an electronic “hello” from New Jersey which is more like a “hey” than a “howdy.”

We spent close to an hour that night recalling whatever knowledge we had of classmates from the St. Thomas the Apostle eighth grade Class of 1970.

The class was unique because we were together for six straight years. Even though there were three full classes of kids, the nuns kept us separated for the most part. The result was three groups of about 35 kids traveling through grades 3-8 on parallel tracks.

I was close friends with a handful of kids and had information about another half dozen. Pat had been in touch with an equal number and we swapped information like cold war spies. We discussed important topics like who married whom and where folks lived. The subject then turned to juicier topics such as who liked whom in sixth grade and which nuns were the meanest.

The online conversation motivated us to scan Facebook for other 1970 classmates which then spread out like a big family tree to even more classmates. People I had not thought about in a very long time were now posting messages and sharing photos on my “wall.”

I found that summarizing 40 years of your life into one paragraph for an old acquaintance is like writing your own obituary.

“So what have you been up to?” someone asked me.

“Well,” I responded, “I went to college, got married, moved to Indiana, had kids that are now 17 and 18, moved near Dallas, Texas (it sounds so much better than the suburbs) and now spend a lot of time reading about people on Facebook. That just about sums it up. How about you?”
The online frenzy ultimately led us to plan last weekend’s 40th reunion in our hometown of Bloomfield, NJ. A majority of those who attended were locals although several folks planned trips “home” to match up with the reunion.

As each new person walked in, others in the room quickly attempted to guess who they were. Animated conversations quickly drowned out the music and only the pizzas (pies in the local vernacular) were able to quiet thing down. The talk naturally turned to the people and the pranks that everyone remembered.

I would like to think that Sister Adrian, our principal for those 6 years, would be shocked by the conversation but probably not. Every class claims with pride that they were the worst or the rowdiest even though teachers know better. Can you imagine kids bragging that their class had the highest grades and best behavior? Neither can I.

I don’t think I’m insulting anyone when I say most of us weren’t good friends at the time. We were just classmates who shared a great many childhood experiences and inhaled a large amount of chalk dust.

After last Saturday’s reunion I would revise that statement. I think we were more like siblings who spend years ignoring each other only to realize how much they know and how much they care about each other.

Facebook is buzzing these days with St. Thomas reunion photos. To an outsider, the pictures show a bunch of 50 somethings standing around talking. To those who sat in class and church (and detention) at St. Thomas the Apostle School, it was a memorable trip back in time.

There's More Than Corn In Indiana

Everyone has an opinion about people from New Jersey. Like ‘em or hate ‘em, people from Jersey are hard to ignore.

The same can’t be said for people from Indiana. They seem nice enough and unless you have a grudge with Bobby Knight or the University of Notre Dame, your opinion about the Hoosier State is probably flexible.

Several days after our wedding in 1979, we packed up and moved from the urban northeast to a city surrounded by corn…Muncie, Indiana. I had accepted a job at Ball State University and a change of scenery suited us just fine.

The move left more than a few folks back home confused though. Why would someone move away from the New York City area to Indiana? It sounded more like witness protection than a career opportunity but we had the last laugh. We paid about half price for housing compared to New Jersey and were able to travel for years while they paid their hefty mortgages.

We moved from Muncie to Munster, an Indiana suburb of Chicago for a few years and then settled in Mishawaka, a neighbor to South Bend. Our honeymoon drive to Indiana had lasted for 15 years until Allen ISD came calling.

Our friend Donna from Indiana or Michigan was visiting this past weekend. It’s an either or because she lives in Michigan but works in Indiana. Locals just call it Michiana - seriously. Anyway, the subject of Indiana came up at our graduation party and I challenged folks to tell me what they knew about Indiana.

The list of facts was rather short. We determined that they have a big car race, they used to have Bobby Knight, you drive through it to get somewhere else and no one actually knows what a Hoosier is. All four statements were accurate.

It’s easy to imagine Indiana as a big field of corn bisected with interstate highways and believe me; there is no shortage or corn or highways. Still, during my 15 years as a Hoosier, I came across some interesting facts. For example:

At the height of Michael Jackson’s fame, the state legislature moved to put the Gary, Indiana native’s image on the state license plates. The proposal never passed.

The song Indiana Wants Me was written by R. Dean Taylor, a Toronto, Ontario native. The song Back Home Again In Indiana was written by a Hoosier though – it was James Hanley of Rensselaer. Sung by Jim Nabors, the song kicks off the Indianapolis 500 race each year.
Speaking of “The 500,” did you know that the first long distance car race ever was held in 1911at the Indianapolis Motor Speedway. You probably didn’t know that David Letterman was born in Indianapolis. You probably did know that he graduated from Ball State University which is affectionately called “fruit jar tech” because of its roots to the Ball family and Ball jars.
James Dean grew up a few exits north in Marion and John Mellencamp really came from a small town (Seymour).

Basketball is very big in Indiana. The largest high school gym is located in New Castle with a seating capacity of 9,325. Down the road, the Anderson “WigWam” only seats 8,995 fans.
According to www.50states.com, Indiana means, "Land of the Indians" but there are fewer than 8,000 Native Americans living in the state today.

My favorite fact is that the state seal shows a bison leaping in front of a rising sun. A former governor was once asked what the seal represented. “It means you have to get up pretty early in the morning to see any bison in Indiana,” he said.

So the next time you are passing through “The Crossroads of America,” take time to look around and enjoy the scenery. The corn is pretty good too.