Curmudgeon; Definition of…

About 40 years ago, yes a lifetime, my late mother gave me a piece of advice that I will always remember and practice. That is, when in personal, private or casual conversation, or even in an important business meeting or around the water cooler, when someone uses a word you don’t know, never ever admit that you don’t know it. Smile knowingly, make a mental (or real) note and look it up later. Sometimes asking for a meaning of a word can make you seem interested in the conversation or are wisely seeking counsel, but usually it just makes you look like an uneducated idiot if the word is a fairly common one. Like “curmudgeon.”

Since I’ve become a self-identified curmudgeon (that would be since about 1995) and have even used the word in passing, both in real life and written down, I’ve been asked what it means. Generally, only half in jest, I respond that a curmudgeon is a person, when asked what a curmudgeon is, responds, “A curmudgeon is a person who, when asked what a curmudgeon is, responds, ‘Look it up, asshole.’ Although that seems to incense the innocent; it certainly promotes understanding.

Here’s Webster’s:

cur-mud-geon \ker-‘mej-en\ n [origin unknown] 1. archaic: MISER 2: a crusty, ill-tempered, and usually old man – curmud-geon-ly adj.

What’s interesting to me is that a curmudgeon seems to be gender specific. I suppose old women can have curmudgeonly traits but as in lots of other areas, the masculine triumphs yet again!

You might have noticed I like to illustrate my little uninteresting blogs with interesting visuals. I think it sort of ameliorates some of the inevitable boredom; I’m really not sure of my motivation. I mostly garner them from google.com and this time when I asked for something for “curmudgeon” I half expected to see a photo of myself. But it’s not to be; alas. Perhaps I could provide google with a photo for definitive future use — it works for me.

You don’t know the meaning of the word “ameliorate?” See paragraph two above.

Aquarium Wonder Wheel Top Spin

I took the subway out to the New York aquarium one day this week. I like aquariums and this one is not great but it’s tolerably okay. I guess, being the social critic I am, that I should voice an opinion that it’s fairly shameful that NYC’s aquarium is so mediocre; we are NEW YORK, after all, and…well, you know, blah blah blah. It’s in Coney Island, snug up against the beach, the CI boardwalk and Astroland; one of the “playlands” for which Coney was justifiably famous in its heyday.

You kind of have to be careful regarding your timing going to this aquarium. During the summer it is a magnet for a million “campers”… those large groups of colorfully tee-shirted kids whose directors, mentors and/or volunteers are desperate to get them outdoors and into some sort of “learning” environment. Who knows, maybe it works. My strategy is to go fairly late, meaning about 2:00 p.m. (after lunch) and catch the last feedings and shows at 4:00. By that time the crowds have thinned down to ordinary folks who actually came to take a look at fish.

Is it of interest that I had a tuna wrap for lunch at the cafeteria? Seemed right to me at the time and I didn’t see a tuna tank where I could choose my own filling so I presume it came out of a can.

After my fill of fish and it being a fine day I exited onto the boardwalk and took quite a long walk on its boards. At that hour the beach crowd had dispersed quite a bit as had the folks there for the rides and cotton candy and stuff. On a whim I decided I should get a bird’s eye view of my surroundings and strolled over to the Wonder Wheel; a behemoth of a Ferris wheel on which some of the trams slide and rock in an inner circle. I chose a steady-as-she-goes perimeter car, not because I’m skeered of sliding and rocking, but because the stationary trams reach the tippy-top from which the view is pretty spectacular and the reason for my participation. Oh, before I forget, when I first came to NYC in the early 70’s I am pretty sure the Wonder Wheel cost a quarter; certainly not much more than 50 cents. Guess what one ride costs now? One ride consists of only two circuits. While you mull that over…

On my way to the Wheel I passed a ride called “Top Spin.” I have never seen anything like it in my life. Some maniacally sadistic mechanical engineer trapped in the resentful body of a super-geek must have designed this thing. It’s not really a physically huge or tall ride like a roller coaster or anything, and it doesn’t look lethal if you’re just passing by (there is even a nice row of fountains underneath it…visually pleasant, see) but if your timing is right you can witness two rows, ten each, of screaming teenagers being tossed around like flotsam-in-a-typhoon and spinning with super-G speed and then, the final insult, while hanging upside down, those small benign jets of water turn into fire hoses, thoroughly drenching the riders. I watched Top Spin three times, mouth agape, not believing my eyes. Can this ride be the least bit safe? Then I noticed an odd phenomenon and decided one of the scariest things is that the passengers don’t, or can’t, scream! I think they are just shocked into silence. Yes, there is loud, heavy-metal music, and the mechanical noises are rudely noticeable but I still don’t think I heard anybody screaming but, personally, I felt a shriek stick in my throat just watching. Maybe I did hear yelling but was too involved in the visual to remember for sure.

I bought an Italian ice (peach flavored) at a stand on the boardwalk and strolled back toward the aquarium. I took my shirt off to enjoy the ocean breeze and stopped once to stand within the scope of a “mister” which had been installed on an advertising kiosk. Instead of putting my polo back on I donned my new souvenir tee shirt (light blue with the words “New York Aquarium” on the front made to look like you’re looking down through water to read it) to wear on the subway ride back home. It’s a cool shirt; but then what makes a shirt cool is the dude wearing it, right? All in all, a pretty nice day at the beach in Coney. In case you were wondering…no, I did not heed the siren call of the dogs-of-summer at Nathan’s.

The Wonder Wheel now costs $5 for one ride. Or five rides for $20 which was tempting but really stupid. It’s not that great a view.

ATET!

I don’t golf. Never have except for the miniature version which I have often, in the past, found amusing. I am not a fan of golf nor do I watch it on television exept once in a while when Tiger Woods is competing. It’s an intriguing sport to a large number of people and seems to be the bonding agent between business colleagues of all stripes. My perception is that it’s mostly white, middle-aged men, although I could be wrong.

I suppose it’s an intriguing sport if, like most other athletic endeavors, you grew up playing it (and could afford to do so). But this is about Tiger and his fan base. The coverage of his career and success seems spotless and everybody loves Tiger, right? You could be wrong there, bunker-face. It came to my attention a couple of years ago that there is an undercurrent of resentment at his incredible success. My first clue about this dawned on me when some friends of mine, golfers all (yes, middle-aged men), were discussing who they wanted to win a particular tournament. The consensus seemd to be synthesized down into one short phrase, namely “ABT.” Upon questioning I learned that this stands for “Anybody But Tiger.” Say, what?

Is this racism or just simple jealousy and resentment of somebody who more often than not, week after week, kills the competition. Did Jack Nicklaus have to deal with this? Or Arnold Palmer? Was “ABJ” or “ABA” whispered around the clubhouses? How about Ben Hogan or Sammy Snead? Not being a student of golf I can’t think of any others but I’m sure you can come up with other famous names with great golfing careers. You can draw your own conclusions but I hope your answer is not the same one I perceive. In the meantime this negative aura that wafts around water coolers and locker rooms has an odor I, personally, don’t like. From now on I’m “ATET,” “All Tiger Every Time.”

A Muggle's Lament

Not being immune to hype and fads and popular entertainment I fell for J.K. Rowling’s Harry Potter books just like everybody else. I was as charmed as the rest of the reading public but, with each succeeding book, the child-heroes and heroines aged with each passing year and became teenagers, and not very nice ones at that. After reading the fourth installment I decided enough was enough; I was totally sick of the adolescent angst and problems of these kids and opted out of the series. Last year, however, guests arrived with volume five in hand and left it behind upon departure. At the time, being between reading material, I picked it up and read the first three chapters. Sure enough, the no-longer charming adolescent tone continued from volume four and I peckishly tossed it aside.

Recently, again between more worthy literary projects, and not being one to leave sleeping dogs slumber or books uncracked I reluctantly picked it up and started over again, this time prepared for the same negative response. I’m plowing through it now and, although I’m not quite halfway, it’s dawning on me that these books are practically immoral in a lot of ways.

First of all you need to know I’m a Muggle through and through and give little truck to unnatural phenomena as espoused in the Harry Potter books. But I’m willing to suspend disbelief for a good story…that’s what good fiction is, after all. Anyway, what has hit home this time is that the main characters have no moral center. They lie; they cheat; they blatantly break any and all rules and they give in to personal whims without regard to their own safety or the wellbeing of the innocents around them. And this time there are a set of twins, brothers of the principle character Ron Weasley, who are deliberately and blatantly pushing drugs! Oh, they have cute names (the drugs, not the twins) but they essentially put the health and welfare of their customers in jeopardy. This behavior is not only condoned but financed by Mr. Harry Potter himself! What’s up with this and why aren’t those “good” and all-knowing wizards all over this behavior? I don’t remember reading anything about this when this volume (HP and the Order of the Phoenix) first came out.

Harry himself, obviously a star teen-aged wizard, is so full of anger and rebellion that he can’t see past his own red-eyed behavior. He is lazy and a lousy student; he cheats on his homework; he indulges himself in whatever he wants (of course, wouldn’t you know, he’s also a star athelete) and doesn’t listen to or read anything put before him. He is so full of self-pity and angst you almost regret he doesn’t get smacked around more than he does. He mouths off sarcastically and then is amazed at his punishment. Maybe he should get thrown in Azkaban for six months or so; that’ll teach him what’s what. Oh, I know he will come out of volume five as heroically as one-through-four, but do I want more of the same in six? Unfortunately, those self-same guests that left me with volume five gave me volume six (in hardcover) as a parting gift. Egad.

I’m so glad I’m a Muggle and in the dark about all this witchcraft and stuff going on under my nose. Just keep my damn toilet from backing up, will you?

I Love My Sock

This is my new windsock. At least it's as close as I can come on google to find an image. My sock has an orange tail with black trim. I bought it near Ft. Lauderdale, Florida over the Memorial Day weekend this year at a roadside stand or, rather, it was in the parking lot of one of those beaches along the highway. The guy who sold it to me was really a weird dude with weird facial hair and, also, a very cool guy. I kind of wondered at the time how he got that concession in that particular spot, obviously a mainstream area and I suppose condusive to successful sales of kites and windsocks and whirlygigs but, see, he was basically weird, ya know what I mean?

My windsock is currently dangling from my flag pole out the second story window facing the street. I live in a fairly conservative neighborhood in Brooklyn (although it is becoming more diverse) and there is only one other house with a pole like mine that displays a variety of flags throughout the year. The other one is lesbian driven and features very nice flags that I’ve never seen anywhere for purchase so I presume they are homemade, and I always look forward to what they come up with next. They are much nicer than mine. I own about 20 flags that I fly throughout the year, sometimes seasonal or holiday driven, sometimes appropriate for a particular guest; but mostly just by whim. I usually buy these flags while traveling and I’m often taken in by a window display somewhere and they pretty much turn out to be inappropriate for brownstone Brooklyn.

But I love my fish windsock. She’s beautiful; she’s colorful and she’s constructed perfectly to catch the slightest breeze. She rarely gets tangled around her supporting pole and, thus, does what she’s supposed to do. That is, she creates a pleasing flash of color and freshness and I hope passersby like her. Yes, I’ve anthropomorphized her into being a female with attractive traits. It’s what I do.