Playland…Carrying the 4th Into the Mouth of the Dragon

You want how much?

Monday is the 4th of July!

And for any red blooded, apple pie eating patriotic American that means fireworks, BBQ's, Beaches and...for folks around here, a trip to Playland, now also known by outsiders as "Rye" Playland. 

I guess to distinguish it from all the other Playlands in the area.

Right now, this minute, this second… if you’d like to go to Playland, just to take stroll, eat a hot dog, drink a tasty beverage or watch your kids or grandkids throw up in a trash can, it will cost you…something…or it might not, depending on where you live….and what day it is. 

Right now, I think, the fees stand at $10 for non-county residents just to gain entrance to the park.

No rides, no games, no food…no “nothing”. And I believe “nothing” might cost you something as well…but only on Fireworks night, which are free…kind of.

A few minutes ago it was only $5, not $10, for the privilege, not to mention the insanity, of breaking your teeth on a candy apple; but as the saying goes he who hesitates is lost, or badly misdirected because he incorrectly programmed his GPS.

For a brief moment in time, it appeared as if you might be able to just walk into the place, for free, which I believe is as it should be…unless you’re from Greenwich or any of those other tony New England towns, in which case, if you should ever deign to be seen at Playland, you probably can afford to pay, not only for admission…but also for a guy from White Plains to program your GPS for you.

The truth is, no matter where we're from, most of us can afford to pay. But why should we? Especially if we're  Westchester County residents and already pay too much in County taxes on top of all the other taxes. And I think I heard they might impose a tax tax on our taxes...but I might have heard wrong.

If you ARE a County resident, the fees would be, depending on who bought the donuts at the last County Legislators meeting, either $5…or free…like I said, depending on the selection of legislative donuts that day.

In a nut shell – in a very small, peanut shell—the presumption is, at least in my interpretation, which is mostly Lithuanian— that this whole Playland fee issue is just another political ping pong ball between partisan Dems and partisan GOP’ers over, essentially, like I said…who gets to bring the donuts.    

Apparently without these entrance fees, County Republicans contend that Playland will have a budget short fall of approximately $377,000.00.  And I guess that’s nothing to sneeze at, unless your allergies are acting up as badly as mine this year.

And that’s on top of the 20 Gazillion dollars Playland apparently loses every year, as well.

But the thing I always wondered is…if Playland loses so much money every year…why is it CLOSED most every Monday, in a short 10-12 week season????

I mean, if you want to make a little more money, doesn’t it make a little bit of sense to be up and running every single summer day you can?  

But no…Monday is ghost day at Rye Playland!

Maybe I’m missing something.

Bottom line is this…if you grew up in Westchester, or the surrounding area, Playland is more than just a money making enterprise to you.

Playland is about memories. Like that special 4th of July sitting in the back of your dad’s old jalopy, windows open, gliding down the hill; wind brushing across your face, carrying the ubiquitous sound of the Kiddyland train whistle and bell into your little, manic, soon to be, sugar infused, kid brain. 

Your heart begins to race, as your excitement begins to build; the smell of popcorn, cotton candy, old man cigars and ponies wrap around your nose. 


A solitary rocket blossoms in the sky, testing the evening breeze, and you beg your mom, who’s counting out the coupons she scissored from the paper, to “Pleeeease, Hurry…we’re missing it!!!!”

You made a bet with your brother or sister, or cousin or best friend, that this was it...the year you would finally inch over the height line and take your first plunge down the Dragon Coaster’s stomach losing, endless drop; even dare to twist & turn, spinning upside down on “Over the Top” which may or may not have been used to train the astronauts.

That’s what Playland is…at least to me…and I’m betting, you. 

And, to your kids, and hopefully to your kid’s kids, as well. 

So what it costs us all a few more dollars on our taxes?  Don’t we pay more for so much less?   

So what if it’s just money down the Amusement drain.  Isn’t it money well spent?

My Garden Hose never makes a dime for me; and it literally "pours" money down the drain.

But I still use it. I still want it.  I still need it….

Still… I know…

The County never wastes money on anything that doesn’t make sense….

Right?

AARP - Fix the Glitch!

AARP Has a Glitch.

They've mistaken me for some kind of an "old" person and keep sending me information on how to go quietly into my goodnight... on water skis.

Granted, I'm  not as young a "pup" as I used to be, but I still have a few stops to make before I get to 60; even though its close enough to bump my head on it every time I sneeze…that is unless I throw my back out.

We told ourselves, 40 was the new 50. 50 the new 40…and now, well, even the thought of 60…is just damn depressing.

Unless you're 65 or 70, let alone 80-90-100…I think you get the point.

People live a lot longer these days. Getting to 100 isn’t the big thing it used to be. The Centurion softball league is having trouble finding fields for all its teams to play on this year. And forget about umpires. Who wants to argue with a 105 year old over balls and strikes, let alone tell him that touching second base with his walker doesn’t count…not until you get into the over 110 league.

My plan has always been to live until 120.  Then I decided I wanted to be around for the tri-centennial, so I upped it to 123. I figured it would be cool to have Willard Scott interview me on the today show. And I’m looking forward to the fireworks.

Sure, 60 is looming, but for the most part I feel great! Just like I did in my 20s and 30s.

It’s always been normal for me to jump out of bed in the morning and walk around the house like Groucho Marx for half an hour, give or take.  And that excess patch of hair in my ears, that I have to comb every day, is just a reserve to replace the ones missing from my head…when the time is right. And yeah, I do have to pee again…what’s your point?

To be honest, I even had a tough time turning 20. 

“My growth plates are frozen!”

30-  “I can’t be trusted anymore!”

40-  “What do you mean my knee bends the wrong way?”

50-  “AARP can get me a great deal on Depends!”

At least we don’t look as old as our parents and grandparents did at our age…right?

I mean remember how grey and wrinkled they looked to us back then with our sharp 25 year old eyes.

We look in the mirror and we look nothing like they did; even in their 40s.

But do you think that has something to do with the fact that our eyes are pretty much shot to shinola now and have a way of airbrushing our view?

            We think we look this…. 

      

But to a teenager we look like this….

And the hardest thing—the hardest lesson— about getting old, is seeing those before us, whom we once knew only as “young", turn "old".  

"So that's where old people come from...."

When you’re a kid, the roles are clear.

There’s you – young.

There’s your parents- old.

There’s your grandparents- really old.

And sometimes your great grandparents – really really old.

Those were the actors in place when you walked on stage and their roles were ever so.

But as you get older those roles change.

Everyone gets pushed up by the eager generation behind.  Suddenly the babies are 30 and the kids are 40, claiming that 40s the new 20.

But that’s the beauty of where I am now. The beauty of 50 and beyond. 

At 50 and beyond, I’ve covered enough distance that I can stand on a bit of a high hanging ledge and look back at where I was, and see how far I've come.

And the view ain’t half bad.

I’m actually wiser and healthier…but definitely not wealthier. 

Being wiser, I look back and see the changes that took place behind me, and the changes taking place in front of me.  I appreciate that change is the only constant to be counted.  And I'm sage enough to understand that while dreams are just dreams, they are the food that fuel our youth.

And I also see that where we are is where were supposed to be, and what we look like today, is what we were always supposed to look like, and the fact that were actually here to do that…today and hopefully tomorrow, is every dream come true. 

The young have energy and dreams. Hard bodies and a sense of invulnerability…not to mention a sense that their parents will continue to pay their cell phone and credit card bills on into perpetuity.

We have caffeine and contentment. Creping skin and life insurance. Name tags so we don't forget our friends names at parties. Mortgages, one two and three...and don't forget...AARP!

But most of all we have wisdom…to see the trail behind with a sizable measure of “youth” to tackle the trail ahead.

And that’s a pretty cool thing. 

And if my knee would stop barking....

And if AARP would fix the glitch in their mailing list....

But that really is a good deal on the Depends…and it never hurts to plan ahead….

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On the 15th Day....

And on the 15^th day of Blogathon 2011, he looked back upon all he had created throughout the previous 14 and said….

“Damn…I’ve got to learn to edit!”

Then the crowd gathered around him and a beggar stepped forth and said...

“Please sir, would you buy a poor beggar a simple cup of coffee?  Preferably French Roast, preferably Latte”.

For despite what was widely accepted, he was indeed a beggar who was most definitely “choosey” …

The wise man grimaced with indigestion, which the crowd mistook for a kind, knowing smile and approached the beggar...

“If I buy you a cup of coffee, you will have coffee only for one day. But if I teach you to earn, to buy and make your own…you will have coffee for the rest of your life”.

The crowd responded in awe at these sage words, as the beggar considered the offer.

“But my coffee maker has been on the fritz for months, and I need something, now, in which to dunk my bear claw.”

To which the wise man simply nodded and said...

“Why the hell didn’t you say so in the first place?” then quietly walked away.

And with that, the grateful crowd dispersed, confused, yet heartened, by the lesson they had learned that day.

Except for the beggar, who still wanted his Latte.

“What am I supposed to do with this stupid bear claw? Wait, I’ll even take cappuccino!”

Hard to Believe!

Well, I’m outta here! 

I’m rolling in the dough!

I didn’t want to say anything earlier cuz I didn’t want to jinx it, but it looks like it’s a done deal.

You’re looking at…(well not really looking at, I hope…cuz if you are I have to go change my, well, never mind)…You’re looking at the person who just cashed in, big time, for Five Million Two Hundred Thousand Buckos!!!!

You heard me…. Five Million Two Hundred Thousand Buckaroonis!!!

Pretty exciting huh? 

Hard to believe…I know.  But I have the OFFICIAL E-Mail from the bank that says it's 'TRUE!!! 

See for yourself.  Here it is in black & white..or black & blue & white...with a little splash of yellow thrown in.

Better yet, let’s look at it together….

HOHC BANK UNITED STATE OF AMERICA.

(See this is the bank. Thought I was kidding didn’t you?)
(Credit Manager) HOHC Group, New York. (Look it’s from the Credit Manager and everything!!)
HOHC Holdings Ltd, P.O. Box 60170, NY, 14270.USA
24 Hours Banking Center  (Which is good to know in case you ever need an ATM)

RE: ON THE FINAL STAGE OF YOUR FUND TRANSFER.

(Final stage!  I don’t really recall the other stages,but they must have been something!)


Attn: Mr. Beneficiary.  

(See “Mr. Beneficiary” that’s me…the official me)

This is to inform you that the transfer completion of your $5, 200.000.00 - Five Million Two Hundred Thousand Dollars- Only will be done today, the transfer of your fund will be finalized today at exact 8: 53 GMT.
(Okay who’s laughing now???)

This honorable bank  (See…an HONARABLE BANK. What’s better than an HONARABLE BANK?) have received a standing order from the U.S. Department of the Treasury (that’s US of A to you!) to release your compensation Benefit Fund value at $5, 200.000.00-(Five Million Two Hundred Thousand United State Dollars-Only to you, (TO ME, MUCHO MOOLLA…TO ME!) this compensation benefit payment is released to all those whom have fallen victim of Nigeria Scam


(I swear I thought that thing was legit. I mean the guy looked like a real Prince. He even had a Crown; he wore it all the time…I mean ALL the time)  therefore the President of this Country MR. BARACK OBAMA (As in Mr. Yes We Can…and Yes WE WILL!) have directed the just

elected president of Nigeria (I guess his name must have slipped his mind. Probably one of those difficult to spell names…like Roger) to compensate many that have fallen victim of frauds from Nigeria. (sad just sad)


Prior to this, we have also received an instruction from your Lawyer/partner Barrister, Mrs. Janet White  (I didn’t even know I had a lawyer, let alone a partner, let alone a Barrister. How cool is that!) that the said funds be credited to the account stated below and the paying bank (HOHC BANK NEW YORK, U.S.A) has been update, (so obviously  he’s a little rusty on his “elements of style”. I mean who isn’t?) ) this honorable bank therefore wish (You know, I know “professional writers” that make more typos than this guy, so just cut him a break…ok…ok? He was probably excited too!) to inform you that a final crediting will be made to your below stated account, as soon as that is done your fund transfer Voucher and Remittance Certificate alongside your transfer TELEX COPY  (I mean not everyone still has a TELEX machine, now do they?) will be send to you.

Thank You In Anticipation,

(I’m so anticipational I’m sleeping in my shoes tonight... I mean my good shoes, not the ones I usually sleep in!)

Cordially,
Rev. Roy D. Marston (See he’s a Reverend and everything. And Reverends’ don’t lie…except when God tells them tto)

Director of Remittance Department.
HOHC Holdings Ltd, P.O. Box 243705 NY 34570.USA
E-mail: hoscgroupnewpork@tmail.com

(This is his E-mail. He must be realty really busy! I must have sent him a gazillion e-mails with a gazillion questions and he hasn’t had time to answer me…until now that is… Five Million Two Hundred Thousand Dollar answers, BABY BABY BABY!)

So I guess I’ll be seeing ya'll around, sometime; maybe at the Yacht Races. I’ll be the one dressed like Gilligan.

I already put my order in for the twin helicopters.  The Paint shop said they should be ready any day now.

And you thought I was kidding!

Ta

Gotta Love the Zen...

My brains' still acting out. 

It's pouting and grumbling, refusing to give me any ideas to write about today.  So, I thought this would be a good time to bring up Zen.

I love Zen.

Zen is the Seinfeld of spiritual philosophies and disciplines.

Zen, in its purist form, its only form, is about nothing.

And that’s perfect for me....

I can do nothing...with my eyes closed.

This is my favorite unattributed Zen saying:

"To know that there is nothing to know,

And to grieve that it is so difficult

to communicate this “nothing to know” to others—

this is the life of Zen,

this is the deepest thing in the world...."

How cool is that!

I've been trying to tell people that exact same thing for years, except my method involves a lot shouting, disdainful looks and hair pulling...sometimes theirs.

And the beauty of Zen is that the less you know, the more you know…

You know?

And that’s alright with me. Especially since my brain is on a time out.

This is a Zen sign called the "open circle". There’s another symbol called the "closed circle", but we’re not discussing that today…because I say so.



From Energy Healing Circle.com :




“The open circle represents the imperfection found in all things, and suggests to the student to stop striving for perfection and instead to allow the universe to be as it is.”

See…just like I was trying to tell them in High School!

“The open circle is a concept that reflects closely with Japanese Zen Buddhism. The Japanese concept of wabi sabi is that all things are perfect as they are…”

So there!

An example would be, oh, I don’t know, let’s say, for no reason in particular, someone collects heart shaped stones on the beach, any beach, maybe even a Stamford beach. But instead of scouring the beach, day after day, wreaking havoc on their C2 vertebrae, they could easily go out and buy dozens of heart shaped stones in a store, someplace, and each one would be shiny, bright and perfect.

But they don't...cuz to the Zenster, these manufactured stones could never equal the perfection found in the imperfection of the real heart shaped stones hiding beneath the muddy shore. Plus, in a way, aren't the stones really finding you, instead of you finding them?

Capice?

And that’s so cool. That’s so Zen…

Buying them in a store is just so retail…unless they’re on sale.

And if that doesn’t make any sense to you, then more the better.

It’s Zen!

Anyway gotta go. My brain is starting to quibble with my body again. I’ve gotta separate them.

But I’ll leave you with this, a quote from the Buddha himself: 

“People with opinions just go around bothering one another….”



Gotta love the Zen...

The Silence of the Big Sound

The Silence of the Big Sound is deafening. 

I guess because it caught us by surprise; like a sudden change of season…like a warm wind turned to cold. 

If you’re a disciple of the band, who’s more than a band…who’s a part of our lives, our youths, our souls…you know.

If you’re not, and never were…now you never will.

If you’ve been immersed in the hot, the electric; the hall, alive, breathing with the sound…you know.

If you’ve only heard the Big Sound on TV or on CD, you think you know…but you don’t…and now you never will.

The Big Sound that transformed a band into a legend, a legend into a creed, a creed into the truth.

The Big Sound…the soundtrack of our lives, our youth…our souls.

The Master of the Universe…  The King of the world…

The Big Man…

The Silence of the Big Sound is deafening. 

As the girl puts out the bedroom light….

You know....

Summer Solstice Aftermath

My brain was at it again last night, but this time it wasn’t due to racing in overdrive.

It was out carousing in White Plains, but this time I actually went along with it, just to see who these characters are it's been hanging out with at night. 

I won’t go into details, but I definitely have to have a serious talk with my brain.  There needs to be some changes.

So, today, it’s not just my brain that’s shot; my body’s right there with it.  And if you read yesterday’s post, you know why.

The party was a huge success, though. The Police finally cleared out after 4 AM, and they said they would send someone over to roll up the yellow crime scene tape this afternoon.

Who would have thought that a labyrinth could cause so much trouble?

Then this guy from the Druid union showed up at about midnight, and said he heard we were using some non-union Druids at an unsanctioned event.  I tried to tell him that they weren’t really Druids at all, but just Rosie and Frank, dressed in Druid garb.

So that was the beginning.

Then, since I couldn’t find any morris dancers to participate, I had to get two guys named Murray, to fill in.  But apparently murray dancers are not sanctioned by the Druid union either.

These guys are more mulish than the teamsters. Then this Druid guy starts shouting something about “Human sacrifices need to be made!”, which is not something you want to hear at a party where you're just trying to have a good time.

And I’m not even getting into this year’s Naked Fire Dancing debacle....

Summer Solstice

Summer solstice officially drops, like the New Year’s Ball, this afternoon at 1:16 P.M. EDT, right here in the Northern Hemisphere, which includes Port Chester, Rye, White Plains and most of Westchester County except Rye Brook, which wants its own Hemisphere…with door to door garbage pickup on Tuesday and Fridays.

First, some quick “facts”:

Solstice from the Latin, Sol + Stice basically means the sun stands still...until it gets tired and needs to sit because the sun is very old.   Even older than John McCain, and leans more to the right than McCain on most issues.

The Midsummer moon was called the "Honey Moon" because apparently, in ancient times, there was a lot of honey utilized as a part of wedding ceremonies performed at the Summer Solstice. When honey was not readily available Peanut Butter was often substituted but lacked the popularity of honey since it just sounded weird, after the wedding, to say you were going on your “Peanut Butter Moon”.  The practice was later discontinued, completely, due to allergy concerns. 

Ancient Pagans, as opposed to today’s more modern, sophisticated pagans, where known to celebrate Midsummer with bonfires, wherein couples would leap through the flames, believing their crops would grow as high as the couples were able to jump. This practice also involved Naked Fire Dancing depending on just how “high” the participants were able to get.

Midsummer was also thought to be a time of great magic, in which evil spirits could easily slip between worlds and appear at your door to eat your food and drink you liquor.

Which brings us to our annual Summer Solstice Party, now celebrating its 10th consecutive year.  

It’s a pretty simple party as parties go, since I’m the one in charge. We usually have bout 10-15 “evil spirits” in attendance, but they never come empty handed, so we’re good with that. We also have the Chase’s, Kay & Matt, who will be celebrating their 31^st wedding anniversary.

Yep, some 30 plus years ago Matt “chased” Kay, and Kay didn’t try very hard to get away.  Of course Matt always makes the obvious joke that their wedding night was indeed “the longest night of the year”, to which Mrs. Chase will roll her eyes and say, “I wouldn’t say it was that long.” 

To which the rest of us will politely chuckle then quickly change the subject because sexual banter amongst evil spirits is just creepy. Besides none of us really know what she means.

These days every Summer Solstice celebration worth its salt involves a mystical labyrinth in which participants wander toward the center, getting in touch with their inner spirituality.

I’ve been up all night constructing this year’s labyrinth; it wasn't easy but I think it's pretty cool.

It winds its way through the garage, the garden shed, my next door neighbor's bedroom, then slithers under the deck and finishes up in my other neighbor’s laundry room. I'm not sure exactly what spiritual energy we'll be tapping into...but I know it involves a keg of beer and some live goldfish, which I’ve placed in the center.

I admit, it’s kind of a complicated maze—maybe too complicated—but to be honest, I'm hoping we lose a few guest along the way so I can cut back on the hot dogs.

Then I read somewhere where the folks in England really do it up right. They trek out to Stonehenge where they “gather with musicians and morris dancers; sharing flasks and flagons with robed druids and cloaked mystics…”

Which depresses me, cuz now I think our event is lacking by comparison, with or without the labyrinth.

We have no, henges of any kind, stone or not.  No musicians (unless you count my friends Phil and Mike doing that invisible band thing they think is so hilarious) and not one morris dancer in the bunch. And forget about sharing flasks with this group who is so damn worried about e-coli and every other germ floating around out there. And I haven't seen my flagon in years. 

And where the hell am I going to find robed Druids and cloaked mystics at the last minute. This is their busy season and every one that I know is booked up to their Druid kazoos with events.

And then Joanne, our chief mystic in residence, has to get the naked fire dancers organized. I’m just hoping, this year, she’ll have more discretion in regard to some of the moves they’ll be performing. I don't want the health department barging in, like last year, citing numerous heath code violations; something about performing 3 point squats too close to the chopped meat if I recall.

Here’s a photos of the dancers from the first year when they were still working out some of the kinks.

And this is from two years ago, when they got very artistic with the lighting, which we all agreed was a very nice touch. Unfortunately Mike stumbled on some possum poop, as you can see, and kind of threw off everybody's rhythm.

In some ways, I think that might have been worse than the chopped meat incident.

After that none of us could ever look at possum poop the same way.

Enjoy Summer Solstice everyone…

I know I will!

All You Have to Do is Text…

Carole King wrote:

“Winter, spring, summer, or fall, all you have to do is call and I'll be there…”

Yada yada yada yada…..

Yeah, that’s right.  I just yada yada yada yadad Carol King. 

Just like George & Jerry.

But I do like Carol King, always have.

My only issue is that nowadays those lyrics won’t cut it. 

Nowadays the line would have to be…

“Winter, spring, summer, or fall, all you have to do is call, and or text…possibly e-mail… and I'll be there…”

Yada yada yada yada…..

There’s just that many choices. 

And it seems social media texting is definitely becoming the communication conveyance of choice, these days.

In fact I’m texting right now, while I write… with my toes…on my wife’s phone. But she doesn’t mind…really.  I mean she wouldn’t… probably…even if she knew.

But let’s keep that between us.

Truth is, texting is great for getting in and out.  State your business and then move on.

No idle chit chat about the family or the colonoscopy mix-up.

Just bing bang boom.  Later…

It’s also a good way of avoiding people you don’t really want to talk to.  Like ex-spouses, or annoying acquaintances…or people that text with their toes.

In the past we’ve all had to endure all those uncomfortable phone conversations where that BIG FAT 800 lb gorilla hung over every syllable.

“Of course I didn’t mean to forget about feeding the cat…in March…or April.”

or

“No...no, I swear.  I really thought my parents had given up Naked Thanksgiving.  No…I know…it was a cold day.  Everybody could see that…. I know there were splatter issues.” 

Now, with texts, all you have to do is tap out:

 Hope new cat well. SOZ…again...  :(

(the little faces always help)

T O U on Turk Day! Never get over those darn giblets!! :)

Bing Bang Boom and you’re done.

You get in. You get out…

I also love the secret texters.  You know, the ones who for whatever reason don’t want you to know they’re texting.  

You might be out to dinner with your new girlfriend and find her sneaking the phone under the table cloth, while she texts away. Or your boyfriend pretends he’s tying his shoe while he tries to steal a quick look at the Blackberry he’s got hidden in his sock.

Or possibly, you’re sitting with your wife—any wife…not necessarily mine— in a fancy fish house—maybe in Rye...doesn't have to be—and the phone beeps or boops or chirps or whatever it does (okay it beeps) and you pretend you didn’t hear anything.

“Isn’t that you’re phone?”

“My phone? Oh, I thought it was your phone”

“Nope mines off.”

“Oh yeah, it is mine.”

So you look and smile and say, “Oh look it’s a picture of the new kitty cat!”  While all the while you’re trying to find the delete button.

Then your wife—again, any wife…not necessarily mine— says, “Ooooh, I want to see the kitty” and grabs your phone…your brand new… (How should I know what kind of phone it was...is...this phone that’s not mine?)

So you panic and do the first instinctive thing that comes to mind, which is to shout out "Yellow Jacket!", then swat it out of her hand and into the nearby lobster tank, destroying a brand new $500 IPhone, that WAS NOT discounted or insured!!!

And worst of all, you think you see the lobster smiling while he downloads Angry Birds.

But don’t worry; you’ll never have to speak of this moment again….

All you have to do is text…

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