Super Bowl Sunday We Are All Winners

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By Guest, Bob Chianese aka Mr. Wonderful

The Super Bowl has become a singular, once a year spectacle that celebrates what has become our Country’s national past-time sport, the game of football.

When Super Bowl I was played in 1967, it was truly a game for the real football fan.  More importantly, it was a public relations event designed by the National Football League to recognize its merger with the newly formed American Football League.

The Green Bay Packers won Super Bowl I and II against the upstart American Conference Kansas City Chiefs and Oakland Raiders respectively.  The Packers winning of those two games, in rather convincing fashion, denied the legitimacy of the newly formed American Football Conference as well as the Super Bowl itself.

Everything changed however, in 1969, when “Broadway Joe Willy Namath” led the New York Jets to victory over the Baltimore Colts in Super Bowl III. The turning point signaling that the American Conference had arrived and the Super Bowl was now a big deal.

There have been 45 Super Bowls played since 1967, and interestingly the National Football Conference has won 24 times and the American Football Conference has won 21 times, almost even. Over the years, some games have been great and some stinkers, nonetheless the event itself has grown in popularity by leaps and bounds.

The Super Bowl is now a spectacular national and international event, a reason to party, put our everyday lives aside, and have some fun. Today, people watch the Super Bowl not as much for the game, but instead to watch and laugh at the newest and exorbitantly expensive television commercials by companies such as Budweiser, Pepsi, and General Motors.  Most certainly, we want to view the grandiose halftime shows by pop stars such as Paul McCartney, Janet Jackson, and Madonna.

People gather in Pubs and homes to party, eat nachos, pigs in blankets, Swedish meatballs, and all kinds of goodies.

Betting pools, part of the standard fare, have nothing to do with who actually wins the game, but rather the random number you pick that hopefully will match each teams score at different times during the game.

The Super Bowl is now a national day of celebration centered on a football game.  It says a lot about the American Culture.

Super Bowl XLVI (the number 46 doesn’t suggest enough pomp and circumstance) pits the New England Patriots (AFL)  against the New York Giants (NFL) Does anyone really care who is playing or actually wins the game? It is really just a big party, a day to revel in good food, eye-popping ear splitting entertainment, create memories, and share in the fun with friends. One of the greats, Vincent Lombardi said, “Winning isn’t everything.”

There are no losers.  The teams playing have already achieved immeasurable success. It doesn’t matter who wins the game. They have already won the hearts of their fans, demonstrated their athletic prowess, and earned the accolades bestowed on them.

Oh, I forgot to finish Lombardi’s thought, “Winning isn’t everything, it’s the only thing.”

So,” I’m not gonna fugget-about-it. Winning is the only thing.  I’m a diehard Giants fan who bleeds blue – Repeat 2008!!! Go Big Blue!”

Monkeying Around Washington

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Monkeying Around by http://jeffreykennedyart.com

Aging & Attitude

How do you stop Mitt Romney from telephoning?

On Wednesday, January 11th, 8PM the phone rings. I answer and hear a husky energetic voice say, “This is Mitt Romney.” I immediately hang up.

What is this man thinking?

Ryan Seacrest is center stage on TV and ready to say emphatically and for the eleventh time, “This is American Idol.”

Mitt is not deterred.

The next morning Claire calls with an invitation to attend a Sunday Republican rally at 4:30PM to greet, not meet the presidential candidate and his wife. I do not recognize Claire’s voice and she cannot be interrupted. This is not my friend Claire.

The former Governor, Romney must be living on a different planet, the Giants playoff game is Sunday.

As a courtesy, I stay on the line to say I have a previous engagement, but would not attend even if I did not, there is no such option. “STOP PHONING ME!” I scream into a dead connection.

The “caller unknown” phone calls continue morning, noon and night. I know it is Mitt, because we are on the Do Not Call List, although he does not leave a message and it might be Newt. I have no desire to listen to him either and do not answer.

Candidates have taken to using toss-a-way cells, it is cheaper and there is no turn around time when a last-minute rally is organized.  Evidently, as with insider trading, politicians are exempt from complying with the Do Not Call laws ( 888-382-1222) and take liberty to phone citizens at their pleasure.

Although not a Republican, I registered as one for the primary. It is misleading; I give the party that.

I was registered Independent and did not switch to Democratic because that primary is a done deal and I am not really a Democratic either.

If I am not a Republican, Democratic or Independent, what am I?

An angry voter, feeling like a mother needing to scold the children and yell, “Go to your rooms and don’t come out until you can act you age and solve the country’s problems.”

Oh, “And when you come out, lower your voice.”

                                                                                        . . . . Just Saying

Keystone XL Project and A Lesson in Roman Numerals

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imagesKeystone XL and A Lesson in Roman Numerals

Aging & Attitude

The Roman numeral X stands for ten, but what about L and the combined XL. I am having a senior moment, cannot remember, and could search on-line but,*Mr. Wonderful is nearby; so I call to him. “What does the Roman numeral XL represent?”

“The Roman Numeral XL?” He asks to be sure.

“Yes, XL. How much is it?”

“Well X equals ten and L equals fifty, so you subtract the smaller number or 50-10=40, XL equals 40. Do you know what 100 is? He is showing off.

Of course I don’t, but attempt to bluff saying, “ LL,” with inflection in my voice.

He corrects me. “No, one hundred is C.” And proceeds to ask, “How about five hundred, what Roman numerals represent five hundred?”

Recalling V is five, I shout back, “CV, no wait, VC. Is it CCCCC?” Hoping one of these answers is correct.

“CCC is three hundred, however the Romans didn’t use more than three letters at a time. D is five hundred, and M is one thousand.” He says quite proudly.

We continue a ping-pong conversation about the Romans and their numerals, Mr. Wonderful showing off his Iona Prep education, me feeling stupid, and hoping there will not be a review test anytime soon.

“Why did you want to know?” He inquires.

“The Keystone XL Project that Obama decided against. I guess it is really the Keystone Forty Project. So you know about job years.” I am hoping he does not.

“Canada’s plan to construct a 1,700 mile oil pipeline to Mexico? Yea, I know about it.  Didn’t Obama cave for the environmentalists?”

“There are environmental concerns but the big issue is job years.” I reply more confident.

“Job years? What about job years, whatever happened to plain old jobs?”

“I’ll get to that. Job years is similar to BOGO and TWO FOR sales, only more confusing. It was on NPR. Diane Rehm’s guest panel had an hour-long discussion that left me perplexed so I went online. According to Wiki Answers, a job year is;  ‘The amount of work equal to the output of one person working for 1 year. If 4 people work on something for 3 months each, the total work was 1 man-year of work.’ Am I giving you a headache?”

“Yes, but look at the source. Are you sure it’s right?” Mr. Wonderful wants to know and continues commenting, “That answer could be from any normal average person who never went to college.”

I defend the information saying, “Or a crazy individual with advanced degrees. Whatever, use that definition and you’ll come up with the numbers talked about on NPR. You could read the transcript from The Diane Rehm Show. Better yet I’ll fill you in.”

Diane Rehm said, “One element that proponents of the Keystone pipeline have pointed to is the number of jobs. I’ve heard anywhere from 2,500 to 50,000, and most temporary jobs. What are the facts, Steve Mufson?” 

Steve Mufson responds, “TransCanada, the company that wants to build the pipeline, says this would create 20,000 job years — 13,000 for direct construction jobs and the rest for supply chain jobs. However, what they mean by job years is that if the project takes two years, then that is two job years. So, in fact, we’re really talking about 6,500 construction jobs, which, of course, is — are still — is still a real number of jobs, but not just as many as some of the proponents make it out to be.”

“Back up here, 13,000 years, that’s a mistake Right? A worker is eligible for Social Security before that. It’s crazy, insane.” Mr. Wonderful quips and chuckles.

“Now honey, they’re talking one man. It’s a big project.” I remind him.

My husband summarizes saying, ” Okay, let me get this straight, it would take one man working 13,000 years to complete the Keystone XL project. If you want the project completed in two years, divide 13,000 by 2, and do the math, you need 6,500 men to get the job done.  Well now, that makes perfect sense.”

“Not really, what makes sense is to create 6,500 real jobs in solar and wind construction and deleting email mandatory.” I retort.

“Solar energy and deleting email? This sounds similar to  Christopher Columbus and turkeys.” Mr. Wonderful exclaims sounding testy, and leading me to explain.

“Sort of, servers are needed to store information, generators keep those servers up and running, electricity is required to run the generators and oil is mostly used to create the electricity. Consequently if every American deleted their emails we would save money and we would not need the Keystone XL project, ask any Roman.”

                                                                                      . . . . Just Saying

*Mr. Wonderful is my husband of forty years.

Anytime Fitness with Bubbles

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Anytime Fitness with Bubbles 

Aging & Attitude

Bubbles was at the gym today decked out in a hot pink workout suit, purple Merrells, a bubblegum glitter headband, and acrylic nails. She wore a scooped neck designer tee-shirt over a sports bra. Sweat covered her forehead.  When she got off the treadmill, a bead of perspiration trickled down her face, dribbled over her wrinkled neck to nestle in some serious cleavage. The bra was working overtime to support the girls.

Bubbles got my attention with her giggles and girlfriends a few months ago. All four of them were working out in a fun way, encouraging each other and laughing at their lack of grace. They called her Bubbles, but she looked like a Mary Jane. Clearly, these senior ladies were the bikini clad in crowd from my past. I guess all had steadies and made the cheerleading squad in High School. I was the cheerleader advisor and my teenage nickname was ClaudieMay.

When Bubbles plopped on an abs machine I jumped on the chest press next store, hoping to hear her story and wondering, if I said, “Hi, I’m ClaudieMay.” Would she say, “I’m Bubbles.”

I can complete three repetitions of twelve, using twenty-five pounds, without grunting. My goal is to not wear a bra. I take that back, my goal is to be comfortable wearing, or not wearing one. Women understand. Either way is uncomfortable now, and I wonder constantly about a heart attack, the band feels so tight.

Back to Bubbles, it does not make me feel better that she is thirty to forty pounds overweight and has muffin-top. Probably, she does not see the extra pounds and wrinkles in her mirror.

I want her magic looking-glass attitude; giggle to your sides hurt and wet your pants experiences. I could be bubbly with practice.

The pounds I lose during the week come back on the weekend and consequently, Mondays, I have to start losing the same few again and my mirrors reflect deep lines and wrinkles, not funny. (I am considering abstaining from cookies and wine on the weekends, also.)

I pass Mall windows and remark, “That old person looks so familiar, I feel like I know her,” to discover it is me.

The mind does not consider age. Bubbles clearly thinks she is sixteen. I have no desire to be sixteen and cheerleader advisor again. Hopefully, Bubbles is wise enough to know not to do splits.

Savings For Dummies

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Savings for Dummies

Aging & Attitude

   Mr. Wonderful says, “take a look at this,” and points to a Letter to the Editor in the News Journal (1/7/12).

Shrink ray strikes at grocery store

   “Having just returned from the grocery store, my choices were to either cry or laugh. I chose to laugh, and share with you.

   On the positive side, I had fewer bags to carry in the house, which also meant fewer items to put away-that’s a net positive result; I saved a few minutes of my precious day.

   The pound used to equal 16 ounces, but my coffee “pound” is now 11 ounces.  Maybe I’ll drink less coffee if there is less in my cupboard.

   The “pound” of potato chips is now 10.5 ounces.  I must send Frito-Lay a thank-you card.  I’m sure the company had my health in mind when they cut the size of the “pound bag. Less for more almost sounds like double dipping and not in a fun way.”                             

                                                            Ellen Johanson, Port Orange, Fl.

 

Ellen, a woman after my own heart, goes on to express her frustration with shrinking size and rising prices.

Mr. Wonderful continues the dialogue, “Just what I’m talkin about, and it’s the same with BOGO (buy one get one free). That pound of coffee that isn’t 16 ounces isn’t $5.99 it’s $6.81 The cost of the free one keeps going up, see what I’m saying.”

Married forty years, it is too early to argue marketing ploys. The item price has increased, and like the shrinking size double dipping scenario you get less, but the free one is still free. Actually, it is a half price, 50% off sale, but not really, because you cannot buy only one, like a two for sale when you can.

The shopper saved,$6.81, but not in the traditional way.

Similarly, a receipt now touts customer savings, another marketing ploy appealing to a “financial dreamer” willing to pay full price ($142.24) for a sweatshirt, sweatpants and tennis shoes, and consequently happy to spend a mere $64.80, convinced of saving $77.44. Well, only if they stop by the bank and deposit $77.44 in an account.

The reality, nothing is saved. The customer simply did not spend $77.44 more for a purchase they would not have otherwise made.

Saving is no longer simple.

Jennifer Richardson of Anchor Group/Bill Grigat in Daytona Beach identifies five financial personalities. Financial Dreamer is one of them, and believes women need female guidance with money. Ms. Richardson gives a more sophisticated version than mine below, however I believe, the essence is captured.

The personalities are:

  • Financial Initiator – In charge of your money and invests with success, could be a day trader.
  • Financial Analyzer –Lives within budget, spends money wisely, but lacking investment confidence, calls Jennifer.
  • Financial Collaborator – A spouse or significant other manages the money. They smile when informed of transactions. Jennifer advises financial independence.
  • Financial Avoider – In debt, experiences anxiety buying a latte and is working with a therapist.
  • Financial Dreamer – Habitually overspent, dreams about winning the lottery. Uses a credit card to pay a credit card bill. Jennifer is their 911

Saving was easy before advertising manipulated consumers to want everything they see and buy everything they want. It is possible to want something and not buy it, thinking about dust and clutter deter me.

Saving money might be real simple. Here is a suggestion; spend less than you earn and put the difference in a Cookie Jar.

Just Saying

Calendar Girls

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Calendar Girls

Aging & Attitude

As soon as I saw the News Journal headline “Pinup Grandmothers” Neil Sedaka’s song, “Calendar Girls” popped in my head.  You know, ” I love, I love, I love my little calendar girls, everyday of the year.” The words repeat themselves in my mind and occasionally I sing them aloud.

Disappointed with fundraising efforts for an American Legion Post kitchen renovation and inspired by the movie, “Calendar Girls” the older group of women decided to show some skin in their own calendar, Ladies of 32744, the zip code for Lake Helen, Florida. The calender sells for $16, $13 if you can pickup.

The photo of Sharon Cremen, 67, in wrapping paper and Ho! Ho! Ho! ribbon tastefully wishes us Happy Holidays in December. Miss June, Betty Pfahler, 87, draped in a wedding veil and flowers leaves you thinking great legs, and the azaleas surrounding Cindy Thomas, Miss May, in her wheelchair are spectacular.

Coincidently, the 2012 BGIRL Calendar came to my attention. These twelve, much younger women, break dance and stand on heads for a cause.  The Sisterz of the Underground raise money for the nonprofit Warehouse 508 and Young Women United in Albuquerque, New Mexico. Their mission is “to support our youth…driven to inspire the young to express themselves in a positive light.” Their calender sells for $20.

Imagine both groups in the same room, what would the conversation be?

Mooxie, photographer and owner of dela Mooxie might ask, “Yo grandma, where did you get those shoes, they rock.” Or, “ your pics are crazy, who did them?”

Pat Chadwick, editor of the Lake Helen City Observer newsletter, who organized Ladies of 32744 might inquire of BGIRL Jleigh, Ms. January, “Where can I buy those black lace leggings; we could use them next year. Tell Sarow, Ms. August, “We never considered feathers in our hair. It is a nice subtle touch.” Or ask Marie, Ms. March, “Does standing on your head give you a headache?”

How could women so different and have much in common?

They are women; mothers, dancers, sisters, writers, wives, accountants, significant others, photographers, daughters, aunts, teachers, and entrepreneurs.  You get the picture.

These women are the same. The times are different.

The oldest generation, women in their eighties, dreamed of marriage, children, and family, having little choice of career.

Women in their sixties, Baby Boomers, dreamed of marriage, children, and family, but also career and had more choices. It was exhausting trying to have it all.

Gen X, the next generation ( born between 1960 and 1980), set goals for a dream career and marriage, children, and family waited.

Generation Y  is encouraged to dream for themselves and dreams of marriage are separate from job and career.  Family enhances not defines their life.

Close your eyes and hear the happy banter, curiosity and encouragement they share and Neil Sedaka still singing, “I love, I love, I love my little calendar girls everyday of the year.”

                                                      ….Just Saying

2011 in review

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The WordPress.com stats helper monkeys prepared a 2011 annual report for this blog.

Thank you Word Press for this report. It was a very good year. Obviously it will help my status in the Word Press blog community if readers ‘like’ below.  ….Just Saying, Thank You  

Here’s an excerpt:

A San Francisco cable car holds 60 people. This blog was viewed about 1,000 times in 2011. If it were a cable car, it would take about 17 trips to carry that many people.

Click here to see the complete report.

New Year’s Resolution

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New Year Resolutions  

Aging & Attitude

Blame the Romans for the New Year tradition of making resolutions.

In 153B.C. Janus, God of Beginnings was placed on the Roman calendar and January 1st declared the first day of the year. Pictured with two faces, one looking back, the other forward, the practice of evaluation and resolution was established.

During the nineteen hundreds people began celebrating early, making New Year’s Eve the bigger event, and a kiss at midnight a symbol of purification and luck in the United States.

It is a good time to take stock, change behavior, and anticipate a better you.  Not everyone agrees. Some believe they are already their best, and others, convinced they are doomed to break resolutions, refrain from making them.

I personally enjoy the custom.

One year I resolved not to drink wine with twist off caps and dedicated myself to promote merging in traffic. Initially I did better with the wine but after a month reevaluated the cost and went back to twist off.

Merging proved as challenging.  Friends, unable to grasp the concept of allowing vehicles to go in front of them, appeared bored by my conversation and started to avoid me, so I gave that up, too.

Last year I was determined to give up weeding, lose weight, and start Blogging. I had success with the writing and only gained five pounds, which does not count because muscle weighs more than fat, I am told at the Gym.

Giving up weeding was a disaster. I found myself returning from getting the mail with fistfuls of weeds, magazines and bills tucked under my arm.  In 100-degree heat, I would wait for cloud cover and sneak outside addicted to a bag full. By August I was weeding several times a day and paying the price with back pain and  hand tendonitis.

My resolve this year is to be more realistic. I have considered hiring, but think buying expensive wine makes better use of my money, besides setting healthy boundaries is the real issue.

Consequently my New Year Resolutions are:

  • No weeding in hot humid months.  (In Florida that means May through November.)
  • No moving rocks and the black stuff to get to weed roots.
  • Only one small plastic grocery bag a day regardless of weather conditions
  • And by 5pm to be sitting or in a prone position with something pleasant to drink.

                                                      Damn it, I am retired!

Just Saying

(What is your New Year Resolution?)

Peace On Earth

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Peace on Earth

Aging & Attitude

We ride the noon shuttle from Lake Buena Vista Embassy Suites to Epcot planning to stay for the fireworks.  By 7PM, everyone is spent, having ridden Test Track, Mission Space, and Space Ship Earth. Then snapped pictures with Disney Characters; Minnie, Mickey, Donald Duck, Goofy, and Pluto at Epcot Character Spot, viewed the indoor Aquarium, Turtle Talk with Crush, visited several countries and went to Italy for dinner.

It did not help that the shuttle broke down on Route 4 delaying us some.

The weather is wonderful, slightly overcast skies, but not gray and the lines at the park manageable.  The spectacular Christmas decorations dazzle us.  The landscape appears luscious in multi-shades of green with red Poinsettia accentuating the differences.

“Look at all the people.  This is really a phenomenon.” My husband marvels, surrounded by an international crowd of young and old who traveled to Disney.

It is not just for the rides.

Inside the Magic Kingdom great things are possible.  The world is beautiful, goodness, joy, and merriment abound. But Mr. Wonderful’s feet hurt. He and most of the group are ready to leave.

My feet hurt too, however my grandson and I decided to stay.  We will ride Soarin’ and watch the fireworks scheduled at 9:30pm.

Soarin’ is a multi-sensory attraction that simulates a hang-gliding flight over California’s Golden Gate Bridge, Redwood Creek, Monterey, Lake Tahoe, Yosemite, San Diego, Malibu, Los Angeles, Anaza-Borrego Desert State Park, and Camarillo, and feels like the real deal.

The wait at Soarin’ is sixty-five minutes.  My grandson, days away from being a teen, waits patiently in line participating in the wall games while I chat with a couple behind us from Chicago.

We discuss the scheduled 9:30pm fireworks and my confusion, “Doesn’t the park close at 9:30pm?  They assure me we will see the fireworks; which they saw at 8pm the night before.

Our sixty-five minute wait was almost up it was 7:55pm.

We are ready, to quote Disney:  “Feel the wind in your hair. The air fills with the scent of orange groves, evergreens and the sea breeze. Your feet dangle free. Dip down so close to the crashing waves of the Pacific Ocean, you think your toes will get wet. Then return to the sky and continue on Soarin’ to a fantastic finale where fireworks burst into sensational colors around you.”

The five-minute ride surpasses the sixty-five minute wait, and the probability of only moving in place. You think your toes are wet for a moment.

We exit excitedly, anticipating rockets and roman candles sparkling across the sky.  Rushing towards the lake Dominic prompts me, “Nana, ask someone.” People are skirting the area sitting on stone walls.

An attendant explains, “Illuminations: Reflections of Earth glitters, gleams, and glows over World Showcase Lagoon in perfectly synchronized splendor”, is a Holiday Special, different from the nightly fireworks and tonight’s closing event, and definitely starts at 9:30PM.

We can relax, purchase a snack, and find a viewing spot.

I watch my grandson say goodbye to childhood, confident and mature ordering a pretzel, opting for cinnamon and sugar (plain salt are sold out) and yes he will pay the extra dollar for cheese.  He casually counts his money, smiling, engaged in conversation, so like his dad, gentleman style.

“IlluminNations” started, “featuring breathtaking fireworks, brilliant bursts of fire, laser light effects, dramatic fountain barges, a stirring musical score” that manipulate emotions, accompanied to a symphony rendition of “Let there be Peace on Earth” and left us feeling joy, hope, love, and peace.

We turn to our neighbors, tears in our eyes; shake hands, offer peace, and I think, let it begin with me.

                                                                ….Just  Saying 

                                                                                              Merry Christmas

What Do You Want For Christmas?

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images

What You Want For Christmas?

Aging & Attitude

“What do you want for Christmas?” Mr. Wonderful* inquires, walking into the kitchen wearing drawstring athletic shorts, his toes protruding through open toed sandals, and cheaters sliding off his nose.

“You mean besides World Peace” I quip.

“No, seriously what do you want for Christmas?”

“Jobs for the unemployed would be nice.”

“You’re the one who wants packages under the tree, think about it.”

And I do.

I want it to be 1958 and wake to a shiny blue two-wheeler and bride doll. The air crisp, sharp enough that your nose hair freeze, the sun strong and no wind on Long Island. Santa left the same Schwinn bike for my sister, Mariellen, an English Racer with handbrakes for Victor, my brother.  I ride in circles, periodically going in the house to coax my brother and sister into joining me. They will not, but I am determined to hold on to my joy.

I want it to be 1971. Mr. Wonderful dressed in full Santa costume, white beard and black belt, drives the New York State Thruway, waving at cars and greeting toll booth attendants with Ho, Ho, Ho.

I want it to be 1977. My son wears PJ’s, a blue robe, belted and slippers, his face aglow at the Fisher Price garage Santa left. His sister wears a hand me down Santa infant suit, her arms flapping, matching his excitement.

I want it to be 1985 and a white German Shepard dog does not bark once during the night to wake our kids. He kept his surprise til Christmas morning.

I want it to be 2003. It snows all day, continuing into the night, creating a spectacular White Christmas our daughter’s Southern guest marvels.  We troll the unplowed streets of Newton after midnight, make angles in the snow, sleep late and eat dinner in our pajamas.

I want those simple uncomplicated times.

But were they?

Christmas greeting cards scotched taped around a door frame were fancy decorations. I could decorate the entire house, wrap the presents, and bake cookies, all the same day.

Last week it took one day to unbox the artificial tree and determine if plug A really went into socket E. Only one small section of lights is not working. We turned it towards the wall. Days two and three were spent putting on the ornaments, up and down the ladder, watching not to fall.

I am not the only one getting older, facing the challenge of aging; everyone else is too.

So this year, we are all going to Disney.

                                                                                                  ….Just Saying

*Mr. Wonderful is my husband of forty years