Cape Break

Just so you know, it is a lake effect blizzard outside, it is freezing, and I, I am about 14 steps from the abyss, and walking fast.  In the nick of time I remembered the one thing that could rescue me from the well of despair that has become this winter. 

Through the swirling confetti outside my window it appeared to me, fuzzy at first but soon clearer, the diffused vision that appeared to be an arm, flexed with tight fist as if to show off the muscles.  Closer it loomed, sharper it became. The Cape.  Of course!  As it always does, it saved me once again.  It got me through last winter (see posts of 1/16, 2/4, and 2/17), and it will see me through this winter from hell. 

A different tack this time. Here for your reading pleasure, and as an aid to restoring my sanity, are some little odd facts (some would say trivia) about the beloved Cape named Cod.

The Cape Cod Canal, the body of water that separates the entire Cape from the rest of the United States, is 8 miles long, from bay to bay.

Grover Cleveland, Fayetteville, NY native, had a summer home in Buzzards Bay.  We central New Yorkers aren’t as dumb as we look.  We found the Cape early on!

The Town of Dennis was named after its first pastor, the Reverend Josiah Dennis.

The first Pilgrims landed at Provincetown on Nov. 11, 1620.  My birthday!  Well, not the year, though sometimes it feels it.

A German submarine, in the first World War, and the second World War, fired shots at the Town of Orleans.  They missed.   What the hell were they thinking?

Cranberry “farming” began in the Town of Dennis in 1815. Harwich established the first commercial cranberry bogs in the nation in 1846.  Harwich remains the leading grower of cranberries because of its ideal soil conditions and extended growing season.  The cranberry is now Massachusetts’ leading agricultural product.  Yummy!

The paper bag was first created in Dennis by Luther Child Crowell and patented by him in 1867.  Where would mankind be without Luther?

Cape Cop is the land of lighthouses.  There are more lighthouses in Cape Cod than any other county in America.  They say there are currently 7 working lighthouses.  I count 8, but let’s not quibble. 

Rt. 6A (one of my very favorite rides), also known as the Old King’s Highway, is the longest contiguous historic district in America and contains four centuries of architecture.

And last, but certainly not least, this from an old Cape native I was talking with last summer.  What do they call folks who are not from Massachusetts that buy a house and move to the Cape?  They call them “washashores.”  As in outsider, not from here.  But there the apparent coldness ends.  Cape Cod folks, I’ve found, are very friendly and welcoming.

Maybe we’ll visit this topic again, soon, if winter doesn’t go away!

Mark Twain Quote: “The way it is now, the asylums can hold the sane people, but if we tried to shut up the insane we should run out of building materials.”

Football … or Cirque du Soleil?

I have faithfully attended Syracuse University football games ever since I was a wee lad.  Remember Archbold Stadium? I attended the very last game in that venerable old wreck.  Got my picture and name in the paper for helping with the demolition by taking my seat as a souvenir….on a Wednesday, when I was supposed to be at work.  And yes, I was busted. I attended the very first game in the Carrier Dome, and most since.

I can distinctly remember when a football game was just that, a football game.  What you saw, seldom consuming more than 3 hours to play, were two teams battling it out on the field - with few interruptions or distractions. Football at its essence - put 22 men on the gridiron, bar the doors, and see who’s left standing at the end of an hour of play.  Grab a hot dog and a beer, and call it a good day. Throw in a half time show with the band playing a couple of tunes, and right back to the game. That …. that was football. The focus then was simply … the game. Imagine that.  And people actually showed up to watch.  Lots of people. Imagine that.

Then, the ineluctable tide of change rolled across Piety Hill. Money entered the picture, followed quickly by decisions thought necessary to fuel that most precious of idols. Add television, and the recipe was complete. It was, in general, the realization that vast sums of money could be generated by simply tinkering with the game. You see, when man finds out that obscene amounts of money can be made by engaging in an activity, well, no power on earth save the law can keep man away.  And even that doesn’t work.   To be clear, it was not an idea of the University’s making.  The train was passing; their only decision was to jump on board or not.  It was not really a choice they had, given their size and commitment to athletics. So, on they jumped.

I’ve been curious for awhile now to just look at what changes this train ride has wrought over the years.  Finally, I got curious enough to actually do something about it. So, at a home game last fall, I did an informal, yet somewhat formal, survey of what has become of our Orangemen.

 

Today, you are fortunate if you leave the stadium in under 4 hours.  Which means that to attend a football game will require one to devote at least 7 hours of the day to this activity.  You are also fortunate if you leave the stadium with money in your pocket.  You shall certainly leave with ringing in your ears, and a sore butt.  And you can count yourself lucky if you are not seeing double or feeling slightly queasy. 

To what can we attribute these consequences that seem so troublesome? Revenues are fueled, in part, by turning what should be a football game into a relentless four hour infomercial/ rock concert.  It is an assault of sight and sound on our senses. 

What do I mean?  The most blatant observable example is what I call the “dancing display of dizziness.”  There is a ring of LED lights that encircles the dome.  This scroll board, so prevalent in stadiums today, is a panel roughly 4’ high, that winds its way completely around the dome and presents a streaming message in lights … moving lights … constantly … moving … lights.  Pass the barf bag please. And thus are commercial advertisements thrust into the conscious and subconscious.  We don’t have a choice; our eyes behold the message whether we’re concentrating on it or not.  Think of it as  the scroll line at the bottom of your TV screen that distracts you as you try to watch the actual picture.  And you wonder why everyone has high blood pressure and a touch of ADD.

The attack on our hearing is another matter.  Unfortunately, a domed stadium captures sound and merely bounces it around the interior.  It searches for a home and ultimately finds it has no place to go save our tender ears.  The University desires to have the Dome be known as the Loud House, so it puts the sound system in the hands of a direct descendent of the Marquis de Sade, locked in a soundproof room, with a case of  Bud light at his disposal, and they instruct him to keep the volume control at Max, no matter what. It isn’t good enough for them that the fans actually provide the “loud” in Loud House.  This, no doubt, is meant for the benefit of the younger fans in the arena.  Hearing aid professionals are giddy with joy every time the music starts.

With this backdrop, I simply decided one game to observe stuff, and to count stuff …. and to try to watch the game at the same time.   I did not count any commercial activity happening before the game actually started, and believe me, there was plenty to watch, even then.  I did not count any of the static advertisements that adorn the dome, even in the oddest of places.  Folks, there are even advertisements in the men’s room.  Gives you something to read while you’re, well, you know.

Back to the game…during the actual play of the game, in the first quarter only, I did count 158 advertisements on the scrolling light strip from hell. There were probably more than 158 ads, but I was actually trying to watch a football game more than I was trying to divide my attention by counting ads as they raced around the room.  If the first quarter is any indication, then by game’s end, there were shown on that board a minimum of 632 advertisements. Did I mention that is very, very annoying to watch this board, or to try and ignore it.  It can actually make one queasy if you stare at it long enough.

There were Kiss Cams (I am still waiting for someone to get really busted over one of these things) and Fan Cams, all shown on the big video screens. Other promotions appeared there as well, and every now and then, they actually showed a replay of a game highlight.  In addition, there were little side performances all over the place, much like a 3 ring circus.  They took place throughout the game, when there were breaks in the action, which thanks to TV, there were plenty of (never end a sentence with a preposition, remember that).  These consisted of quick presentations (think plaques) to people, seat improvement promotions or contests, usually in the corner of the end zone. Superfluous.

And because of that TV influence, there exists -  the man in red.  Whenever there is an opportunity for a TV commercial, he hustles onto the field of play, easily recognized by his white pants and red shirt.  Everything stops.  He immediately assumes control, and with his authoritarian stance, arms folded, he and he alone now dictates the pace and play of the game.  Only when he retreats from the field, does play begin again.  He does this a lot during the game.  Everybody hates him. 

Finally, there’s the matter of scheduling, which should fill an entire post-plus, as it is perhaps the most annoying aspect of the entire experience.  In short – college football games used to be played on Saturday afternoons in the fall.  Now, you can find them being played starting in August, and on Thursdays and Fridays, as well as Saturdays.  And games can now start at 7 or 8PM.  Just what the average fan simply loves, a late game that guarantees you won’t be home till at least 1 AM the following day. It is not unusual for the game date and/or time to be finalized mere days or weeks before it is actually played, which makes it impossible to plan any important events in one’s life. And don't get me started on the grand scheme of playing some games in New York City, while we get to watch the likes of Stony Brook.  

And there you have it.  Nowadays, it seems as if I'm attending a glorious 4 hour informercial, and for our entertainment between those commercials, they throw in a football game.

So, is all lost here?  Does college football, as it was originally designed, now sleep with the dinosaurs?  Well, for the most part, yes.  But there are still pockets of those idyllic movie like settings where a football game is simply, a football game.  Or something very close to one.  Locally, on any given gorgeous fall afternoon, you can head to Colgate, Alfred, St. John Fisher, Cortland, or Brockport.  Want a nice fall trip for a game and fit in a New England visit as well?  Jump on the pike and head for one of my favorite towns to watch Holy Cross play in a nice little open air stadium on a beautiful college campus in Worcester, Mass.  Football, as it was meant to be played.

So, that over, what’s my point here?  Am I just some old fart fan bitching?  Well, yes, partly.  But I echo the sentiments of many SU faithful.  Fans in our section make the same observations and comments. We know the University has a tenuous relationship with its fans, and they are probably marketing now to what they see as the future, ie, to the young fans and current youth. But as I look around the dome now, I see many, many more heads dotted with grey than any other demographic.  They are the ones spending the money, and will be doing so for years to come.  And those youth they covet….they will probably be moving on as soon as they can.  I mean, who wants to spend a winter like this around here?

Which takes me to the reason I’m probably writing this in the first place.  The short name for it is Seasonal Affective Disorder.  Or, as it is known around these parts - winter means going nuts.  This winter from hell is the breaking point for many people I suspect, if I can gauge a mood out there.  We haven't a terrible overload of snow…yet….but we're working on it.  Winter has certainly been one depressing stretch of weather after another. We no sooner get through a bad period, when the Weather Channel proudly announces yet another Nor’easter is marching up the coast.   When Jim Cantore shows up in your town, you know the worst is not far behind. Wind, snow, and  temperature have just beaten us down, and I for one am depressed to the point that I think I can actually see the end of my rope, and it isn’t far away.  I guess that’s as good a reason as any to write something like this. Spring, where art thou?

Mark Twain Quote: “Cold!  If the thermometer had been an inch longer we’d all have frozen to death.”

An Observation Most Profound

OK, this falls into many categories.  Taking things for granted.  Not seeing the obvious.  Totally occupied with life, whatever that means.  Unobservant.  Failure to take time to smell the hydrangeas.  Narcissism. Tunnel vision.  The list goes on and on, like Star Wars credits.

All are interrelated and all point to one thing - our inability, or unwillingness, to simply let our minds wander, and wonder.  Free, unencumbered thinking.  Like the lady in the lotto commercial when she makes an observation I’ll bet very few people have ever entertained:  why do they put a pizza, which is round, into a square box….and then slice it into pieces shaped like triangles.  Folks, there are so many life moments right before our eyes, and yet we never see them!  Or worse, we do see them, and never make that connection to something that appears so simple, yet is so profound.

A long time ago, I worked with this woman (I tried to think of a better way to say that, but couldn’t).  Hers was a position requiring analytical thinking.  This was not a job where people thought outside the box.  Here there were rules and a plan, to be followed exactly.  Independent, free thinking was not allowed.  But that did not stop her from dreaming.

What follows is an observation she made one day.  I’ve long since forgotten the exact wording, but I could never forget the lesson.  I think of it often.  Here it is, in the version that I have updated throughout the years. It bears little resemblance to the exact wording of its original form, so Susan, wherever you are now, I apologize, but I do believe I have captured the essence of your observation honestly and completely. 

First, you must go somewhere.  The place you find is ideally situated on a high hill, and presents two distinct views as you stand and slowly turn in a complete circle.  On the one side is pure nature before you.  Trees, mountains, sea, sand, dirt, vegetation,  animals, water, and more.  Think of the vision before you for just what it is: absolute and total wilderness. No hint of mankind here.  It is earth as it existed long before humans ascended the stage.

From this ….

… and this ...

On the other is a view of a large metropolitan area and everything you can survey in it:  tall buildings of steel and glass, cars, airplanes coming and going, ships in harbor, roads, street lights, trucks, bridges, stores, apartments, houses …… ad infinitum.

Then there are the things people use every day: televisions, radios, computers, clothes, personal care products, phones, lamps, lawnmowers, snow blowers, the list folks, is endless….and it is all comprised of the stuff that makes our life possible, and easier -  from a simple ball point pen to the car we drive.  You could add things to this list and never complete it in a month of Sundays.

Came this ….

And, as a final study, look beyond the city and follow the space shuttle as it slowly rises from the earth on its way to outer space.

Now, make the complete observation. As we gaze toward the city scape, realize that at a time in our distant past, none of this existed.  Absolutely none of it. Now, turn and gaze to the forest and the mountains, and the sea….the total wilderness.  At one time, that was all there was.  There was absolutely nothing else.

Now, make the connection.  Everything we have today… everything … came from the raw materials of eons ago - rocks, trees, water, dirt, sand, vegetation, animals, and more.   It's as if I took a few rocks,  part of a tree, some sand, a bunch of grass, and a pail of water… threw them all in a pile on the ground and said "There, go make a television."  

And to solidify the concept in your mind, look at the space shuttle majestically making its way to outer space.  A marvel of modern engineering and construction, it is comprised of 2.5 million separate parts. Its three engines have more power than twelve Hoover Dams.  It is capable of traveling 17,500 miles per hour. It has carried over 600 people to space.  It is the most complex machine ever made.  And ultimately, every single part in it came from rocks, dirt, trees, water, vegetation, etc. At its very essence, everything in the shuttle came from nature. 

And this!

I find this deceptively simple observation so profound that I have trouble finding the exact amalgam of words to adequately express it.  But I gave it a shot. 

Mark Twain Quote: “Nature knows no indecencies; man invents them.”

Let's Go Fly a Kite

“Winds in the east, mist coming in.  Like somethin’ is brewin’, and bout to begin.  Can’t put me finger on what lies in store, but I fear what’s to happen all happened before.”

With these words, the versatile Bert opens Walt Disney’s classic movie, “Mary Poppins.”  He could have just as easily sung them at the beginning of a movie I saw recently, a movie titled “Saving Mr. Banks.” This whimsical title certainly gave little clue as to what lie ahead.

If it had the name Walt Disney attached to it, I simply surmised, it must be pure and simple fun. Thus, I approached “Saving Mr. Banks” as just a light hearted, perhaps spirited, yet funny rendition of how the books of P.L. Travers made their way from the printed page to the immortality of the movie screen.  Oh, I got that, indeed I did, but that turned out to be so much more.

Marvelously told, the movie swung me to and fro in an emotional boomerang.  Using flashbacks, we are shown a dark path trod many years before, one that shaped the entire series of Traver’s books.  That path led to something more serious, poignant, and soul wrenching.  Shaped by the well from which they sprung, the books true meaning and purpose came as a surprise. I shall never look upon Mary Poppins in the same way again.

From the heart of a young girl, adversity gave birth to genius.  From intense pain, emerged a true gift.  And at long last, from opportunity, came a chance at forgiveness, and closure.  When Travers finally lets go of Mary Poppins, she frees herself. She, at last, began a life not dictated by her past. 

                                                                                         

Each of us has our story, most of which never gets told.  Yet we carry it with us, every step we take, and it accounts for all that we are, say, and do, even when we make no conscious connection between our idiosyncrasies and our past. The past, like a shadow, is always ours to carry, however we choose.

This story, Traver’s story, is one to catch.  Hers is a tale that, because of darkness, was born the imagination to escape. It is a testimony to her spirit that Travers, working from a deep sense of loss, could even produce a series of children’s books. But it took Walt Disney to move the sometimes dark line in Traver’s books to pure entertainment, fun, and laughter that has entertained generations of children, and some older children as well.  With the rousing final song, "Let's Go Fly a Kite," he gave Mary Poppins the hopeful and happy ending that Travers secretly longed for.

This movie was so much more than I expected, except for Emma Thompson. Emma Thompson is, well, Emma Thompson. Someone give her an award, please.  It is worth a look, more than once.  If you can cry, you should see this movie. If you don’t cry, you must see this movie.  Perhaps you could be freed.  Perhaps you could let go of your past. It surely makes you reflect.

Mark Twain Quote:  “Everyone is a moon, and has a dark side which he never shows to anybody.”

Versatile Fenway

One of my little editors, bless her, is politely trying to mold my mindset to accept the idea of publishing more "posts" in 2014 than I did in 2013.  My original goal when this all started was to do one a week. A mere 52 posts a year.  HA!  Fool!

Little did I realize that a) life sometimes gets in the way of things, and b) some posts require lots of research and effort.  That should not have surprised me, but it did … and it took me off guard.  My first year, I published 35 posts, last year, 36.  This year, who knows.  But at least I should take a stab at it, I suppose.  OK, challenge accepted….this year, it's 37 (or more) or bust!  So, beware, you'll see some "fillers" now and then as I work on deeper, more involved posts (I happen to have 2 in the hopper now).  Just a heads up folks.

Of course, this particular one of my sometimes, when they feel like it, part time, volunteer editors, is an accomplished author with many books, articles, and essays on her resume, so she is obviously one organized little dynamo. And the planter of ideas.  Hmmm, the more I think of it, I do believe one of my posts this year should be about her.  How's that for an idea?

This one is a filler, yet it isn't, 'cause it's about one of my favorite and most dear places on this whole earth. I mean Fenway Park, of course.  But it isn't just Fenway, as I can't separate it from the entire rest of what I also love by extension.  I speak of the Commonwealth of Massachusetts.  From Amherst to Boston, from Cape Ann (a nice visit in its own right) to Cape Cod, there is just something about this entire corner of the world that warms me, calms me, refreshes me, inspires me.  Driving in and around Boston remains a notable exception, of course.

It isn't just because I used to work there, kinda.  It's not just because of all the friends I have there.  It's about the land itself, from Rockwell, to Quincy, to the Bourne, to Gloucester, to the Berkshires.

But I digress….back to Fenway.  One of the things that happens infrequently, but with vengence when it does, is to snow heavily and mightily in the Boston area.  Once a year or so, the news will have a story to tell about my favorite city being socked in by a storm, or a Nor'easter, as they are sometimes known.

What do Bostonians do in such cases?  They rise up and make the best of things…they make fun where they can, and for the rest, they make Strong.

I include two pictures of Fenway Park after the last storm.  Or should I say The Fenway Sled Park.  Now here, they took the lemon and came up lemonade.  No sense wasting a good pile of snow, thanks to the home of the World Champs. Frugal and inventive folks, these New Englanders.

Mark Twain Quote:  "Tomorrow night I appear for the first time before a Boston  audience -- 4000 critics."