The Human GPS

Anyone who gets lost in my family knows immediately what to do: Call Ricky. My husband is better than Google Maps, MapQuest, and any satellite supported GPS. We don't need no stinkin' Siri to tell us where to go.

If we call him in a panic, he will immediately and effortlessly not only calculate the best and most direct route of travel, he will include commentary regarding location and duration of time of school zones (if applicable), which landmarks and road signs to note, which lane to be in ("Get over to your left and look for the Taco Bell"), where the best parking is ("Go to the far end of the lot for easier exiting later"), and even how to walk from the lot into the building ("Walk on 10th Street because there will be fewer homeless people").

It doesn't matter if we are lost in Miami ("Miami Avenue and Flagler are both zero; count up from there") Boca Raton ("That address is right next to the tennis store we went to once, on the north side of the road") or West Palm Beach ("Don't park in the garage by the courthouse; the street parking is better").

Ricky even knows where he is when he doesn't know where he is. He loves to input new data (as you can see here at right during a recent trip to Europe). When we traveled to Paris for the first time, we took the Metro (subway) to go sightseeing. When we emerged from the hole in the ground, Ricky said: "It feels like we should walk in this direction." And he was right. Once the local map has been absorbed, it's in the Human GPS for good. (If anyone has an upcoming trip to Austria, Germany or Hungary and needs directions, Ricky's ready for your calls. He also has quite a good handle on most of Italy.)


Clearly, the most perfect job he ever had was during college when he delivered flowers. He was given a bunch of addresses, and he then had to personally compute with his very own brain (before the portable electronic device era) the most efficient route. Boy, did he love this! It was more fun than doing the Sudoku! Especially if the route included challenges like canals that caused streets to dead end when you were almost there.

Yes, Ricky can find any place anywhere with great ease. Now, if he could just find his keys.

A MAN AMONG MAPS: There's nothing more fun than absorbing maps of new cities and their transit systems. 

Basic Slang

A vital part of my job in supervising material that is created by teenagers and published is ensuring that nothing horrifyingly inappropriate gets into the newspaper or yearbook. Since I am around teens all day at school and then come home to my own personal teens, I do have significant exposure to the slang of the moment, so I'm not as clueless as many. Even so, it presents a challenge in keeping up. And think for a moment about the pressure: I have to make sure that TEENS don't PUBLISH anything NAUGHTY.

There was the time I almost let "let's get crunk" go through because I thought "crunk" meant rowdy, until a responsible student editor let me know that it means "crazy drunk." And I refused to let "balls so hard" go into the yearbook, in spite of the fact that it's a popular song and apparently just refers to vigorous play in sports. Sorry, but anything ambiguous involving the word "balls" is not going in anything I oversee.

Potential naughtiness is not only limited to words. Hand gestures can be problematic, especially in large group shots at sporting events where fans love to hold up No.1 fingers. I know many a yearbook adviser who has scrutinized such pictures for more time than they'd like to admit. And at my school, with its beachy, surfing vibe, people love doing the "Hang 10" hand symbol with pinky and thumb raised. I've had to check up on that one, too. And don't even get me started about booty dancing or red plastic cups (the universal symbol for alcohol).

The latest slang I've come across is "basic," which seems to be an insult. (Usage: "That girl is basic.") The best I can puzzle out for this one is that having a personality devoid of lively, witty, or interesting accoutrements is considered "basic." In other words, it means you're dull.

But there is nothing dull about proofreading high school publications. I recently came upon a photo caption that read: "A member of the band blows her saxophone like a pro." I paused for a moment to wonder if teens know that "pro" is slang for "prostitute," though I am quite certain that the subtleties of the word "blow" are not lost on them. Needless to say, this caption suffered the same fate as "balls so hard."

This is why, when each issue of the newspaper or yearbook comes out and no one calls demanding that I be fired, I emit a sigh of relief and celebrate by raising a red plastic cup to toast my success.

Food Removal Service

At 5:15 p.m. on the Wednesday before Thanksgiving, the following leftover food items were in my refrigerator:
2 servings of baked beans
1 container of pasta sauce
1 turkey meatball
1 large grilled pork chop
2 servings of linguine
1 portion of eggplant and tofu stir-fry

By 5:30 p.m. on the Wednesday before Thanksgiving, those food items were gone. What happened during those 15 minutes in between? My 21-year-old son and one of his roommates arrived home from college and were hungry after a 3-hour-plus drive from Orlando.

At 5:35 p.m., they headed back out on the road toward Miami to go to the Heat game. All that was left behind was a duffle bag full of dirty laundry and a trail of empty Tupperware containers. And plenty of room in the refrigerator for the turkey to thaw.

Rowling's new book is vacant of cheer

When J.K. Rowling was a single mum on welfare, she created a world of literal and figurative magic filled with high-spirited adventure, humor and hope. Now that she is richer than the queen of England (really!), internationally famous and admired for her talent, and married to a doctor with whom she's had two more children, she has written the most horribly depressing novel populated with the most miserable characters ranging from feeble to evil.

There's drug addiction, rape of a minor, emotionally and physically abusive parents and spouses, self-mutilation, bullying, small-mindedness, small town pettiness, job loss, obesity, stroke, death. The only likable character dies in the first three pages of the 503-page novel in a very descriptive scene filled with all sorts of body fluids. He creates The Casual Vacancy on the town council that gives the book its title and its unending downward spiral into misery.

I know that happiness often ruins musicians causing them to lose their edginess (See: Billy Joel/"Uptown Girl"), but it doesn't make sense that happiness would make a writer of cheerful adventure turn into the Duchess of Depression. Harry Potter fans: Run! Run as fast as you can!

Outside the Dunkin' Donuts

A four-mile path of sidewalk encircles the series of gated residential communities that includes mine. Walking around the circle, you'll pass The Isles, The Isles East, Venetian Isles, Viscaya Isles, Mariner's Cove Isles, and Yo Mama Isles: development after look-alike development with greenery and pavers, greenery and pavers. Plopped in the middle of all this, there is one corner of commerce: The Dunkin' Donuts, which faces the (not) diminutive church across the street that I fondly think of as the Baptist Vatican.

I took a stroll to the DD this morning, purchased a large iced tea unsweetened (to save on calories, of course) and a blueberry muffin (who cares about calories? ha!), and then sat at one of the two little tables outside watching people go in and out.

I saw white people, including a couple of sets of father-daughter duos, one of which got out of a pickup truck, the other out of a Mercedes. A young African-American guy ambled in wearing a navy blue t-shirt with "Vick 7" on the back. An olive skinned middle-aged couple was next: the man wearing jeans and a denim shirt with Ed Hardy scrawled in white cursive letters across the upper shoulder area, the woman wearing an embroidered tunic, polyester brown pants and a head scarf. A pretty young Hispanic woman in sunglasses with her dark, silky hair swooshing back and forth strutted in with purpose, her flip-flops clickety clacking on the pavement. Two women wore matching heather gray t-shirts that said #brave on the front. As they walked past me, I saw that their backs had the name of the supersized church.

That's when it hit me: A microcosm of the entire world could be found at the Dunkin' Donuts that is one mile from my house! South Florida suburbia, you are much more interesting than you let on.

Party time at the Heat game

Most of the row starting with the seat next to me and a large chunk of the row behind us filled in with people having a birthday party for a 7-year-old last night. At an NBA game.

The mix of boys and girls entered right before the 7:30 p.m. start with their stubby little arms wrapped around tubs of popcorn and clutching those giant foam No. 1 fingers. Some were wearing empty popcorn tubs upside down on their heads, and they all had on itty bitty Miami Heat jerseys, including one boy with G MONEY personalized on his back. Aside from the mind-boggling expense incurred for a celebration like this, consider the energy level, the wrangling, the herding, the distributing of cotton candy and ice cream bars for 15 little kids!

Ricky and I thought they were extraordinarily cute, but then, we weren't the ones in charge of the fun-size critters. That job belonged to the hyper-alert parents doling out stacks of dollar bills to the food vendors strolling the aisles. During the national anthem, one girl belted out the entire song quite proficiently, and the whole group enjoyed making high-frequency noises whenever the opposing team was shooting free throws. For the most part, the wee fans seemed to actually pay attention to the game in between slurps and chews, and they lasted until sometime in the third quarter when, one by one, their eyelids got heavy and they began to tilt over onto their foam fingers, which made excellent pillows.

This is your teen unplugged

Since I am the school newspaper and yearbook adviser, my classroom is a computer lab. A big advantage of this is that students will sit quietly in a zombie-like state for as long as I want. A big disadvantage of this is that it takes great histrionics to get students to stop staring in a zombie-like state if I want to have them actually listen to me or maybe even answer me. Telling a teen to stop using a computer that is right in front of him is like placing cocaine in front of a crack addict and then saying to ignore the coke...and listen to me talk about why credible sources are important.

Being the wily teacher that I am, though, I have my methods. I roam the classroom peering behind this Mac desktop and then that one. Freshmen in particular can completely disappear behind a tall screen if you're not careful. ("Are you back there, Susie?!" A little hand will wave just above the monitor for Susie to let me know she's still alive.) I call the students by name to snap them into alertness, ask direct questions, have them write on the board. (Who doesn't love dry erase markers?) In extreme cases, I have been known to hum the theme from Jeopardy or do a modified version of the chicken dance.

Even so, I see eyes being pulled toward the screen. A hand sliding its way toward the mouse. And if I have students -- gasp! -- shut the computers off, then the screens become...mirrors. Adjusting the hair, dabbing the make-up, practicing a smile or a pose then ensues.

"Back away from the computers! We're making a circle now."

Alas, there is nothing sadder, nothing more forlorn than a disconnected teen. Well, they always have their cellphones.

I know it was Halloween, but...

Last night as I was watching a free throw during the NBA game between San Antonio and New Orleans on TV, I noticed in the background a person in the audience wearing a full head-to-toe gorilla costume. He was sitting in a premium seat, about five rows up from the floor at the top of the key. What possesses a person to wear a gorilla suit to an NBA game?

"I think in order to fully enjoy my $150 seat I will enhance the experience by donning this incredibly heavy, airless, vision-obscuring suit and sit statue-like with my furry hands folded in my lap."