I started thinking about “change” as I was stumbling around in the dark, in the middle of the night to “spring forward” all of the clocks in the house. This turned out to be an exercise in futility, as most of the “stumbling” I did was over things like ottomans and doggie dishes, inconveniently waking everyone in the house with the noise. My wife was quick to remind me that the clocks would still be there when the sun came up, but there are some things that are sacrosanct and not subject to change. Like making sure all of the clocks are changed before 2am. That’s when they change in “TV Guide” and that’s good enough for me to trust as gospel.
Change, as we are all well aware, is going to occur. Always. Bottom line. My Mom, who is 84, but, decided to stop at about 34, reminds me, often, that we are required to get older, but, that nowhere in “the rules” is it written that we are obliged to “grow up.”
Change is ongoing and is sometimes so subtle it’s indiscernible. Sometimes it smacks you in the face like a big ole’ wet mackerel. It can hurt and stink. We will all experience this type of change at some point in our lives. The mackerel smack with an outcome that is dictated entirely on our response.
I looked back at some of the major changes I’ve experienced over the years. Going from civilian life to military discipline at an age when I should have only been concerned with the next frat party, then off to war and back to civilian life in one fell swoop, or as it more appropriately felt, one swell foop! Getting married, getting divorced, getting married, getting divorced, getting married, you get the picture. Changing jobs and cities after a couple of years of integrating into a community and life style. All changes that required readjustment and, to some degree, the ability to be chameleon like.
The biggest change in my life, however, taught me the most valuable lesson.
I had been with “the network” for a long time. The first one to turn on a microphone in1981 after we had physically built the studios ourselves in that booming metropolis - Mokena, Illinois. We had a lovely spot to build network radio studios. It was a storefront in a strip mall, comfortably nestled between a pet store and a true value hardware store. Mokena was chosen because that was where WGN had it’s satellite uplink and, since we were to be the first satellite delivered 24 hour network, technologically, even Frankfort or Orland Park were too far away. Since those techno-dark ages innovations have made way for so much change that my wife is now able to do a show from our living room in Miami, but, you have to start somewhere. That somewhere was Mokena. As we grew and time marched on, we were able to become more versatile and, eventually added a bunch of formats and moved to Texas. The changes in technology brought a number of other changes as well. The network made money and was sold. That happened a number of times. New owners brought with them, changes upon changes. For the most part, they were for the better and we watched steady growth, but, over the years, there were many other changes, for the most part corporate, that were much less palatable. But, the industry was changing too and becoming the “bitch” of the corporations and I watched as our beloved project, begun all those years ago in Mokena, Illinois, began a slow and painful, at least to watch, descent into the bowels of corporate hell.
After a quarter of a century of complacency and, quite honestly, laziness, I was forced into retirement. This was change I wasn’t at all ready to accept. There was, however, an enormous issue. I was older and had made a very good salary. I found that, over a nearly two year period, I wasn’t able to “get arrested” in the business I had grown to love so much for more than four decades. Nobody wanted an “old guy” playing rock and roll and telling jokes to people I had socks older than.
It was while lying in bed, probably in the fetal position, wallowing in the pity party I was throwing for myself, that my wife and two of my daughters provided me with what has become a defining moment in my life. They walked into the bedroom with a little cup cake, topped with a birthday candle, singing “For He’s a Jolly Good Fellow” and reminding me that it’s never too late to make whatever change is necessary to continue to thrive. That was the day I decided to try make a huge change and try to break into the world of news. I was able to land a job at the #1 news talk radio station in Dallas, WBAP, anchoring news in the afternoon and then, from there, it was on to anchor news for a number of stations throughout Florida from a hub in Miami. This was a major change because I came from a radio station that was filled with journalistic integrity and am now working for a company for whom “journalism” is a foreign word. It’s merely an assembly line of a few “read” stories to make sure the commercials get played.
Radio as I knew and loved it is gone and now, news, as I have grown to know and love it, is on the way out. So am I. In very short order, I will retire and maybe find a little something part-time in a cigar store, bait shop or golf course and the only "change" I will be concerned with will be what’s left over from my Social Security check after the bills are paid.
THAT’S HOW I FEEL……………….WHAT CAN I TELL YA’
Sunday, March 13, 2011
Sunday, February 13, 2011
PAIN
Writing about pain is, in itself, a bit of a pain. The first consideration has to be which manifestation of the word to explore. Pain is very eclectic. There are many different interpretations of it’s meaning.
There are women I know who claim that having a baby is about the worst pain one can experience. I can only take their word for it. Even the analogy of pushing a bowling ball through my nostril tests the limits of my imagination. I think my wife put best during the birth of any of the 5, when she referred to it as, “Sweetie, please come over here so I can RIP YOUR GODDAMN HEAD OFF!” I think I’ll stay away from that one.
Then there is the pain of rejection. I’ve spent most of my adult life surrounded by a lot of very creative people. Radio people, actors, comics, writers, musicians - all people who have been rejected in any number of their endeavors at some point in their respective careers and have used it as a catalyst to do something even better. A classic case of pain ideally bringing about plenty of aesthetic pleasure. Nah!
Physical pain hurts too much. “Here’s a nice needle in the eye. How’s that feel?” It hurts like hell. Remember the limits of the imagination that I mentioned a little earlier? They have been stretched to a very appropriately painful point with the mere thought. Nope. Not gonna happen on this go ‘round!
There is always the pain of exclusion and hatred. No matter what the reason, and there are many, it can cut pretty deep. Whether it’s because of race, color, creed, national origin, sexual orientation, weight, height, glasses status or nose size is irrelevant. Everybody wants to be liked and included. It’s said that “sticks and stones can break my bones but names can never hurt me.” Yes they can. They can hurt a lot. And as a stone can break a bone, an epithet can break a spirit and that is unacceptable. Here’s a little something for the bullies to chew on, though - as you are focusing your energies on hating someone else, they may not even know you exist. You’re often spinning your wheels and wasting your time. So much so, that I won’t pursue this any further. That would be a waste of my time and that, too, is unacceptable.
Maybe we can explore pain by proxy, That pain you feel when something bad happens to someone you care about. That can be especially difficult if you are at a distance and can’t just walk over and give them a reassuring hug or rub their back or some other comforting gesture. The feeling of helplessness can often be more painful that the original issue. This conjures up a very frightening image of flailing about in an ocean of sharks and that makes me uncomfortable enough to drop this investigation like a bad habit right here and right now.
I’m not going to think about pain anymore for a couple of reasons. First, as I mentioned in the beginning, it’s become too much of a pain. And, lastly, I believe I have inadvertently hit upon the best way to alleviate quite a bit of pain - write about it.
THAT'S HOW I FEEL------WHAT CAN I TELL YA'
There are women I know who claim that having a baby is about the worst pain one can experience. I can only take their word for it. Even the analogy of pushing a bowling ball through my nostril tests the limits of my imagination. I think my wife put best during the birth of any of the 5, when she referred to it as, “Sweetie, please come over here so I can RIP YOUR GODDAMN HEAD OFF!” I think I’ll stay away from that one.
Then there is the pain of rejection. I’ve spent most of my adult life surrounded by a lot of very creative people. Radio people, actors, comics, writers, musicians - all people who have been rejected in any number of their endeavors at some point in their respective careers and have used it as a catalyst to do something even better. A classic case of pain ideally bringing about plenty of aesthetic pleasure. Nah!
Physical pain hurts too much. “Here’s a nice needle in the eye. How’s that feel?” It hurts like hell. Remember the limits of the imagination that I mentioned a little earlier? They have been stretched to a very appropriately painful point with the mere thought. Nope. Not gonna happen on this go ‘round!
There is always the pain of exclusion and hatred. No matter what the reason, and there are many, it can cut pretty deep. Whether it’s because of race, color, creed, national origin, sexual orientation, weight, height, glasses status or nose size is irrelevant. Everybody wants to be liked and included. It’s said that “sticks and stones can break my bones but names can never hurt me.” Yes they can. They can hurt a lot. And as a stone can break a bone, an epithet can break a spirit and that is unacceptable. Here’s a little something for the bullies to chew on, though - as you are focusing your energies on hating someone else, they may not even know you exist. You’re often spinning your wheels and wasting your time. So much so, that I won’t pursue this any further. That would be a waste of my time and that, too, is unacceptable.
Maybe we can explore pain by proxy, That pain you feel when something bad happens to someone you care about. That can be especially difficult if you are at a distance and can’t just walk over and give them a reassuring hug or rub their back or some other comforting gesture. The feeling of helplessness can often be more painful that the original issue. This conjures up a very frightening image of flailing about in an ocean of sharks and that makes me uncomfortable enough to drop this investigation like a bad habit right here and right now.
I’m not going to think about pain anymore for a couple of reasons. First, as I mentioned in the beginning, it’s become too much of a pain. And, lastly, I believe I have inadvertently hit upon the best way to alleviate quite a bit of pain - write about it.
THAT'S HOW I FEEL------WHAT CAN I TELL YA'
Sunday, January 23, 2011
The Best Day of My Life
I have virtually no life, so I often contemplate the mundane. Let me amend that. I have a virtual life, with nearly 1,000 friends on Facebook, 12 of whom I actually know. It’s offline that I might as well live on a moped. It would certainly provide more excitement than the routine of my every day existence. I awaken at 2:20 a.m. and am at work by 3 a.m. and, after a tedious day of ripping and reading generic newscasts for 5 radio stations for an insulting paycheck, am home by 11:30, grabbing a bite to eat while preparing for a nap, after which, I pick up my daughter from school and have dinner as I look forward to going to bed so I can do it all over again.
Because of a request to do so, I have been doing the aforementioned contemplating about the “best day of my life,” which, I can assure you, has taken a lot of intense reflection as it hasn’t been any of the more recent ones.
My first inclination was to respond with: July 22nd, 1947 - the day I was born. But, if that was the best day of my life, that would mean it’s been downhill ever since and that simply isn’t the case.
Many people list the day their child is born as the best day of their life. I have 5 and the last thing I want to do is insult any of them by listing one ahead of another. That would be rude. I refuse to be rude to my kids.
There are any number of wonderful things that have happened over the past 63 and a half years that I can point to as intensely great days, but, “The Best?”
I suppose I can say it’s the day I met my wife, but, I’ve had three. OK, maybe only two count because I found out about the first one the morning after a night of drugs and alcohol in a Philippine bar during the Vietnam war. But, nobody asked about the best NIGHT of my life. My second (first?) wife gave me two amazing kids and my current wife has given me three, so, you see, the “unfairness” factor has again reared its relatively ugly little head.
I have had so many career highlights, that it would be almost impossible to pick just one. Perhaps it was the day I met Sonny Fox and he hired me to do the morning show at WYSP in Philadelphia, jumpstarting what, to that point, had been a pretty banal career. Could it have been the day he asked me, a few weeks later, if I had ever heard of “Bob & Ray,” setting off a chain of events that catapulted us, as the first two-man morning team in rock & roll radio history, to #1? How about the day I was asked to join an experimental new project in Mokena, Illinois that was eventually to become the ABC Radio Network? I think it’s safe to say the “none of the above” is the answer I’ll be checking off.
Maybe the night, in 1977 when I got to got to the premier of “Star Wars” in a limo with Harrison Ford, Mark Hamill and Carrie Fisher. Or the day I answered an invitation to go to Washington, D.C. to confer, along with a few other radio types, with President Carter to talk about an anti drug media campaign. I have many other “best day of my life” candidates from among the plethora of encounters during my long radio career, some of which I can actually remember. I could go on, but, there comes a point when even cool stuff can become very boring, so, I will add only that none of these qualify as the ultimate “best day” either.
All of this leads me to two conclusions. One is that the “best day of my life” is not, in fact only one day, but an amalgamation of many. The other, and perhaps most logical, is that it hasn’t happened yet. I think I’ll go with that one. That way, I’ll always have something to look forward to.
THAT’S HOW I FEEL………WHAT CAN I TELL YA’
Because of a request to do so, I have been doing the aforementioned contemplating about the “best day of my life,” which, I can assure you, has taken a lot of intense reflection as it hasn’t been any of the more recent ones.
My first inclination was to respond with: July 22nd, 1947 - the day I was born. But, if that was the best day of my life, that would mean it’s been downhill ever since and that simply isn’t the case.
Many people list the day their child is born as the best day of their life. I have 5 and the last thing I want to do is insult any of them by listing one ahead of another. That would be rude. I refuse to be rude to my kids.
There are any number of wonderful things that have happened over the past 63 and a half years that I can point to as intensely great days, but, “The Best?”
I suppose I can say it’s the day I met my wife, but, I’ve had three. OK, maybe only two count because I found out about the first one the morning after a night of drugs and alcohol in a Philippine bar during the Vietnam war. But, nobody asked about the best NIGHT of my life. My second (first?) wife gave me two amazing kids and my current wife has given me three, so, you see, the “unfairness” factor has again reared its relatively ugly little head.
I have had so many career highlights, that it would be almost impossible to pick just one. Perhaps it was the day I met Sonny Fox and he hired me to do the morning show at WYSP in Philadelphia, jumpstarting what, to that point, had been a pretty banal career. Could it have been the day he asked me, a few weeks later, if I had ever heard of “Bob & Ray,” setting off a chain of events that catapulted us, as the first two-man morning team in rock & roll radio history, to #1? How about the day I was asked to join an experimental new project in Mokena, Illinois that was eventually to become the ABC Radio Network? I think it’s safe to say the “none of the above” is the answer I’ll be checking off.
Maybe the night, in 1977 when I got to got to the premier of “Star Wars” in a limo with Harrison Ford, Mark Hamill and Carrie Fisher. Or the day I answered an invitation to go to Washington, D.C. to confer, along with a few other radio types, with President Carter to talk about an anti drug media campaign. I have many other “best day of my life” candidates from among the plethora of encounters during my long radio career, some of which I can actually remember. I could go on, but, there comes a point when even cool stuff can become very boring, so, I will add only that none of these qualify as the ultimate “best day” either.
All of this leads me to two conclusions. One is that the “best day of my life” is not, in fact only one day, but an amalgamation of many. The other, and perhaps most logical, is that it hasn’t happened yet. I think I’ll go with that one. That way, I’ll always have something to look forward to.
THAT’S HOW I FEEL………WHAT CAN I TELL YA’
Saturday, December 19, 2009
Happy Holidays
There have been times that I have been taken to task for wishing people "Happy Holidays" instead of "Merry Christmas." Let me explain my position. You see, in my family we celebrate all of the holidays of the season, so, the conglomerate greeting seems the most apropos.
My family is a true microcosm of society. We, like the rest of the human race, come in a variety of sizes, shapes, colors and beliefs. I recently overheard a contemporary say the he wouldn't want his kids to marry outside of their race because he was afraid the kids would suffer. My family believes that there is only one race and that is the human race. I have a daughter who graduated from medical school at the top of her class and now has a very successful practice with 2 offices and 4 doctors. Another daughter is a registered EMT who ran a doctors office and has now chosen to be a stay-at-home Mom to my wonderful granddaughters whom she home schools while running a small business from home. My next daughter in line, graduated with a Masters degree from SMU with honors. My fourth daughter is a senior in high school, in all honors and AP classes doing college work with honors. She is also first chair flutist in the finest orchestra in her school, a post she's held for all 4 years. Did I mention that they are all extremely beautiful on the outside as well? We should all have to suffer like that.
I am a Jew and was raised celebrating Hanukkah, the commemoration of the reclamation of the Temple and the survival of a people. My wife is an African -American Christian who was always taught that the meaning of Christmas was to give the gift of ourselves to others to try and make the world just a little bit better place to be. It's what Jesus did. We light the candles in the menorah at Hanukkah and all of the kids know the prayer…in Hebrew. We have a tree at Christmas and we always spend our day, as a family, feeding the homeless. And, we celebrate Kwanzaa, the African-American holiday that began in 1969 that reinforces the seven principals of Unity, Self-Determination, Collective Work and Responsibility, Cooperative Economics, Purpose, Creativity and Faith, principles that have, over the years, only made us stronger as a family unit. We also follow the tradition of telling stories of those who came before us. It helps to remind us where we came from and who we are.
We also have at least one Muslim in the family and I lived I Puerto Rico and still enjoy the celebration of Tres Reyes…or Three Kings Day….when in practically every barrio on the Island, people open their doors and go from house to house in celebration of the season. Tres Reyes happens 12 days after Christmas and keeps the celebratory mood alive well into the New Year.
Yes, my family is a true microcosm of society. When you put together all of the cultures, colors, languages and lands that make up the fabric of our family unit, you can see how amazingly rich we are in understanding and respect for others. When we look at each other, all we see is family and that will always come first.
So, as I wish each and every one of you a Merry Christmas, Happy Hanukkah or Happy Kwanzaa, please know that it is from the bottom of my heart and understand that, should our paths cross at any time during the season, you should feel free to wish me any of the above or……Happy Holidays.
THAT'S HOW I FEEL……………………WHAT CAN I TELL YA'
My family is a true microcosm of society. We, like the rest of the human race, come in a variety of sizes, shapes, colors and beliefs. I recently overheard a contemporary say the he wouldn't want his kids to marry outside of their race because he was afraid the kids would suffer. My family believes that there is only one race and that is the human race. I have a daughter who graduated from medical school at the top of her class and now has a very successful practice with 2 offices and 4 doctors. Another daughter is a registered EMT who ran a doctors office and has now chosen to be a stay-at-home Mom to my wonderful granddaughters whom she home schools while running a small business from home. My next daughter in line, graduated with a Masters degree from SMU with honors. My fourth daughter is a senior in high school, in all honors and AP classes doing college work with honors. She is also first chair flutist in the finest orchestra in her school, a post she's held for all 4 years. Did I mention that they are all extremely beautiful on the outside as well? We should all have to suffer like that.
I am a Jew and was raised celebrating Hanukkah, the commemoration of the reclamation of the Temple and the survival of a people. My wife is an African -American Christian who was always taught that the meaning of Christmas was to give the gift of ourselves to others to try and make the world just a little bit better place to be. It's what Jesus did. We light the candles in the menorah at Hanukkah and all of the kids know the prayer…in Hebrew. We have a tree at Christmas and we always spend our day, as a family, feeding the homeless. And, we celebrate Kwanzaa, the African-American holiday that began in 1969 that reinforces the seven principals of Unity, Self-Determination, Collective Work and Responsibility, Cooperative Economics, Purpose, Creativity and Faith, principles that have, over the years, only made us stronger as a family unit. We also follow the tradition of telling stories of those who came before us. It helps to remind us where we came from and who we are.
We also have at least one Muslim in the family and I lived I Puerto Rico and still enjoy the celebration of Tres Reyes…or Three Kings Day….when in practically every barrio on the Island, people open their doors and go from house to house in celebration of the season. Tres Reyes happens 12 days after Christmas and keeps the celebratory mood alive well into the New Year.
Yes, my family is a true microcosm of society. When you put together all of the cultures, colors, languages and lands that make up the fabric of our family unit, you can see how amazingly rich we are in understanding and respect for others. When we look at each other, all we see is family and that will always come first.
So, as I wish each and every one of you a Merry Christmas, Happy Hanukkah or Happy Kwanzaa, please know that it is from the bottom of my heart and understand that, should our paths cross at any time during the season, you should feel free to wish me any of the above or……Happy Holidays.
THAT'S HOW I FEEL……………………WHAT CAN I TELL YA'
Monday, October 19, 2009
What Year Is This?
I haven't been compelled to set figurative pen to paper for a while. I suppose if you don't have a weekly deadline, complacency has a tendency to rear it's ugly head and not much gets done. But, there was a news story recently, that, initially started my blood boiling. Then I realized how ridiculously backward the thinking was and calmed down, realizing that this was the kind of incident that can make a gypsy violin cry and then laugh.
Dateline:Tangipahoa's 8th ward in Louisiana where Justice of the Peace ( a misnomer if I've ever heard one) Keith Bardwell refused to perform a marriage ceremony for a couple because she was white and he was black. My first response was to once again to resurrect that great American Scooby Doo - “HUH?” Then I thought, “Hey, wait a minute. What year is this?” I just couldn't believe what I was reading.
The guy said that his reason was that he was concerned about their potential offspring and that he wanted no part in that kind of a future. Heaven forbid one of those poor partial pickaninnies should grow up and suffer the same fate as some....like becoming President of the United States.
He later stated that he would not apologize for something that he didn't feel he had done wrong, adding that he was not a racist, but....Anyone who starts a sentence with, “I am not a racist, but...” generally is. He supposedly proved his point by saying that he has married many black couples and they have even used his bathroom. I'm sure he fully expected them to clean it as well. “And, could you straighten up the family room and vacuum while you're at it?”
My wife is black – I am not. I suppose that puts us well within the definition of an “interracial couple,” although, I have always taught my children that there is only one race and that is the human race. That's what I have always written on any form or application that asks for “race.” I believe that the only thing “inter” about our marriage is that she is a woman and I am a man.
I don't believe my kids have suffered too much. Let me check. My oldest daughter is a doctor whose practice is thriving to the point that she's been told it may have to become a closed practice (no more patients accepted) within a year. My second oldest is the mother of two amazing children who is home schooling and doing exceedingly well. My 3rd oldest daughter (who has been a model since she was 18 months old) graduated from the University of North Texas in three years, with honors. She is now working on her Masters degree in psychology at SMU and will be finishing that program early as well. My youngest daughter is a freshman in high school where she has the distinction of being the first freshman in the school's history to be named first chair flute in the orchestra. She is also getting top grades in Honors and AP classes where she is doing college level work along side juniors and seniors. These poor kids....Oh, the humanity.
My hat is off to Governor Jindal of Louisiana, who is calling for Bardwell's ouster. The guy has absolutely no remorse and refuses to change his archaic attitudes. For him, nothing will change. I understand that he and his family are going out tonight and, by god, the plan to party like it's 1959.
THAT'S HOW I FEEL WHAT CAN I TELL YA'
Dateline:Tangipahoa's 8th ward in Louisiana where Justice of the Peace ( a misnomer if I've ever heard one) Keith Bardwell refused to perform a marriage ceremony for a couple because she was white and he was black. My first response was to once again to resurrect that great American Scooby Doo - “HUH?” Then I thought, “Hey, wait a minute. What year is this?” I just couldn't believe what I was reading.
The guy said that his reason was that he was concerned about their potential offspring and that he wanted no part in that kind of a future. Heaven forbid one of those poor partial pickaninnies should grow up and suffer the same fate as some....like becoming President of the United States.
He later stated that he would not apologize for something that he didn't feel he had done wrong, adding that he was not a racist, but....Anyone who starts a sentence with, “I am not a racist, but...” generally is. He supposedly proved his point by saying that he has married many black couples and they have even used his bathroom. I'm sure he fully expected them to clean it as well. “And, could you straighten up the family room and vacuum while you're at it?”
My wife is black – I am not. I suppose that puts us well within the definition of an “interracial couple,” although, I have always taught my children that there is only one race and that is the human race. That's what I have always written on any form or application that asks for “race.” I believe that the only thing “inter” about our marriage is that she is a woman and I am a man.
I don't believe my kids have suffered too much. Let me check. My oldest daughter is a doctor whose practice is thriving to the point that she's been told it may have to become a closed practice (no more patients accepted) within a year. My second oldest is the mother of two amazing children who is home schooling and doing exceedingly well. My 3rd oldest daughter (who has been a model since she was 18 months old) graduated from the University of North Texas in three years, with honors. She is now working on her Masters degree in psychology at SMU and will be finishing that program early as well. My youngest daughter is a freshman in high school where she has the distinction of being the first freshman in the school's history to be named first chair flute in the orchestra. She is also getting top grades in Honors and AP classes where she is doing college level work along side juniors and seniors. These poor kids....Oh, the humanity.
My hat is off to Governor Jindal of Louisiana, who is calling for Bardwell's ouster. The guy has absolutely no remorse and refuses to change his archaic attitudes. For him, nothing will change. I understand that he and his family are going out tonight and, by god, the plan to party like it's 1959.
THAT'S HOW I FEEL WHAT CAN I TELL YA'
Thursday, October 8, 2009
Driving Us Crazy
We may be sitting in a lovely townhouse on a golf course in Miami, but, my wife and I are also sitting on the horns of a dilemma and that can be quite uncomfortable. Actually, it is my wife’s issue, but, as in most good relationships, we share.
Here is her tale of woe. Enjoy.
We recently went to get our drivers licenses transferred from Texas to Florida and were informed, when we got through the ridiculously long line, that we would be going no further without an original copy of our birth certificates. Apparently, our standing there wasn’t proof enough of our existence, which, I suppose can be relatively understandable in some situations. I knew that I had mine in an envelope at home, which was only about 5 miles away. This was quite doable. I had but to go get it and come back. Not such an easy solution for my wife.
You see, her father was born in South Bend, Indiana and her mother was born and raised in Bryan, Texas. My wife was born while her mother was studying in Mexico City and brought back to the Lone Star state where she spent a few early years before the family moved to Gary, Indiana. I know what you’re thinking at this point, “So, what’s the issue?”
Well, my late mother-in-law was never a stickler for details, like, filing the birth so as to obtain a birth certificate. There is no record of my wife’s birth anywhere. I know she was born, if for no other reason than the fact that she gave birth to my 5th child and that I see her on a daily basis. That comes in especially handy when I get home from work and there is a sandwich waiting for my lunch. Hey, those things don’t just make themselves.
The fact that she can’t get a passport without a birth certificate and can do no traveling outside the country has been a minor issue, but nothing to really go to any extra trouble about. If we want to take a vacation, there are perfectly wonderful places to see all over this great land. Now, however, there is the more immediate problem of not being able to get a drivers license in the Sunshine State. Her mother didn’t help matters by naming her after the fine folks she was staying with, so when she tells people that her name is Marina Guadalupe and she was born in Mexico City to American parents, they are hard pressed to buy it.
She has, in the past few days, been in contact with the Mexican Consulate and the State Department and has received very little help. There is a thing called a “Certificate of Citizenship” that is tentative at best. It costs $480 and comes with the hope that she will even be able to obtain it. They also told her that an option would be to become a naturalized citizen. This is absolutely the only time I’ve ever heard of a U.S Citizen having to be naturalized to get a drivers license, but, I guess there is a first time for everything. We are still working on the logistics of getting this done, but, in the meantime she has to be extra careful behind the wheel. For most people the biggest worry about getting stopped for a moving violation would be getting a ticket. For her…it’s getting deported. Another classic case of bureaucracy at work....for you.
THAT’S HOW I FEEL WHAT CAN I TELL YA’
Here is her tale of woe. Enjoy.
We recently went to get our drivers licenses transferred from Texas to Florida and were informed, when we got through the ridiculously long line, that we would be going no further without an original copy of our birth certificates. Apparently, our standing there wasn’t proof enough of our existence, which, I suppose can be relatively understandable in some situations. I knew that I had mine in an envelope at home, which was only about 5 miles away. This was quite doable. I had but to go get it and come back. Not such an easy solution for my wife.
You see, her father was born in South Bend, Indiana and her mother was born and raised in Bryan, Texas. My wife was born while her mother was studying in Mexico City and brought back to the Lone Star state where she spent a few early years before the family moved to Gary, Indiana. I know what you’re thinking at this point, “So, what’s the issue?”
Well, my late mother-in-law was never a stickler for details, like, filing the birth so as to obtain a birth certificate. There is no record of my wife’s birth anywhere. I know she was born, if for no other reason than the fact that she gave birth to my 5th child and that I see her on a daily basis. That comes in especially handy when I get home from work and there is a sandwich waiting for my lunch. Hey, those things don’t just make themselves.
The fact that she can’t get a passport without a birth certificate and can do no traveling outside the country has been a minor issue, but nothing to really go to any extra trouble about. If we want to take a vacation, there are perfectly wonderful places to see all over this great land. Now, however, there is the more immediate problem of not being able to get a drivers license in the Sunshine State. Her mother didn’t help matters by naming her after the fine folks she was staying with, so when she tells people that her name is Marina Guadalupe and she was born in Mexico City to American parents, they are hard pressed to buy it.
She has, in the past few days, been in contact with the Mexican Consulate and the State Department and has received very little help. There is a thing called a “Certificate of Citizenship” that is tentative at best. It costs $480 and comes with the hope that she will even be able to obtain it. They also told her that an option would be to become a naturalized citizen. This is absolutely the only time I’ve ever heard of a U.S Citizen having to be naturalized to get a drivers license, but, I guess there is a first time for everything. We are still working on the logistics of getting this done, but, in the meantime she has to be extra careful behind the wheel. For most people the biggest worry about getting stopped for a moving violation would be getting a ticket. For her…it’s getting deported. Another classic case of bureaucracy at work....for you.
THAT’S HOW I FEEL WHAT CAN I TELL YA’
Thursday, September 10, 2009
EVERYONE HAS THEIR OWN
By
Bob Leonard
I have been wracking what little brain I have left from awakening at 2:45 daily to try and come up with something to write this blogmentary about. I have a few ideas, but, alas, nothing is really blowing me away.
I suppose now that I no longer work for an ultra conservative talk radio station (which, by the way, has some of the finest and most talented people in broadcasting working there), I could get political, but, do I dare go there for fear of alienating some people that I’ve truly grown to like and respect? Actually, sure, why the hell not. And yet, I would be merely echoing a mass opinion that isn’t shared by the fringe (I hesitate to invoke the term “lunatic”) who used to make up a fair portion of the audience that would hear my newscasts.
I could talk about the single worst broadcaster I’ve ever heard, Mark Levin. By the way, I believe the pronunciation of Luh-VIN would be French would it not? Over the years, I have run across a few other self loathers who shy away from the true pronunciation of LEH-vin, so, I suppose I can give him the benefit of that doubt, but that’s about all. He is only on the air because of the agreement that states if you take the Sean (I don’t know what the word context means) Hannity show, you must also take The Frenchman. LEH-vin has stolen a stale act from Bob Grant in the 1970’s and turned it into his own set of grossly unprofessional guttural sounds that pass for opinion. He knows how to do nothing but call people names and divide the country. As a Jew, I am embarrased. As a broadcaster, I'm mortified, but, I digress. I hesitate to go there, because, my blood pressure is now back to a tolerable level.
I could write about my feelings as regards the asinine actions of people who refused to let their children hear the President of the United States, our Commander-in-Chief, speak about the importance of taking responsibility for ones own education, for fear it would corrupt the very same children that they are indoctrinating with their own pure hatred. But, of course, the wise sages of Arlington ,Texas have it figured out. They are going to fill up some busses with students and take them to hear George W. Bush speak. Has nobody told them that he is no longer the President? Is the thought of a black man in that position so abhorrent to them that they resort to such blatant nonsense?
I could opine about how, after 20 years, I am happy to have left Texas. Dallas was a wonderful place to raise my kids and Austin is one of the best cities in the country, but the way that state has been headed, I would tend to find myself in complete agreement with Gov.Rick Perry for the first time ever. Go ahead and secede. Please.
I could write about the trip from Texas to Florida and some of the wonderful Kerouac like experiences while on the road, like the fellow Vietnam Vet that I met about 130 miles south of Orlando while I was sharing a Subway sandwich with my dog Porky. After comparing a few notes, we discovered that he was guarding the gate I was going through to get downtown. We hugged and shared a few stories and parted better off for the chance encounter.
I suppose I could give my impressions of Miami, which, with no more than a couple of weeks under my belt, I know I love. The people, the food, the music, the attitudes, the energy. It’s everything I could have imagined. And, the town in which I live has two
distinctions that I would never find in Texas. It is the most diverse city in all of Florida and it is the second safest in the state (Boca Raton being first but, how much damage can all those old Jewish ladies do, honestly?)
I could write about how my 14 year old daughter, who was dragged kicking and screaming from Texas, has, within a couple of weeks, made a slew of friends and is thriving in school. She too now loves it here.
Well, I’ve decided against writing about any of that stuff. Like I said, I made some very good friends who may now disown me because I’ve gotten a smidge vocal. Well, if they are true friend, and they know who they are, it won’t matter. Opposing opinions are the stuff of good, stimulating debate and not deal breakers and dividers. I think we’ve kinda forgotten that.
THAT’S HOW I FEEL……WHAT CAN I TELL YA’
By
Bob Leonard
I have been wracking what little brain I have left from awakening at 2:45 daily to try and come up with something to write this blogmentary about. I have a few ideas, but, alas, nothing is really blowing me away.
I suppose now that I no longer work for an ultra conservative talk radio station (which, by the way, has some of the finest and most talented people in broadcasting working there), I could get political, but, do I dare go there for fear of alienating some people that I’ve truly grown to like and respect? Actually, sure, why the hell not. And yet, I would be merely echoing a mass opinion that isn’t shared by the fringe (I hesitate to invoke the term “lunatic”) who used to make up a fair portion of the audience that would hear my newscasts.
I could talk about the single worst broadcaster I’ve ever heard, Mark Levin. By the way, I believe the pronunciation of Luh-VIN would be French would it not? Over the years, I have run across a few other self loathers who shy away from the true pronunciation of LEH-vin, so, I suppose I can give him the benefit of that doubt, but that’s about all. He is only on the air because of the agreement that states if you take the Sean (I don’t know what the word context means) Hannity show, you must also take The Frenchman. LEH-vin has stolen a stale act from Bob Grant in the 1970’s and turned it into his own set of grossly unprofessional guttural sounds that pass for opinion. He knows how to do nothing but call people names and divide the country. As a Jew, I am embarrased. As a broadcaster, I'm mortified, but, I digress. I hesitate to go there, because, my blood pressure is now back to a tolerable level.
I could write about my feelings as regards the asinine actions of people who refused to let their children hear the President of the United States, our Commander-in-Chief, speak about the importance of taking responsibility for ones own education, for fear it would corrupt the very same children that they are indoctrinating with their own pure hatred. But, of course, the wise sages of Arlington ,Texas have it figured out. They are going to fill up some busses with students and take them to hear George W. Bush speak. Has nobody told them that he is no longer the President? Is the thought of a black man in that position so abhorrent to them that they resort to such blatant nonsense?
I could opine about how, after 20 years, I am happy to have left Texas. Dallas was a wonderful place to raise my kids and Austin is one of the best cities in the country, but the way that state has been headed, I would tend to find myself in complete agreement with Gov.Rick Perry for the first time ever. Go ahead and secede. Please.
I could write about the trip from Texas to Florida and some of the wonderful Kerouac like experiences while on the road, like the fellow Vietnam Vet that I met about 130 miles south of Orlando while I was sharing a Subway sandwich with my dog Porky. After comparing a few notes, we discovered that he was guarding the gate I was going through to get downtown. We hugged and shared a few stories and parted better off for the chance encounter.
I suppose I could give my impressions of Miami, which, with no more than a couple of weeks under my belt, I know I love. The people, the food, the music, the attitudes, the energy. It’s everything I could have imagined. And, the town in which I live has two
distinctions that I would never find in Texas. It is the most diverse city in all of Florida and it is the second safest in the state (Boca Raton being first but, how much damage can all those old Jewish ladies do, honestly?)
I could write about how my 14 year old daughter, who was dragged kicking and screaming from Texas, has, within a couple of weeks, made a slew of friends and is thriving in school. She too now loves it here.
Well, I’ve decided against writing about any of that stuff. Like I said, I made some very good friends who may now disown me because I’ve gotten a smidge vocal. Well, if they are true friend, and they know who they are, it won’t matter. Opposing opinions are the stuff of good, stimulating debate and not deal breakers and dividers. I think we’ve kinda forgotten that.
THAT’S HOW I FEEL……WHAT CAN I TELL YA’
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
