Around my house, there were some tense moments when the International House of Pancakes, IHOP to most of the planet, decided to change its name. This was where I learned, as a child, to love Pigs in a Blanket. Though I have never been a huge fan of breakfast food in general, this cartoonish fare was well suited for kid with a rather visceral imagination. When the announcement came down on Al Gore's Internet last week that there was to be a change in the way we would refer to the establishment that made it okay to sample a dozen different flavors of syrup on two pancakes, my wife and I began to conjecture. Her first guess was International House of Brunch.
I felt this was a savvy move, appealing to the millennials who enjoy their egg white omelettes and their skillet fried potatoes. I went with the much less inspired International House of Breakfast. This would be playing it safe, and would require little if any change in menu or branding. What I didn't say at the time was "International House of Bunnies."
Many years ago, on a Spring Break trip down to southern California, we stopped in San Luis Obispo for breakfast on Easter Sunday. It was a stroke of luck that we happened to spot the sign as we got of the exit: IHOP. What better place to land on Easter? My son was still young enough to believe that this was the sort of magic that happened on the day that a giant rabbit deposited colored eggs and chocolate treats in barely discrete hiding places.
As luck and time would have it, my son ended up attending college just up the street from that restaurant, and eventually got himself a job at the Best Buy across the parking lot from that IHOP. A year ago we all sat down and had breakfast together on Easter before he had to rush off to sell televisions. Some of the magic was gone, but it was a point of reference.
Now they've gone and changed the sign. And the focus. They have traded their pancakes for burgers. The International House of Pancakes has always served a wider menu, but their focus has shifted to the lunch crowd. I am sure it has to do with finding a way to drag more people in the doors rather than waiting for the breakfast crowd to hang around long enough to try page three and four of the laminated picture book from which orders can be made.
Trouble is, IHOB isn't fun. IHOP was fun. It could be conjugated: Ihop, wehop, theyhop, youhop. Just exactly how does one Hob? I wish them good luck, and I can imagine scenarios in which I find myself wandering in to sample their signature burger. Or maybe I'll see if they can't rustle me up just one more order of pigs in a blanket.
Thursday, June 14, 2018
Wednesday, June 13, 2018
God Knows
Listen up, pollutants! God doesn't want you wrecking the planet anymore. For those of you who are not on God's mailing list, or don't get the monthly newsletter from his Holiness, the Pope, here's what He wanted us to know: “There is no time to lose,” the pontiff told them. “This is a challenge of epochal proportions. Civilization requires energy, but energy use must not destroy civilization.” So, when all is said and done, Pope-wise, the Pontiff is still a fan of civilization, but would like us all to be more responsible about how we fuel it.
“With each month that passes, the challenge of energy transition becomes more pressing,” Francis warned, “Serious efforts be made to transition to a greater use of energy sources that are highly efficient while producing low levels of pollution.” Which is to say that all that beautiful clean coal that our "President" likes to babble about is not the alternative.
Pope Francis issued his warnings in at an energy summit named “Energy Transition and Care for Our Common Home." The home of the title is the big blue marble upon which so much of our history has taken place. If you read the Bible, you know that it took seven days to create the Heavens and the Earth, and it took us two thousand years to mess it up. He called on those present to be the “core of a group of leaders who envision the global energy transition in a way that will take into account all the peoples of the earth, as well as future generations and all species and ecosystems.”
And while the Pope was talking to executives who attended the meeting such as BlackRock Inc. chief executive Laurence Fink, Exxon Mobil Corp. chief executive Darren Woods and British Petroleum CEO Bob Dudley, our "President" was walking out on a G7 session focused on climate change and the environment. The "President" is fond of saying that global warming is a hoax invented by the Chinese. Which kind of makes that seven days for the creation of the Heavens and Earth story seem quite reasonable.
Come to think of it, most of what Pope Francis has to say these days sounds a lot more reasonable than what issues forth from 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue.
“With each month that passes, the challenge of energy transition becomes more pressing,” Francis warned, “Serious efforts be made to transition to a greater use of energy sources that are highly efficient while producing low levels of pollution.” Which is to say that all that beautiful clean coal that our "President" likes to babble about is not the alternative.
Pope Francis issued his warnings in at an energy summit named “Energy Transition and Care for Our Common Home." The home of the title is the big blue marble upon which so much of our history has taken place. If you read the Bible, you know that it took seven days to create the Heavens and the Earth, and it took us two thousand years to mess it up. He called on those present to be the “core of a group of leaders who envision the global energy transition in a way that will take into account all the peoples of the earth, as well as future generations and all species and ecosystems.”
And while the Pope was talking to executives who attended the meeting such as BlackRock Inc. chief executive Laurence Fink, Exxon Mobil Corp. chief executive Darren Woods and British Petroleum CEO Bob Dudley, our "President" was walking out on a G7 session focused on climate change and the environment. The "President" is fond of saying that global warming is a hoax invented by the Chinese. Which kind of makes that seven days for the creation of the Heavens and Earth story seem quite reasonable.
Come to think of it, most of what Pope Francis has to say these days sounds a lot more reasonable than what issues forth from 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue.
Tuesday, June 12, 2018
Hangin' On The Telephone
I remember, when I was a teenager, how important the telephone was. I can remember how important that long cord to the handset was. The one in the kitchen allowed us to take calls in the garage, for that extra measure of privacy. The one in the basement offered us the ability to flop around in various positions, as long as those positions did not take us more than four feet from the wall mounted phone. The idea of being able to traipse about the room, the entire house, even into the back yard was unthinkable at the time. I spent hours, when no one else was in the house, on the phone. With two brothers and concerned parents, one could never be sure that the extension could be picked up and all that privacy could go out the window in an instant. I knew this because my older brother showed me how to unscrew the mouthpiece while holding down the button inside the cradle so no ambient noise would spill into the transmitter when the switch was opened. Spy stuff.
But oh, how those teenage phone calls could linger on into the wee hours. There were those friends of mine who were fortunate enough to have a telephone in their room. This extravagance allowed them the ability to chat way past bedtime, even on a school night. Me? I was huddled in that corner of the basement, attempting to find the most relaxed posture possible while holding a chunk of plastic to the side of my head.
If I was expecting a call, there was a race to the nearest extension, and while covering the mouthpiece with one hand, the cry would go out from wherever the answering party was in our house, "I GOT IT!" There were plenty of times that my alacrity was rewarded with a call from a solicitor or some family friend who wanted to speak with someone other than me. In this case, a second cry would go out, "IT'S FOR YOU, MOM!" At which point the tension would double as I worried that whoever might be trying to reach me was on the receiving end of a busy signal. Voice mail in those days was someone else offering to take a message, and then forgetting to write it down. "Oh, Mom: Aunt Dorothy called yesterday. Something about the family picnic."
Meanwhile, when that connection was finally made, the most innocuous conversations were held between these proto-adults. Who did what to whom when and how was the customary starting point, with the standard reflection on what the eventual outcome of those events that would take up most of the discussion energy. And what would this mean to me? How would this affect my life?
For the most part, these conversations did little if anything to alter my life's course. However, once I had meandered on into my late twenties, and lived in a one bedroom apartment in which I had two phones, I took a call from the woman who would become my wife. I wondered if maybe I might find my way out to California to settle down with her. After some mildly tense negotiations, I arrived at my answer: "Why not?" When I finished that call and placed the handset back on the cradle, I did the happy dance. Neatly avoiding the cord.
But oh, how those teenage phone calls could linger on into the wee hours. There were those friends of mine who were fortunate enough to have a telephone in their room. This extravagance allowed them the ability to chat way past bedtime, even on a school night. Me? I was huddled in that corner of the basement, attempting to find the most relaxed posture possible while holding a chunk of plastic to the side of my head.
If I was expecting a call, there was a race to the nearest extension, and while covering the mouthpiece with one hand, the cry would go out from wherever the answering party was in our house, "I GOT IT!" There were plenty of times that my alacrity was rewarded with a call from a solicitor or some family friend who wanted to speak with someone other than me. In this case, a second cry would go out, "IT'S FOR YOU, MOM!" At which point the tension would double as I worried that whoever might be trying to reach me was on the receiving end of a busy signal. Voice mail in those days was someone else offering to take a message, and then forgetting to write it down. "Oh, Mom: Aunt Dorothy called yesterday. Something about the family picnic."
Meanwhile, when that connection was finally made, the most innocuous conversations were held between these proto-adults. Who did what to whom when and how was the customary starting point, with the standard reflection on what the eventual outcome of those events that would take up most of the discussion energy. And what would this mean to me? How would this affect my life?
For the most part, these conversations did little if anything to alter my life's course. However, once I had meandered on into my late twenties, and lived in a one bedroom apartment in which I had two phones, I took a call from the woman who would become my wife. I wondered if maybe I might find my way out to California to settle down with her. After some mildly tense negotiations, I arrived at my answer: "Why not?" When I finished that call and placed the handset back on the cradle, I did the happy dance. Neatly avoiding the cord.
Monday, June 11, 2018
I Am A Rock
The night before I reported to may last day of the 2017-2018 school year, I lay awake. That was not a surprise since I have spent many nights awake, wondering what the morrow might bring. Usually it is before the first day of school, not the last. I tend to fret about beginnings, but endings can be just as stressful.
Because of change. After twenty-one years, I can walk down a hall and attempt to generate a list in my head of all the teachers who have occupied this classroom or that. The names don't come as easily now as they once did. Many of them come from associations with another. Groups or grade levels are easier to assemble than individuals. More slots are opening for the Fall, and I will be that steady presence one more time. I know where the bodies are buried.
Not really. But I do know where the cases of paper clips that were ordered in excess ten years ago sit in a darkened closet under the stairs. I know that the upstairs rooms heat up more quickly in the afternoons. I have a history that can be traced back to the days when ours was a year-round school. But if anyone really wants to know what is going on, I send them to our cafeteria supervisor, who has an additional decade on me.
And somewhere in the middle of the night this image came to me: A rock in the middle of a fast moving stream. Students, staff and parents tumble past and I sit there, altering their flow just by my presence. Many times I have looked up and wondered if it wasn't time to pick myself up and wander downstream to see what is happening there.
But I don't need to seek out change. Change comes to those who sit and wait. It's relativity. A few years back, I was anxiously awaiting Christmas break, and mentioned this to our cafeteria supervisor. Her wisdom was easy to grasp: "You'll wake up and it will be January." And so it goes with this summer. I will wake up and it will be August. There will be ice breakers and introductions and new students and staff. I will wonder once again just what it is that keeps me stuck in this spot. The answer is easy enough: The view from here is the same as if I were doing all the moving. Elementary school is Brownian Motion, but there is order in the chaos. Order I can see just by holding still.
Because of change. After twenty-one years, I can walk down a hall and attempt to generate a list in my head of all the teachers who have occupied this classroom or that. The names don't come as easily now as they once did. Many of them come from associations with another. Groups or grade levels are easier to assemble than individuals. More slots are opening for the Fall, and I will be that steady presence one more time. I know where the bodies are buried.
Not really. But I do know where the cases of paper clips that were ordered in excess ten years ago sit in a darkened closet under the stairs. I know that the upstairs rooms heat up more quickly in the afternoons. I have a history that can be traced back to the days when ours was a year-round school. But if anyone really wants to know what is going on, I send them to our cafeteria supervisor, who has an additional decade on me.
And somewhere in the middle of the night this image came to me: A rock in the middle of a fast moving stream. Students, staff and parents tumble past and I sit there, altering their flow just by my presence. Many times I have looked up and wondered if it wasn't time to pick myself up and wander downstream to see what is happening there.
But I don't need to seek out change. Change comes to those who sit and wait. It's relativity. A few years back, I was anxiously awaiting Christmas break, and mentioned this to our cafeteria supervisor. Her wisdom was easy to grasp: "You'll wake up and it will be January." And so it goes with this summer. I will wake up and it will be August. There will be ice breakers and introductions and new students and staff. I will wonder once again just what it is that keeps me stuck in this spot. The answer is easy enough: The view from here is the same as if I were doing all the moving. Elementary school is Brownian Motion, but there is order in the chaos. Order I can see just by holding still.
Sunday, June 10, 2018
American Made
So, just how is that "get tough on immigration" plan going down Mexico way? The number of illegal crossings increased slightly in May, to nearly fifty-two thousand, according to figures released Wednesday by the Customs and Border Protection agency. That total includes eleven thousand five hundred sixty-eight people who came through legal ports of entry, some of whom were asking for asylum or other humanitarian protections under U.S. law. “These numbers show that while the Trump administration is restoring the rule of law, it will take a sustained effort and continuous commitment of resources over many months to disrupt cartels, smugglers, and nefarious actors,” wrote Tyler Houlton, press secretary for the Department of Homeland Security. Tyler was also quick to point out that border arrests had increased one hundred sixty percent over May of last year. Good news?
Well, when you consider that this is an administration that has implemented a zero-tolerance policy on illegal immigration, as well as enlisting the help of the National Guard to combat such nefarious activity, there doesn't seem to be much that stems the tide rolling. Another thing to consider is that those numbers remain low by historical standards. Border Patrol arrests stand at roughly two hundred fifty-two thousand so far for the fiscal year, which began in October. That would put them on track to exceed last year’s exceptionally low number of three hundred four thousand arrests, but the predicted yearly total would still represent only a quarter of the one point six million arrests recorded in 2000. So, while there seems to be little to turn back the tide, that tide doesn't seem to be as horrible a problem as this administration would have us believe.
Build a wall. Keep those murderers and rapists out of the country. Meanwhile, the walls in schools across the country could use a coat of paint and the murderers and rapists we have to deal with inside our own border are plenty to keep us busy, thank you very much. Maybe it's time to start looking at the real sources of those things that keep America from being Great. They should be pretty easy to find. They're right here.
Well, when you consider that this is an administration that has implemented a zero-tolerance policy on illegal immigration, as well as enlisting the help of the National Guard to combat such nefarious activity, there doesn't seem to be much that stems the tide rolling. Another thing to consider is that those numbers remain low by historical standards. Border Patrol arrests stand at roughly two hundred fifty-two thousand so far for the fiscal year, which began in October. That would put them on track to exceed last year’s exceptionally low number of three hundred four thousand arrests, but the predicted yearly total would still represent only a quarter of the one point six million arrests recorded in 2000. So, while there seems to be little to turn back the tide, that tide doesn't seem to be as horrible a problem as this administration would have us believe.
Build a wall. Keep those murderers and rapists out of the country. Meanwhile, the walls in schools across the country could use a coat of paint and the murderers and rapists we have to deal with inside our own border are plenty to keep us busy, thank you very much. Maybe it's time to start looking at the real sources of those things that keep America from being Great. They should be pretty easy to find. They're right here.
Saturday, June 09, 2018
Missing
Somebody will ask: Will you miss any of them? And the truth is this: Not at first. When the fifth graders head out the door into a world filled with middle school and all the challenges that stand in front of them, I will breathe a sigh of relief. I hope that each and every one of them finds the education they need and deserve. I hope that they will remember the lessons that they learned here in elementary school: Be Safe. Be Responsible. Be Respectful. I hope they will continue to learn the lessons that we may have missed, or shortchanged. I hope they look back on their old school with humor and patience, like we tried to greet them all those years ago. But mostly that relief. It will only be a couple months before the new crop streams in and the adventure continues, much like it has for all these years before.
And I will miss Leon.
Leon was part of my after school group, Upward Roots. Made up of fourth and fifth graders, we met on Tuesdays after school to come up with a community service project over the course of ten weeks and turn it into action by working as a team. I knew Leon from the year before, when he came to our school as a fourth grader. Like many new students, his initial contacts were with adults, and he formed a quick bond with me, helping out on the playground, with a free-floating course of chatter that never kept him from finding that missing ball or fellow student in trouble.
By the time he became a fifth grader, he had installed himself as an integral part of the kitchen staff. Leon was there after lunch to help break down boxes and get them into the recycling dumpster. He never missed a day of helping out in the mornings with our breakfast in the classroom program. Without a grumble. Without a moan. He saw a need and he jumped in to fill it. Other kids came and went, their interests and patience tried by the repetitive nature of the work, but that didn't stop Leon. Those empty milk cartons weren't going to jump into the trash by themselves.
We didn't talk about it much, but I knew that Leon and his family sometimes struggled to make ends meet. That made it even more profound for me to hear him speak in Upward Roots about his wish to help the homeless. Sure, sometimes he talked about wanting a Nintendo Switch, or his phone, like all kids his age. But he also talked about the change he wanted to see in his world. Leon wanted the rest of the planet to be as hard-working and caring as he was.
I learned a lot from Leon. And I will miss him. I hope there will be more like him next year.
And I will miss Leon.
Leon was part of my after school group, Upward Roots. Made up of fourth and fifth graders, we met on Tuesdays after school to come up with a community service project over the course of ten weeks and turn it into action by working as a team. I knew Leon from the year before, when he came to our school as a fourth grader. Like many new students, his initial contacts were with adults, and he formed a quick bond with me, helping out on the playground, with a free-floating course of chatter that never kept him from finding that missing ball or fellow student in trouble.
By the time he became a fifth grader, he had installed himself as an integral part of the kitchen staff. Leon was there after lunch to help break down boxes and get them into the recycling dumpster. He never missed a day of helping out in the mornings with our breakfast in the classroom program. Without a grumble. Without a moan. He saw a need and he jumped in to fill it. Other kids came and went, their interests and patience tried by the repetitive nature of the work, but that didn't stop Leon. Those empty milk cartons weren't going to jump into the trash by themselves.
We didn't talk about it much, but I knew that Leon and his family sometimes struggled to make ends meet. That made it even more profound for me to hear him speak in Upward Roots about his wish to help the homeless. Sure, sometimes he talked about wanting a Nintendo Switch, or his phone, like all kids his age. But he also talked about the change he wanted to see in his world. Leon wanted the rest of the planet to be as hard-working and caring as he was.
I learned a lot from Leon. And I will miss him. I hope there will be more like him next year.
Friday, June 08, 2018
All That Winning
The reason our "President" invited Martin Truex Jr. to the White House has something to do with all the winning he did as NASCAR Cup Champion in 2017. If Martin's name doesn't immediately ring a bell, it could be that you are not part of the NASCAR fanbase. They are the ones who stand for the National Anthem, as do the drivers and pit crews. For this, they got to drive on the White House Lawn, and grab some selfies with the "good friend" of Bob France, the head of NASCAR. So much winning.
That was a few weeks ago. Earlier this week, America's biggest NASCAR fan rescinded his invitation to the Super Bowl Champion Philadelphia Eagles. This came after the team suggested that a "smaller delegation" might make the trip. The equipment manager. Charlene from accounting. And that kid who picks up the coffee in the morning. It became clear that most of the Eagles, so named because of their fondness for seventies rock, had more pressing matters to which they needed to attend. Wide receiver Torrey Smith had this to say: ”For me, it’s not just about politics. If I told you that I was invited to a party by an individual I believe is sexist or has no respect for women or I told you that this individual has said offensive things towards many minority groups.… this individual also called my peers and my friends SOBs, you would understand why I wouldn’t want to go to that party. Why is it any different when the person has title of President of the United States?”
And some of them had to attend that thing, you know, that was happening on the same day.
The players were not interested in participating in the kind of winning that takes place at this version of the White House. The really, really White House. And the "President," who was obviously still chapped by the owners unwillingness to fire the players who chose to continue their protest of the treatment of the aforementioned minority groups, decided to take back the invitation to give the appearance that he was somehow in control. This is the kind of winning with which he is familiar. It's not about inclusion. It's about exclusion. It's about walls. It's about firing. This is how he believes he will make America great again.
Meanwhile, in sports, the NBA finals continue with the Cavaliers and the Warriors vying for a chance to have their invitation to the White House rescinded.
Soc much winning.
That was a few weeks ago. Earlier this week, America's biggest NASCAR fan rescinded his invitation to the Super Bowl Champion Philadelphia Eagles. This came after the team suggested that a "smaller delegation" might make the trip. The equipment manager. Charlene from accounting. And that kid who picks up the coffee in the morning. It became clear that most of the Eagles, so named because of their fondness for seventies rock, had more pressing matters to which they needed to attend. Wide receiver Torrey Smith had this to say: ”For me, it’s not just about politics. If I told you that I was invited to a party by an individual I believe is sexist or has no respect for women or I told you that this individual has said offensive things towards many minority groups.… this individual also called my peers and my friends SOBs, you would understand why I wouldn’t want to go to that party. Why is it any different when the person has title of President of the United States?”
And some of them had to attend that thing, you know, that was happening on the same day.
The players were not interested in participating in the kind of winning that takes place at this version of the White House. The really, really White House. And the "President," who was obviously still chapped by the owners unwillingness to fire the players who chose to continue their protest of the treatment of the aforementioned minority groups, decided to take back the invitation to give the appearance that he was somehow in control. This is the kind of winning with which he is familiar. It's not about inclusion. It's about exclusion. It's about walls. It's about firing. This is how he believes he will make America great again.
Meanwhile, in sports, the NBA finals continue with the Cavaliers and the Warriors vying for a chance to have their invitation to the White House rescinded.
Soc much winning.
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