Everything Old is New Again

Note: Last weekend, my mom told me a great story about something that happened when she was growing up. She has a lot of good stories, so I asked her to write something for my site. I just got her email, but instead of that story, she wrote about a vaction that I wrote about last year. But my version was basically just a few hazy memories of I trip we went on when I was seven. Not to mention that it was back-dated, so most of you probably never read it anyway (not that I do that...much). Anyway, here it is from her perspective. Enjoy.

The Griswalds aren't the only ones that have adventures. That's what the Hammels have, not so much as vacations as adventures.

Picture this: Weymouth, Massachusetts, 1986. Two families decide to share a vacation. The Hammel family: John age 7 and Ryan age 3, in training, and parents. The Busa family: Andrea age 18, Kristin age 16, Jon and Joel 14 year old twins and parents. We decided to take this trip because my sister-in-law Betty had inherited her father's Winnebago and thought this would be a fun and economical vacation for both our families.

The first step was cleaning the thing that hadn't been used in years. That was fun in a bucket right there! It was agreed upon that we would travel in two vehicles, the RV and our station wagon - which normally seats six. There was the section in the back where the third seat should have gone but we never got it, so it was basically just a rug and a well. For the ride down we would split up, with my brother and I doing the driving. Everyone tested driving the RV and all but Jay was quickly ruled out. Just because I took the corner on two wheels is no reason to panic! That was the only time I have ever heard Betty say "Holy shit!" as she was thrown from right side to left.

The sleeping arrangements were all worked out in advance. The twins and John would sleep in the pup tent. My husband and I would sleep in the loft above the front seats. Betty and Jay were on the converted table bed. Kristin and Ryan would sleep in the upper bunk over the table and Andrea would sleep in the improvised hammock slung across the front seats.

We were all so excited! We had maps from AAA, supplies, and destinations for camping and sight-seeing all picked out. We decided it would be too gross to use the bathroom while traveling, so the shower stall became the storage bin for all of our luggage. So, off we went with the RV in the lead. We got as far as Rhode Island when they had to stop for gas - not a good sign since we had only been on the road for 45 minutes.

Since we were transporting propane there are certain tunnels and bridges that we couldn't use, so we had to make some detours in addition to the ones we had to take for construction. We borrowed two CB radios so we could communicate with each other (these were the pre-cell-phone days). Just as we were approaching DC, I noticed smoke coming from the back of the RV and radioed my brother to pull over. We parked our little caravan on the side of the road. Did I forget to mention it was July, one of the hottest, driest Julys with temperatures of 110ª of oppressive heat? Nine of us sat on the steaming roadside while my brother tried to fix the RV. We noticed a really fowl smell, like rotting fish. Oh wait, it was rotting fish, a whole bag of it that someone had tossed on the side of the road! What are the odds we would pick that exact spot to pull over?

After 40 minutes the problem was fixed, off we went again; but now we were behind schedule for our arrival at the predetermined campground. We had planned on seeing the Washington Zoo, but skipped that for the memorials. Do you have any idea how hard it is to find two parking spaces near each other for a station wagon and Camper? Round and round we went. Here comes the giant head & hand of the Awakening again (pretty frightening the first time around).



Hey look, there's the White House. Finally, we both parked and strolled around the Viet Nam Memorial, Lincoln Memorial and Washington Monument. No time for anything else; back in the cars and off we went.

Now, according to the listing for the campground in the AAA book, we took the appropriate exit over Commodore Perry Bridge. We got to the other side but couldn't find the road. Back over the bride we went and then back again. A very odd thing occurred with each crossing. This was a toll bridge, but it's price kept changing for the RV every time we crossed. It seems we were supposed to exit using a sharp right down an entrance ramp because of construction. Talk about scary! Once we finally got that right we proceeded along, following the signs for the campground (this was in Pennsylvania, by the way). With nothing but cornfields in sight, we pulled into a combination Gas Station/Convenience Store/Real Estate Office and asked for directions.

We were a little concerned when upon entering, everyone was speaking Spanish in the middle of Pennsylvania. Go figure. Anyway, we asked about the campground and the man behind the counter said, "See that guy at the gas pump? He used to run the campground but went bankrupt about 5 years ago."

"You might want to think about taking those signs down," I said. We were directed to an alternate site and were under way once again. It has now been 15 loooong hours since we left home. We were tired, cranky, and smelly. The campsite is atop Mount Olympus; I swear we could have touched a cloud, and it was getting cold. We opened the shower to retrieve the luggage only to discover that even though we didn't put any water in it, there must have been enough left in the pipes to slowly seep out. I had the old-fashioned Samsonite hard-sided luggage and my brother's family had the newer soft sided luggage. While my stuff stayed nice and dry, theirs had absorbed 15 hours of leaking water. Betty spent the next 2 hours drying her laundry.

I went down to the little camp store with my boys. Ryan, as I mentioned, was in training but was wearing a diaper for the long trip. While in the store I lost sight of him and panicked - only to hear, "get away fa-from me." Of course I knew he just needed his privacy as he "did his duty," but the man in the aisle really freaked out and said "I didn't touch him!"

Back to the camper for a quick bite, no one felt like cooking. We then went to bed for some much need rest. I climbed up to my little nest. I was on the inside with my husband on his side next to me. I discovered that if I laid on my back and put my elbow beside me I could touch the ceiling with my finger tips.

"This must be what it is like to be buried alive," I thought to myself. Of course, now that is all I could think of.

I can't breathe. There is no air. I'm going to die! Calm down, you're not dying. Breathe! Look, there is a little vent in the side; I can get some air.

So I spent the rest of the night with my nose stuck against the little vent. When everyone got up in the morning and related how they slept, I said I hadn't slept all night and I felt claustrophobic. "I'm not claustrophobic," says Betty, "Jay and I will swap with you and John."

"Deal", I said. Day 2 begins.

Back on the road heading for Virginia, we have reservations at a campground near Busch Gardens, which is our final destination. More detours and bad directions delayed us further and now my husband needed to use the restroom. My husband isn't one to use public facilities; so if he was willing, you know it was an emergency. He hadn't been gone more than 30 seconds when he returns and said, "don't go in there, and if I pass out don't give me mouth to mouth because I think the shit is backing up into my mouth, but there is no way I'm using that toilet."

Twenty minutes later, we arrived at the campsite, which just happened to back up to the facilities building. My husband was out of the car almost before it stopped. The building consisted of four separate rooms: Women's showers and toilets and the same for the men. John saw the Women's showers on the left and figured the Men's side was on the right. I was seated at the picnic table on our sight when my two nieces came out of the Ladies Room giggling.

"I think Uncle John is in the Ladies Room", Andrea said.

"Don't say anything." I said.

My husband has a bad temper and doesn't like to be laughed at, so we all just sat there and pretended that we didn't know when he came out.

"Was that the two of you?" he said. Fortunately he took the stall all the way down the end of the building but thought the guys that came in walked a little funny. He laughed. Whew! We all climbed into our little beds. The table/bed needed a Kleenex box over the protruding brace to keep it from impaling you. I am very nearsighted and can only see about 4 feet away without my glasses; so when I heard a commotion about 20 minutes after settling down, I really couldn't see what was happening. What I did see was Betty pushing my brother out of the loft and landing in his arms before running out of the door. Seems I'm not the only one that felt buried alive. End of day 2.

We still hadn't used that stove we cleaned and got propane for. Too hot to cook, too hot to breathe, sleep, walk or anything else that required any type of movement. We decided to just use the car for the short trip to Busch Gardens. So in we piled. Three people in the front seat, five people in the back seat and the twins in the way back. Ten people in a six passenger car makes things a little crowded and very hot!

At last, "Wally World"...I mean Busch Gardens. Hurray! We arrange to meet for lunch in Germany. It was a great big hall with endless tables on one side and food lines on the other with a dance floor and stage in the middle. My son John is a picky eater and he wanted Pizza, so I had my husband get the pizza and drinks while I got everything else.

Every good mother carries extra clothing for her children and of course there were the diapers and everything that goes with them. My husband carried the bag and stood in the pizza line. I took the boys with me. Every woman knows that you always take your shoulder bag off before bending or it will fall off your shoulder. Seems men don't have this knowledge, so when my husband bent over to place the tray of drinks and pizza, off slipped the bag.

SMACK! Over went all the drinks right onto the pizza. Not wanting to upset him anymore, I calmly picked up my napkin and started blotting the pizza and passed it to John. Everyone at the table held their breath waiting for the explosion.

"I can't eat this," sobs John.

"You wanted it now EAT IT!" growls the father.

So naturally, I had to go get someone to mop the floor and get more drinks and pizza. After that we had a good time. Andrea and the boys were off playing skill games - and doesn't one of them win the biggest bear I have ever seen. We had to tie it to the roof since we were already full to capacity. Still too hot to cook, we opt for a local restaurant. Salad bars were still fairly new back then, so when I encountered some meat I didn't recognize I asked the waitress.

"What's this?"

"Taacko beef," she replied. I didn't know what Taacko was, but it didn't sound like something I wanted to try at that point. My husband came back with some.

"What is that?"

"Its Taco Beef," he says. Oh, is that what she said? We went back to the camp for the End of Day 3.

One more day at Busch Gardens, and then back to camp. On day 5, we thought we would try Water Country. We had to wait for my nieces to get ready; and since we were going to the water park, we all had our suits on under our clothes - or so we thought. First, we stopped at the local McDonald's for breakfast. My husband looks at the menu and orders a large orange juice.

"What did you say?" asks the girl behind the counter.

"A large orange juice," replies my husband.

"We don't carry that."

"You don't carry orange juice?"

"Orange juice, sure. We don't have the other thing you said."

Laaage?

"How about small? Do you have that?"

"Sure."

"I thought I was speaking English," he says as we sit down to eat. After we eat we are ready to go to the park. But wait, Kristin doesn't have her suit on, so we have to go back to the campsite. As we are driving back on the two lane road, Ryan, who is sitting in my husbands lap, says, "I have a string in my throat."

"Go like this," my husband says, making a throat-clearing noise. Up comes breakfast and my husband catches it in his hand before it goes down my neck.

"Pull over!" everyone is yelling at me, but I can't because there is no shoulder on this road. Finally, I find a spot to pull off the road everyone jumps out except for the twins, who are trapped in the back. I think I had their hand prints on the inside of the window for months. We return to camp and clean out the car. While washing off his hands under the faucet, John is stung by a bee. This somehow translates as a "sign" to my husband that we should not go to the water park. My brother and his family pack up in our car and set out for a day of fun. We get to go to the water park across the street.

There are two slides that look like they were made from Lincoln Logs, only not as sturdy. The two Johns go to one slide while Ryan and I take the other. The kid at the top tells us the side with the 'X' is the slow side, so I sit down and place Ryan between my knees. We took off and hit the first curve with such speed that it knocked us back and Ryan began to slip off the mat. I managed to catch him under the arms with my feet. We now became a luge team hurtling down the chute at lightning speed, coming so close to the edge I thought we would go over.

When we finally reach the end it was like being shot from a cannon. Out we flew and I landed on my back with Ryan on my chest at the bottom of a three foot pool. I tried to push him above the water but the mat had landed on top of us. It was like breaking through ice. At last I am able to push the mat off and get Ryan above the water. I stand up and look around but everything is blurry. I must have hit my head pretty hard, because I can't make out anything. Then I step on my glasses at the bottom of the pool. Just then, the two chippies that are supposed to be the lifeguards tear themselves away from the boys and ask if I had a problem.

"Didn't you see me at the bottom?"

"No," was all they said.

I got out just in time to see my son John start his journey down the slide. About half way down, he just stops, so he gets up to put his mat back in the water. About 5 seconds later, along comes his father and WHAM, they hit and now are both on the one mat flying down the slide. They land safely in the pool and we decide to leave and mingle with the other 150 people in the 20 foot campground pool. Very refreshing!

We recounted our tale to my brother and family upon their return. We all pile in the car and head out to dinner. Where do we want to go? We drive up and down the divided road trying to get ten people to agree upon something. You now what, I'm really not that hungry. Its not too late to pack up and head back home. So at 8 PM, we start back to Massachusetts. Around 1 AM I can't drive anymore and we pull into a rest stop. We get some cocoa and park between some trucks to get some sleep. By 6 AM we are back on the road and it is really hard to sleep sitting up behind the steering wheel. The rest of the trip was uneventful. The RV was put up for sale and that was our last combined adventure.

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Not Track 5, Not Glenn's Prom Story

Ever since I started speaking, my grandmother has tried to get me to call her Grams or Grammy, the way my cousins do. Despite her valiant effort, she's always been, and forever will remain, 'Olly, because that's what I've known her as since I was a baby. 'Olly stemmed from my attempts at saying "Molly", which is what all her friends call her. Her real name is Alice.

Sunday was her 85th birthday. We had a party at my uncle Jay's house. She has one of the Medical Alert things around her neck. At first I thought it was a mini iPod. I brought my laptop and showed her some pictures I took at my brother Ryan's school on Saturday. They were mostly of flowers, but there was also a couple of the old cemetary across from the campus. She saw those and said, "That's where I should be. The cemetary." All she meant was that she should have gone to the cemetary to water the flowers on my grandfather's grave and her parents' grave, but it sounded like she meant that she should be in the ground herself. She always talks about how she should be dead. I remember a few years ago we dropped Ryan off at his friend's house before the prom. Ryan was talking to some of his friends when he noticed his date was missing. He found her talking to my grandmother.

"She wasn't talking about death, was she?"

"Yes."

"I'm sorry."

Yesterday, my mom sent me an email saying that she had to go home because 'Olly had been in an accident and the police called. That was all it said. I chill went down my spine and I called Michele to let her know, or even to see if she knew anything else, since she was at my mom's house and 'Olly lives next door. Michele didn't know anything about it, and I wasn't getting any answer at my parents' house. There was nothing I could do but sit at my desk and try to stop shaking.

At the same time, my boss was just getting off the phone with a woman from National Geographic who confirmed that they'd be using us as their design firm. He had been increasingly doubtful that we'd win the account, and and he got the word, decided we should celebrate with a bottle of wine. I didn't want to ruin the moment, but I was way too anxious to celebrate. I called home one more time and Glenn answered.

He said that 'Olly was back at home, she seemed to be fine, except for a bleeding lump on her arm. He didn't say much else, but at least I knew she was okay. I felt a little better and went out to the other room with everyone else and had a glass of sparkling something-or-other.

The bottle said "Negro" on it, which prompted Joe to once again tell us that he once brought two black friends over to the house and his father looked at them and said, "I don't know why Lincoln ever freed you people." Wow, I just never get tired of hearing that same damn story about Joe's racist father. In fact, last time he told it, about a month ago, I actually finished the story for him. Of course, afterwards he always defends his old man by saying that they were all the best of friends after that and his father was from the deep South, so blah blah blah.

I didn't hear much more about the accident for the rest of the day. When I called home that night, I got my dad, who didn't know much more than me, except that apparently my grandmather crashed into another old person.

Today I got another email from my mom. 'Olly thought she didn't have any money, so she went to the bank. She made a left turn across from the library and smacked into an old guy's car going the opposite direction. The police called my mom at work and told her that 'Olly refused to go to the hospital and she should come and get her. She drove her to emergency care at one thirty and left at quarter to six. She's got bruises everywhere and hurt her ribs. The chain on her glasses must have cut her face, because it looks like Zorro whipped her (my mom's words, not mine.) As for the car, the whole front is pushed in and the headlights are smashed.

'Olly was hungry when they got out of the hospital, so my mom and my aunt Betty took her to the Union Chowder House for dinner. That's all I know right now.

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I'm Back!

I don't know if everyone is aware of this, but there's a sitcom called Rodney. It's not about the wise-cracking ghost of Rodney Dangerfield, as cool as that would be. Or even better, the wise-cracking reanimated corpse of Rodney Dangerfield. Now there's a show idea. Zombie Rodney (Rod Zombie?), working as a stock boy at a Voodoo shop in New Orleans. They could do an episode where Rodney accidentally knocks over a crate of voodoo dolls, and a whole bunch of people fall off a building. I'm laughing already.



But that's not what this show is. It's just some guy named Rodney who has his own sitcom for some reason. Maybe he won a contest or something. I think I remember seeing a "Win your own sitcom on ABC" offer on the back of a Crispix box a while ago. Maybe he mailed in two proofs of purchase and six to eight weeks later, he got a call that changed is life forever.

"Hello, is this Rodney?"

"Yes."

"Rodney, this is Steve Bornstein, President of ABC Television. You just won yourself a sitcom, buddy."

"Oh my God! Oh my God, are you serious? This is...wow. Oh wow, this is so cool."

"There'll be a private jet waiting to pick you up tomorrow morning."

"A jet! You're kidding! This is so awesome! I've got to tell Jimmy, he's gonna die! Hey Jimmy! I'm gonna be on TV!"

"That's right, Rodney. Hey, what's the only cereal with corn on one side, rice on the other?"

"Crispix!"

So Rodney gets flown to Los Angeles to meet the team of writers that will be working on his show. I don't know what the qualifications are to write staggeringly bland, unfunny sitcoms. I'd imagine a letter of recommendation signed by Bob Saget and/or Sinbad would help. Or maybe they all won cereal contests, too. But whatever the qualifications are, right now, I wouldn't even make the cut. I've been trying to come up with something funny to write all morning, but I've ended up hitting the delete button more than anything else. It's pretty sad when you look at a paragraph you just typed and can picture an executive saying, "I'm sorry, but this just isn't Saved By The Bell-caliber material."

I think I'm still feeling the effects of focusing all my time and energy on that project at work. It finally went out on Friday, but after spending the better part of the month on it, I'm totally spent. Not to mention that I haven't seen my friends since some time in May thanks to this thing. Now Nick and Hedie are on their honeymoon in Disneyworld, so it'll be another week before I see them. They didn't go right after the wedding because Hedie is a teacher and wanted to wait until school got out before they went. And since I didn't get to write it before, congratulations to Jose for getting a new job at Borders. Not only did he get a job, but possibly something more. I won't say what at this point, but I would advise him to use his employee discount and buy a book about Iowa. You know, because women love a man with a vast knowledge of farming...and, um...caucuses.

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Report: Blogger in Psych Facility

BOSTON (AP) He hasn't posted online for weeks. His blog has been shut down. And his friends are speculating on various reasons for his purported meltdown.

Now comes word that John Hammel is undergoing treatment in a psychiatric facility in South Africa.

Quoting an unnamed source "close to the situation," Entertainment Weekly said Wednesday that the blogger flew to South Africa late last month and voluntarily checked himself into the undisclosed facility. There is no word on the nature of his ailment or how long he will be hospitalized.

Sources confirmed to E! last week that Hammel had been a no-show at work for several days. On June 1, Hammel announced his blog wouldn't make its regularly-scheduled post and that production had been halted indefinitely.

"All parties are optimistic that production will resume in the near future," an unnamed friend said in a statement.

Hammel's publicist, Joey Fakename, has not publicly commented since Hammel disappeared.

The blogger reportedly flew from Boston, Massachusetts, to Capetown, South Africa, on June 2 to seek treatment.

The EW report trumps earlier speculation in the latest edition of Newsweek. Several unnamed friends of the blogger posited different theories explaining his absence to the newsmag. One said Hammel "freaked" and didn't know how to deal with the breakout success of Random Squeegee, which has become a full-blown pop-culture phenomenon and led to Hammel signing an unprecedented deal with internet retailer Amazon.com to put up advertizments no one ever clicks on. The deal came in the wake of the web site's record-setting 10,000th hit.

Another acquaintance alluded to the graphic designer's workload. "I wouldn't say it's out of control," the purported pal dished to Newsweek, "but at some point that has to affect you if you've got a web site to update." Hammel's camp has categorically denied he was too busy at work, citing frequent comments on other people's blogs as an indication that he has at least some spare time.

A third suggested in Newsweek that Hammel has been hitting the bottle, but that source turned out to be an short, unemployed immigrant who likes to bring up things that happened five years ago.

While there is no definite date for the return of Random Squeegee, all parties involved are anticipating new posts by the end of the month.

If your name happens to be Marcus Errico, please don't sue me.

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Hi. I Can't Come To The Internet Right Now...

We got an insanely huge project from Gillette yesterday. Basically we have until June 17th to take the roughly 200 Powerpoint slides they supplied and create a 2' x 3' panel for each of them. Most of the work has to be done by the 10th, so the printer has time to produce the panels.

Anydangway, I'll be spending every waking hour from now until then working on that project, so there's a pretty good chance I won't be posting anything new until June 17th. If my head hasn't imploded by then.

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