Old School Ode #3 - the Bicentennial Quarter

I went through the drive-thru window at Wendys this afternoon. The cashier handed me change; among it a shiny silver disk etched with a Colonial drummer and star-circled victory torch.

Remember those?

The first time I ever saw one was under my pillow, in exchange for one of my teeth. I don't think I kept it (probably went right back into some sugar treat that by cause for fillings in other teeth) but I remember being enthralled by the idea of the "special edition-ness" of the thing.

I assume 1976 saw a plethora of Bicentennial over-saturation in the market place. I did a little research and came up with these promotions: The makers of Coffee Rich put out a "Bicentennial Kit" that included a copy of the Declaration of Independence and the ad headline Coffee Rich Started a Revolution in Good Taste. d-Con Insecticide included flag stickers and called themselves The People who are helping to free America from Bugs. Baskin Robbins sold red, white and blue ice cream cones.

But it wasn't all disposable trending. The Bicentennial supposedly also influenced the makers of School House Rock to launch "History Rock" (my personal favorite sub-category of that awesome show.) Come to think of it, my first lunch box was a 1776-influenced cartoon. It came with a free pack of gum.

Pulling out of Wendys, I put the quarter in the coin divot on my dashboard. I won't keep it for long, inevitably feeding it into meter when I'm running late and out of change. But its nice to see those things every once in a while...

My First Retraction...

So I went by my parents house on Saturday. My dad says, "I told your mother about the fake eyelashes entry and she says her sistes never wore false eyelashes..."

"Is that a made-up story?" my mother added. Ouch.

In order to save my reputation from a James-Frey-like spanking, I take it back. I admit that I have no solid evidence that my aunts wore false eyelashes back in the 1960's and 70's. I jumped to the conclusion that the gaudy appendages came part and parcel with the masssively teased and sprayed giant hair (of which I have much evidence, by the way...)

In terms of the new wave of lashes, I saw the Watchmen over the weekend. Every woman in that movie (which, admittedly, was not many) wore them.

False Eyelashes Are the New Combover

Has anyone else noticed the sheer volume of young celebrities who wear fake eyelashes? Even though it's been a trend for a few years now, I have a hard time accepting them. Now eye make-up, even the excessive, I understand. I've got a whole other entry ready to go concerning the true merits of eyeliner alone...

But the fake eyelashes, I don't understand them. Like the combover, no one's fooling anyone...

The first time it became a problem for me was in watching the Post 9/11 call in Tribute Show on television where singers and movie stars generated pledges for the families of the fallen fire fighters. Faith Hill sang a song. I don't remember the song because I could stop staring at her enormous black tangle on her face. It didn't help that she kept her eyes closed most of the time which made the things only that much more irreverent and frightening.

Now they're all over the media: on MTV (which I could just chalk up to flamboyant fashion), on television (which is harder to take when the actress in question is playing a school teacher or a nun.) Even Katie Couric has taken to donning the lazy face spiders. When she does I cannot hear a word she says. Someone on your show has a cure for cancer? Sorry, your eyelashes won't stop screaming at me. This is not unlike the inner voice that calls out combover, combover, combover while I'm watching an otherwise smart-seeming guest on Charlie Rose ... Look how far over that part is... and like four strands of hair...

Perhaps the notion of fake eyelashes seem so foreign because they skipped a generation. I've seen pictures of my aunts in them, and the women wearing them today look like they're playing dress up in mommy's room. Perhaps I just need to view them in the same light as the roll-bang of the eighties, something ridiculous but also rather impressive when you consider the commitment and skill it takes to execute such a thing.

Except Katie Couric. When interviewing the crazy president of Iraq, for God sake, Katie, take off those ridiculous lashes.

I am...Amber Pickles...

I did something stupid yesterday.

In order to give my story a proper context, I have to first start by saying that, up until yesterday, I have resisted all peer-pressure to sign up on Facebook. I try not to be snotty about it. I know a great deal of people who love it and I am, at times, curious about all the connecting going on without me.

Part of it is a "been there/done that" feeling because I have a MySpace account. I understand that Facebook is "different," better, the new thing, I have a feeling it really isn't... I created a MySpace profile a few years ago, downloaded a few pictures and accepted friend requests from people I sat next to in choir. Another part of my resistance is, I watched a 60 Minutes episode with the guy who started Facebook who reminded me of the cagy politicians and CEO's you often see on 60 Minutes. I was also a bit startled by the fact that it uses a tracking system that monitors what you buy from other sites and sends that information to your friends. Another thing is, I'm slow and easily distracted. I don't need something else fighting for my attention.

Anyway, all of this to say, essentially, that I've had many reasons to avoid signing in. Then the nosey girl inside of me took over.

So, on an impulse, I went onto Facebook, thought I was giving a fake name with my a real (albeit older) email, and filled out no personal information so that I could "browse." Because the people of Facebook are obviously smarter than me, it instantly sent a message to everyone who had ever tried to search for me.

With the name Amber Pickles.

So, those of you who happened to wonder if I'd recently taken up a creative "side project," that is the boring story. The upside of the experience is that one of the first people to send me an email is someone who has attempted to be in touch with me on and off for a while. I have no interest in being in touch with this person. Not because of some long-simmering grudge or painful falling out, but for some more generalize feeling of not wanting to be in touch. And so I retain that right without having to deliberate over it all afternoon.

I will not be joining Facebook right away. But you can browse my not-recently-updated MySpace page...

Depressed About the Economy? Call My Dad

I got up this morning and, despite finding some decent job leads yesterday, started feeling down. I think it was because I'm now in that "waiting" mode that comes between looking for work and the next round of looking for work.

So I called my dad, you know, just to "check in," and almost immediately started complaining about the how bad everything is. "Contrary to every one's belief," he said, "we will recover; we always do. We took a big dip back in 82 and things came around. People and companies get smarter, and then they comfortable and lazy and reckless and things fall apart. This happens over and over."

Now, I'm generally suspicious of over-generalized optimism. I tend to want to argue over how hopeless it seems. But then I got to thinking about how impressed I've always been about my father's ability to barrel forward throughout his whole life. He and my mother have always seemingly done the right things when it came to their collective life, jobs, home, finances, doing all the things you're "supposed to do," etc.

"Dad," I said, "How do you do it? Stay so positive, that is, and not lose your mind over this stuff?"

"I don't know," he answered, thinking about it for a few moments. "Maybe it was because I was 135 pounds high school and wanted to play football. I bugged and bugged the coach who finally put me in at the hardest positions for someone my size - linebacker and center. My sophomore year I got All County Honorable Mention, and 2nd team my Junior and Senior year."

Not sure how to fully embrace and apply that advice to my life, but it sure knocked away a little of the self pity. Hard to argue with that kind of drive, especially coming from a guy raised in Appalachia by a single mother who ended up retiring as Executive Vice President of a steel company and owner of two companies.

Old School Ode #2 - The Mall...

In warmer months I walk around Westgate Park. Last winter, I decided to join the throng of retirees at the mall - usually Tuttle, sometimes Polaris - and that worked out pretty well. This year, no longer able to justify driving twenty minutes to walk for thirty, I decided Westland Mall (1.9 miles from my house) was a better choice.

Back in the day, Westland was a booming metropolis of teenage loitertude. But, over the past two decades, the major retailers either never came (no Gap, no Victoria Secret, no Chick Fil-A...) or have disappeared one by one (goodbye Limited and Limited Express, toot-a-loo Merry Go Round), leaving the place to an eclectic assortment of independent clothing and knick knack stores.

I hadn't stepped foot inside of Westland Mall for the better part of ten years. My reluctance was made up of a curious blend of sadness and generalized fear of the unknown. After a few weeks of deliberation, deciding the place was probably not crawling with roving drug dealers, I laced up my Nikes, powered up the iPod, and headed to the mall.

For the first few weeks I passed the time trying to remember all of the stores. Foxmoor there, Orange Julius over there, Chess King, Waldenbooks and The Art Works... Then I started a game where I tried to match the store with anyone I knew who worked there. I, myself, worked at Dimitrios, a sort of Greek Resturant/Pizza place hybrid (job #2.) I watched workers set up Santaland and marveled at the presence of an actual fat Santa with a real beard. I thought that was a good sign.

Now, I mostly pay attention to the people. I also wonder how it remains so clean and open for business. Out of the seventy retail spaces available, twenty-four are currently occupied. Only five are national chain stores (Sears, The Finish Line, Champs, J.B. Robinson Jewelers and The Great Steak Escape.) The BMV office (in the space that was once Wendy's Bridal) probably helps pay a good deal of the rent. Among the other tenants are a "New York" Tailor, the Westand Arcade, the Sherriff's Office Volunteer Center, and two Mexican restaurants.

This past Thursday, I was having coffee with some writer friends. When I mentioned that I'd been walking around Westland Mall, one of the men said, "Did you buy some crack?" I gave him the same look I used to give at college when people asked if I saw many guns when I went to West High School. Later that night I read in the paper that one of the Mexican restaurants had been invaded and 18 people arrested for selling heroin.

To be fair, the door from the resaurant into the mall was always pulled closed; in reterospect I'd often wondered if it was actually open for business or not.

Still. It has made me reluctant to return.

Home from the Job Fair

My dad called the other day to tell me the Dispatch was holding a job fair at the Zoo. Instead of telling him how all other job fairs I've ever been to have been disappointing wastes of time, I just said, "Sounds good, I'll check it out."

And I meant it. All a part of this new perspective I'm trying to cultivate in order to stay open to possibilities and feel a little more settled.

So I drove up to the zoo and joined the huddled (but finely dressed) masses. The line was abuzz with friendly banter, people comparing stories of the starled looks from families with strollers on their way in to the zoo for the day. A young-ish man in a nice tweed jacket and serious glasses stepped out of line. "Would you look at that line," he said, clearly agitated, making an upward arm-sweeping gesture for effect. We instinctually followed his pointing, but everybody just kind of shrugged as if to say, It's a long line; what of it? He stepped back in line.

A few moments later he stepped back out, squinted up ahead and then peered behind him. I stood there and watched him as he spun his head back and forth from the front to the growing back of the line. I watched him try to form words with his mouth that were expelled only as the brewing sounds of agitation. I watched him look at us, the dozen or so in his direct orbit, with contempt. "This," he said, taking his attention back to the front of the line, "is the longest line I've ever seen.!." Moments later he stepped out of line and left altogether. I couldn't resist the opportunity to be amusing: "Well, that's one person we don't have to compete with." Everyone laughed and the line started to move.

Despite my open-mindedness, there was still very little to get excited about. I'd go into detail, but it just sounds petty. Obviously, most companies are struggling and any opportunity is better than none, but still, it was a pretty sobering experience.

What was interesting was the walk back to my car. I began to notice the people in line carefully studying the faces of those who were exiting. Being aware, I tried to remain neutral, figuring no one needed me to stink up their day. Back at my car, a man, another young-ish man, was exiting his car as I approached. "What's it like in there?" he said.

"Crowded," I said, carefully considering my words. He smiled and started to go on.

Then I called after him, "You might want to avoid the Zoo table, it's a long line and they're just offering seasonal for the water park right now. A couple others are like that too. I would just try to sneak in and pick up info about website and stuff."

"Thanks," he said, smiling and securing his portfolio under his arm.

Later on the news I heard that 2600 people attended that job fair.