A Snowy Day

The big news of the moment is the possibility of  some significant snowfall that's headed for the New Jersey and Long Island area. Though it's not definite, we're still anticipating something.

It's kinda funny that no matter how old I get, this freakish excitement builds around a storm warning. This weird rush comes over me and it's all I can talk about with friends and family. Luckily my husband gets as equally excited. We check the windows together every so often to see if it's started. Then when it does, the curtains are left open so we can keep an eye on it. If the snow starts overnight, one of us is bound to wake up. If it's me, I can't help but whisper to him, "It's snowing! It started!"

I go through the same rituals as soon as our local news mentions the snow is coming. I make sure my phone is fully charged. Double check that we have bottled water, candles and matches on hand, just in case. Hey you never know. Today I made sure to pick up some basics ... bananas, bread and cold cuts. Growing up, my mom always served us tea and sandwiches when we were snowed in. When not dieting, I make sure we have chips and snack cakes on hand. Unfortunately for me, I'm trying to watch it, so this storm we'll be without that extra added deliciousness. I'm not happy about that either. I tend to crave a Ring Ding or handfuls of salty chips during a good snowstorm.

Tomorrow, I'll make sure my car is parked in a decent spot (one of the joys of being an apartment dweller) and stick my wipers up in the air like a fool. That was something I noticed when I moved to New Jersey. When snow is coming, people do this wacky thing with their wipers, pulling them up so that they point away from the car. It's really crazy and I'm not sure what the purpose is, but I do it too, that's if I remember to anyway.

I always loved a good storm. Thunder and lightening in summer and snow in winter. Don't get me wrong, I hate driving in it, even though this year we finally have a brand new four-wheel drive filled with gas and ready to escort us safely down the big hills in our town. There's something cozy about being home with hubby and our fur baby. We'll watch movies, stay tuned to The Weather Channel, play Nintendo games, eat, warm up with cocoa and tea. I'll try to convince my friend who lives next-door to come by for a bit. That's usually how it goes year after year in this apartment.

Hopefully by next winter, we'll be in a house, though I say that every year. That means we'll have to be sure to have ice-melting salt on-hand and two shovels. I don't even want to think about that. I've been spoiled living in apartment complexes. Since I left home, I've never had to worry about removing snow from driveways or walkways.

It's also funny how snow brings people together. Most people flock to pubs and diners no matter where they live. In my early twenties, I loved meeting my friends for coffee at the diner after being snowed in for hours at a time.

I'm sure my brother and I will text back and forth as we always do the minute the trusty weatherman announces a possible storm coming. Be it thunder or snow, we're both quickly thumb typing our phones about it. We keep each other posted throughout the storm, then talk about the aftermath. Were trees down? Did the lights go out? How did everyone manage with the snow removal and driving? Did anyone have off from work? With today's love of social networking sites, we're able to keep our Facebook and Twitter friends in-the-know. Everyone's status is a flutter with snow updates and photos.

Going through my old diaries, I found winter entries about snow. They were followed by dozens of exclamation points. It's crazy that I can still relate to the childlike passion in the penciled scribblings, "We're getting a big storm tonight!!!!!! I hope there's no school tomorrow!!!!!!" and "We got 10 inches of snow today!!! School is closed!!! WOOO HOOO!!!! We're playing Scrabble and drinking hot chocolate later!!!!"

Something I really loved to do back in the old days, was to build amazing snow forts. They were the coolest. They even had windows. I'd let my Smurfs live in the forts with me, then inevitably lose them within the pile of precipitation. Little blue bodies would surface days later as the sunshine warmed the snow. We'd go sledding near the Southern State Parkway. It was pretty flat where I grew up so that was about the biggest hill in town.

 

Silly how that anticipation and thrill of snow continues into adulthood. I'm sure people with kids can't help but embrace it. I'm a bit lazy in my old age. Maybe it's a good thing we don't have any kids. The thought of building a snowman doesn't have the same allure as it once did, but the hot coco, sandwiches and movies sure do!

Back to 1982-1983, Age 10/11

Cool photo shoot at Long Island's Hot Skates with
Drew Barrymore for her movie Whip It.

Due to a slight case of writers block today, I've decided to cheat once again. So I'm bringing you back to 1983 Ally style! Here are some boring gems for your reading pleasure. Please note, the following is word-for-word including poor spelling and grammar.

Monday, February 1, 1982
Today I and my friend made a club with Kathy P. and Patricia. We got back our SS [Social Studies] test. I got an 86.

Saterday, February 5, 1982
Today I went to Hot Skates and mite go swiming [my mom always loved to swim indoors at Echo Park Pool in West Hempstead] and I had a good time at Hot Skates.

[Hot Skates was the hottest skating rink in Western Nassau County, Long Island. Every kid in the area can attest to countless memories at Hot Skates including first kisses, first dates and first slow dance - er couples only skate. It was a safe place too. I don't remember kids threatening other kids or causing trouble. It was just a great place to spend a Friday or Saturday night. This indoor rink still exists allowing today's kids to create their own memories there. A while back, I discovered a cool photo shoot for that skating movie, Whip It featuring celebs Drew Barrymore and Ellen Page. So weird to see Drew kickin' back at the same table where I would sit, happily consuming a Coke and hot dog as the DJ set the mood with a little Air Supply, Billy Joel and Journey. It could even be the same table I blew out the candles for my 4th grade Hot Skates birthday party. In going through diaries, it appears that every week I had an adventure at Hot Skates until about 7th grade.]

Sunday, April 4, 1982
Today in soccer the coach made me be goaly and I let 3 goals in.

[I'm guessing that was the last time the coach made me a goalie. I was so God-awful in soccer. My mom insists she put me in for five seasons of soccer, otherwise known in town as "The VSSC" to keep me from getting super chubs. She says it kept me active and away from the TV. She meant well. The only thing I liked about soccer was halftime oranges and water. I freakin' HATED soccer!]

Saturday, February 19, 1983
Today I saw Silver Spoons. I love Jason Bateman. I finished my school project.

I loved Jason Bateman and Silver Spoons.

[Silver Spoons was my most favorite show in the early '80s. I wasn't a big Ricky fan, but boy I had the hots for Jason Bateman. I worshiped him in the worst way. From the moment I saw his little freckled face crying in pain. "Go get help! Fetch Pa!" he moaned to his sister Casandra while laying helpless in the woods, his little twelve-year-old foot stuck in a bear trap on Little House. I still think he's pretty hot today.

Oh young Jason Bateman...
 Oh how I loved theee  back then.

One thing I hated, was that my grammar school had these wretched, mandatory Science and Social Studies fairs. I never ever won. Ever. Why? Because my folks, teachers with lame teacher morals, refused and I mean REFUSED to create our projects for us. No working molten lava volcano for me. My crap-ass tin-foiled lined Shoe Town shoebox filled with planets made of hanging balls of clay was a big fat LOSING project compared to that volcano. Kathy's amazing historical farm house at the History Fair above and beyond. It was the coolest project anyone had ever brought in. Obviously Kathy's dad knew the importance of winning the first place ribbon. Once again, no ribbon for me. Mrs. Tobin was in charge of rating my lovely homemade sock doll. How the heck was that garbage prize-worthy compared to a farm house awesome enough for a kid to actually want to play with!]

The Suckiest Music Student Ever

OK, I'm about to let you all in on yet another whopper of a secret from the old days. Don't ask me why I'm doing this. I don't even know exactly who is reading this. I guess just call me the open book. Now don't fret, if you've told me a secret, I assure you I won't repeat it here or anywhere else. I promise!

 So truth be told, I wasn't the best student. Don't get me wrong, I tried. My parents tried. I am forever grateful to my private math tutor who helped me pass the Math Regents. I am also very thankful to Miss Vicky Cooper who helped get me through the American History Regents. All of those days staying after school with a handful of kids, going over the material in "extra help" sessions... ugh!

I wasn't that kid who just cracked open a book for five minutes and got an A. It took hours and hours of studying, notes on index cards, tutors, extra help sessions, you name it - just for me to nail a C+ or B. I remember some dumb-ass dude. He failed and cut class like every day and the day we found out our SAT scores, he announced how he took the SATs (just for fun I'm guessing) and got a 1200 on his first shot.

The keyword here is Regents. I have no idea how it works in a New York high school these days and I'm feeling way too lazy to research it right now. However, I do know that in order to graduate with a Regents diploma in 1990, I needed to pass three math and three science, in addition to a language and history Regents senior year.

Entering senior year, my folks and I were concerned because I was so painfully awful in math and science. I blame Mrs. Thom for my math anxiety. She was my 3rd grade drunken freak of a teacher at James A. Dever School (sorry if she was like your fave teacher, but she sucked ass!) That year was the turning point where my parents yanked me from public school with my head spinning. I didn't even have a uniform yet! I also blame my catholic school teachers for those damn "times table races." My stomach still hurts as I break a sweat thinking about racing to get all of the times tables correct on the chalk board. I still stall when multiplying 8x7 and 8x9. Don't ask.

Back to the Regents... My parents were concerned that I wouldn't be able to swing a Regents Diploma because I sucked so badly in Math and Science. I'm talking sucked to the point where I had to attend summer school in order to pass the Bio regents. It was horrible.

Yet I loved English class and wrote for the school paper. Like how many students sing in chorus and write for the school paper, yet are stuck in summer school? Not many. It was like I was a retarded nerd or something. I think that's why I loved the movie, Rushmore. I was so much like the main character, Max. In addition to having crushes on the unobtainable, I would have kids signing petitions. I would write silly editorials about how the halls were too crowded or how they wouldn't let us have caffeinated soda yet sold chocolate which has caffeine in it. I started a "Student Awareness Club", yet I couldn't pass a state math exam :(

My guidance counselor (who by the way was so ancient, he was my mom, my aunt and my uncle's guidance counselor) let us in on an alternate route secret to securing a New York State Regents diploma - as opposed to a regular diploma. I don't know what was wrong with a regular diploma, but I had to have this special Regents diploma. I just had to. My future college career depended on it.

A secret way to bypass the 3 math and 3 science exam rule ... Because I took Chorus and Spanish for three years plus Humanities, all I needed to do was sign up for one Music Theory class. Gulp!

Upon day one of catholic school, it was mandatory to sing in the glee club. It was basically part of our daily routine and I actually enjoyed it. In fact by 8th grade, our music teacher told me I was the strongest Alto. Note: I was also the fattest, so it pretty much made sense that I was the "strongest". Ha ha.

Somehow I had squeaked by year after year without ever having to actually read music. I took piano lessons for like two weeks and hated it. In first and second grade, I attended the summer rec program. It was there that they forced us to play the Flutophone. Man, I hated that thing. I sucked at it because I think you had to read notes.

Sick to my stomach with the thought of having to take an actual music class, I consulted with my BFF, Scott. He was the school's musical genius. He was a true whiz. He knew notes and music stuff like nobody's biz! I somehow convinced him to take the class with me. It was actually demeaning for him to sit through. He could have actually taught the class himself, but he did it for me, his friend who really needed his support.

I'll try to speed this up for you guys. I sucked in that class. I sucked so badly that I probably would have done better in Chemistry and Trig! I couldn't do it. It was like totally Greek to me. I would try to cheat off Scott and the metal dudes who sat next to us. By the time June rolled around, I was a mess. I think I had like a 65 average which was bringing my GPA down so badly if you can believe that one. I actually had made the general honor roll more often than not.

As the final neared, Mr. Fiddler, our teacher must have known there was no way I was going to pass. I mean, I was struggling every day not to break down in tears. Horrible torturous moments of having to go up to the piano in front of the metal dudes and hit a few notes. I would sweat and tear up. It was so stressful.

The day of the music theory final I did something I never thought I'd have the courage to do. I pretty much broke it down to Mr. Fidz. He had known me for three years as a fairly quiet, good kid in his chorus class. I was never late. I never talked back.I was polite and respectful. I always got good grades in chorus. I confessed to him why I had put myself through this shitty experience.

With perspiration pouring off my head, a sick stomach and my dyed hair glued to my slimy forehead, I stood in front of him at the front of the class. Soaking wet final paper shaking in my anxiety-ridden, sweaty hands, I somehow squeaked out the story about how I desperately needed a Regents Diploma and the only thing stopping me at this point was this class. I promised him I'd never take another music class in my life ever again. I told him of the shame I felt for not being able to succeed in music. I mean, I loved music and still do. Concert-going was big for me for many years. I often wrote music reviews for the school paper and then later on for websites and magazines. I mean, I was a major music buff, but just couldn't read or play a note of it.

Mr. Fiddler was an older teacher, he was very serious and totally old-school. He was tallish and slender. He had perfect posture, wore a different colored turtle neck every day and glasses. He kinda reminded me of what my Italian grandpa would look like if he were German because Mr. Fiddler pretty much looked like a grandpa. Not the kinda grandpa that played with a Whoopee cushion or gently tapped your grandma's bum with a wooden spoon to make you smile, but a stern kinda gramps. The kind you behaved in front of.

He didn't give me an answer that day. He didn't tell me not to worry or wink and say, "No problem kid, I got ya covered." He just nodded and I ran out of the classroom as fast as my Docs would carry me and cried like a baby outside of the building somewhere.

With a knot in my stomach, days went by before graduation. I honestly feel that I didn't know how shit turned out until the very day we lined up in our unflattering white gowns with that ridiculous cap balanced ever-so stupidly atop my budging, sweaty head. My diary entry for June 23, 1990, "I did it, I finally graduated. This was so hard and it was only high school."

I passed. I loved him. He was my hero of Central High.

Ironically, a Regents Diploma doesn't mean crap outside of New York State. When applying to schools in New England, I discovered they all wanted you to have a certain amount of math and science classes anyway. So yeah, I basically put myself through that awful experience for nothing, but it made a decent story to blog about one day.

As always, thanks for listening and please don't report me. Seriously.