Summer is Here and So Are the Shoobies

Tourist season begins and the shoobies are here (yeah!)!

The shoobies are here (uh-oh)!

The shoobies are here (is it Labor Day yet!?)!

For those from another part of the universe, shoobies are out-of-towners visiting our corner of paradise - our shore beach town. They come in endless waves for three months to enjoy the sun, beach, food, each other, to generally carouse and have a good time. You probably have not seen the ads, but what happens at the shore, stays at the shore…

At least shoobies hope so.

Most shoobies hail from the Philadelphia area, although more and more are migrating from the New York metro area and from the South – the Washington, D.C area.

Like cicadas, which also arrive on a regular cycle, shoobies are usually harmless, but are very noisy, congregate in crowds, and engage in rowdy activities. Except they do not die after cavorting. Shoobies simply disappear once summer is over.

Shoobies come around a lot more often than cicadas, invading yearly. First major sightings are a few days before Memorial Day weekend. They slowly trickle in, eventually becoming a steady stream of late-model cars creating traffic back-ups at lights and parking lots. Suddenly on-street parking is at a premium.

Do not get me wrong, we want the shoobies. Sort of. Most have more money – and quite a few have a lot more – than year-round residents. They spend money in stores and restaurants, and pay for lots of services, providing needed employment for housecleaners, landscapers, plumbers, beauty salon personnel, ice cream shop attendants, and the list goes on…

We need them for economic reasons. Most of us like to get a paycheck and buy stuff. We all have to pay Uncle Sam, and everyone here (in New Jersey) has to pay Uncle Chris.

And now I must confess:

We were once shoobies.

For several years we came down weekends to enjoy the sun, the beach, the boardwalk, the food, to relax and store up energy for the workweek ahead. Then one day we looked at each other and said, “We are not getting any younger. It is time for a change.” Unable to hop cross-country or overseas - hub is still working - we decided to try full-time living at the shore.

So here we are, three years later, enjoying life and lamenting the shoobie onslaught.

But that’s OK. Summer is short, and before long the line of cars snaking across our island disappears across the bridge, not to be seen again until the following May.

We take back our island, relish the sudden quiet, the empty beaches, the ease of getting a restaurant table, the end of morning jam-packed boardwalk walkers, runners and bikers, and enjoy the convenience of finding on-street parking directly in front of stores and other businesses. We take time to talk to those remaining as the pace of life slows and the sharp autumn air finds us on the beach, enjoying the last days of sunny, mild, beautiful weather.

Winter will eventually descend, hopefully more peacefully than last year’s post-Sandy period. By April events locals look forward to all winter begin, including yard sales (must stock up on toys for the grandkids), restaurant week and off-season specials, town festivals and charity walks and runs.

And suddenly, it is shoobie time again.

New Jersey does not have a great reputation (the TV show Jersey Shore definitely did not help); it is sometimes alluded to as the armpit of our country. And there are places at the Jersey shore where kitsch is synonymous with local culture. I am not saying the town named in the following song is one of them (and it is NOT the town where we live), but note the outfits of the back-up singers and hula hoop champion. It is all great fun, but it is accurate, kind of!

Philly Cuzz and the Shoobies sing this version of Wildwood Days.

FYI - Wildwood Days was originally sung decades ago by Bobby Rydell (1963), a Philadelphia native.

Welcome summer! Welcome shoobies!

Questions I am Afraid to Ask My Chiropractor

I am crooked.

People have been telling me so for the past couple of weeks.

My body leans to the right.

 

My body leans right.

Is this a permanent new condition? It does not hurt, and I do not feel any different.

I recently sought the assistance of a chiropractor to help avoid or at least delay what is beginning to look like a body moving slowly but steadily towards a downward, lopsided trajectory.

Previous experience with chiropractors is limited. The first time was decades ago. Hub and I were painting a room and my job was the ceiling, reaching above my head with the roller. When finished I sat down on the floor to relax and watch TV. Attempting to move a couple of hours later, I shrieked in pain. It was difficult inching to the car and eventually the chiropractor’s office. After adding up the medical bills, hub figured it would have been a lot cheaper to hire a painter.

I have been to a chiropractor once or twice since. Until this week. Hub persuaded me, thinking my misalignment was temporary.

 

This is NOT my chiropractor.

It took a long time to figure out what might have happened. About three weeks ago I was in the garden. We have some raised beds, and I tripped and fell over one of the wood edgings. At the time I only scraped my hands and forgot about it. Sometimes, however, it takes several days for the results of a fall or similar accident to emerge.

A trip to the chiropractor showed a twisted pelvis rubbing on nerves.

After a couple of adjustments I am straighter, although not perfect – yet.

But I am beginning to wonder if a right lean is permanent.

This brings up a host of questions I cannot answer (and will not ask my chiropractor). The most important, provocative, and life-changing question of all:

If I tilt right must I become conservative?

A political right-wing conservative?

Religious conservative?

Will the Tea Party solicit me as one of them?

Will I have to drink tea more often than when eating Chinese food or when ill?

Will I have to stop watching MSNBC, whose motto is lean forward? I can do that, but will my right lean overshadow my forward lean? I do not want to abandon Morning Joe for Fox News.

Must I forego my liberal leanings?

Must I dress conservatively?

Drive conservatively? Sitting in the driver’s seat, leaning right, will I be able to see out the windshield?

Time will tell if my physical tilt affects my political and social life.

I just hope my right orientation is not too far right by the next election.

Icons Are People Too

 I started this post writing about icons and celebrities and the people we place on a pedestal, but recent events found me veering down a slightly different path.

There was a lot going on when I was growing up in the 1960s. During those tumultuous years there were many individuals I related to. And a lot I did not. Over the years icons – specifically women icons, since that is the tribe I relate to most – became famous stars one day and, almost as quickly, faded away. Some I admired, a few I aspired to be, and some I criticized or derided.

We – the little girls and boys growing up in the 1950s and 60s - were influenced by the hour-glass voluptuousness of Marilyn Monroe on one hand and a waif-like, anorexic model named Twiggy on the other. In between was the long, sleek aristocratic look of Audrey Hepburn (Breakfast at Tiffany’s, 1961), and Jackie Kennedy, America’s answer to gene pool royalty.

Monroe, featured in the first Playboy Magazine, December 1953, died in 1962 before America’s social and cultural fabric unraveled. Yet the iconic blonde bombshell still captivates us. And there were other sex symbols: Ursula Andress, sex kitten in the 1962 James Bond movie Dr. No, Raquel Welch, Brigitte Bardot…

Not to be too presumptuous, and unable to speak for every woman growing up during the era, then there was me. I realized early on I was never going to have the body or be any of these women.

I was not tall, or thin, or small-busted, or long-legged, or blonde, or rich. I was never going to be a model (too short), actress (no talent), musician or singer (tone deaf), or First Lady (?).

Each generation has their own unreasonable expectations thrust upon them, whether tall, skinny models (apparently always in vogue), voluptuous sex kittens or blemish-free, toned celebrities splashed across publications such as People and Us - large photos of forever-young women, their latest significant other, and their cute kids outfitted in the latest must-have designer outfits for tots.

And so it is with humbleness and appreciation when an icon/celebrity shows us her humanity, not by walking through minefields or donating scads of money to charities, but by admitting she received disheartening medical information and had a tough decision to make, and made the best of a very difficult situation.

She displayed her humanity, fragileness and mortality.

I was never a Brangelina fan. I watched Mr. and Mrs. Smith on TV and thought it was a silly movie. The only time I read celebrity magazines is in doctors’ waiting rooms. I do not follow and do not care about the Kardashians or whoever else is in the gossip column headlines.

I must admit, however, I enjoy reading about the shenanigans of our elected officials and, whether serial marriages (Newt Gingrich, for example) or adulterous escapades (such as Mark Sanford and his Appalachian Trail Argentinian adventure), they are great fun on the one hand, and a sad commentary on our politicians and Americans’ ultimate acceptance of their philandering.

But I am getting way off today’s focus.

I want to thank Angelina Jolie for reminding us that even the people society places on pedestals, splashes across sleek magazine pages and TV screens, constantly tweet about, the celebrities paparazzi harass, are ultimately real human beings like you and me.  

And sometimes they have problems too.

Not everyone may have made the decision Angelina did, but I salute her for being so brave, confronting her dragon and attempting to slay it, and for her honesty.

Many of us may not have the resources to make a similar decision and follow the same medical path. But hopefully her experience raises awareness of the personal medical struggles many people confront. Only they do not make headlines. Yet they are brave stars too.

Apple and the Animals They Create

My Mac computer experienced problems. I tried fixing one particular issue myself. iPhoto refused to open. Seeking help online, there were solutions under troubleshooting Macs on the Apple website. Except reading the how-tos, I could not understand the directions, or even comprehend the lingo, no less execute the instructions.

Several months ago a $99 one-year subscription for training at our local Apple store expired. Of course I did not use it as much as I could have, but did get my moneys’ worth of one-to-one assistance.

Fast-forward six months. I decided the answer to my Mac difficulties involved a visit to the Apple store for person-to-person, hands-on support.

I went online and scheduled an appointment at the Genius Bar. The geniuses are Apple techies resolving customer concerns about their Apple products. I am not quite sure what customers like me are called, but I guarantee employees have their favorite terms for poor tech dummies like me – not all complimentary, for sure.

For once I was organized, actually creating a list of recurring Mac problems.

I arrived at the store and was immediately greeted and introduced to my support staff person. I must give Apple credit – there were more than enough blue-shirted geeks to service all the customers. Most employees are young (I am guessing in their twenties and thirties) and the majority guys.

Before beginning any troubleshooting the most important question needed to be addressed: how much was this work going to cost. I was informed I was eligible, when my initial training deal expired, for a one-year renewal. I do not remember receiving an email about this offer, but that does not mean it did not arrive in my inbox. I have a habit of deleting advertising (or what I think is junk/advertising) before reviewing the contents. I probably deleted the message without looking at it.

Anyway, they (the Almighty They, the Apple guys in cyber sky) made an exception and allowed me to renew for another year. I did not hesitate – there are a lot of things, between my iPhone and Mac, I should learn to do.

So I made the $99 purchase for one year’s training – one-to-one, group sessions, and guided assistance included.

Now it was time to tackle Mac’s issues.

After answering a long litany of questions and giving Mac a quick look, the tech guys informed me the crux of my problems stemmed from the fact my Mac operating system was a different animal than the one newer Mac models run.

My Mac’s operating system – OS X – (I’m getting into the jargon!) was Snow Leopard. The new OS X is Mountain Lion. Apparently my Mac was purchased the day before Apple introduced the new system.

 

Snow Leopard is Out.

The best solution to my problems was an upgrade to the latest animal, involving a $20 acquisition of Mountain Lion.

 

The Apple Mountain Lion logo. I took the picture.

Before running diagnostics on my machine and installing the new OS X, it was strongly suggested I backup my computer. Intellectually I know this is important – I lost data in the past on other machines – but there was some monetary reluctance to follow through.

I broke down (monetarily, mentally and emotionally), purchased an external hard drive (HD), and copied everything from the internal to the external HD.

Another $90 purchase for the HD. But now I own it, and will definitely, probably, possibly backup regularly going forward.

My tech consultant asked whether I wanted to install Mountain Lion myself, or should he do it. That was a no-brainer.

The tech staff ran diagnostics on iPhoto and eventually fixed whatever the problem was. Mountain Lion was installed and my computer checked out and cleaned.

I gathered up Mac and assorted accessories and headed home, $200 poorer, a little computer savvier and, hopefully, glitch-free.

FYI - trivia you may not know, will most likely soon forget, and will in no way enrich your life – Apple OS X systems, first introduced in 1999, are all named after animals – more specifically, different cats. The first one was Cheetah, then (in order) Puma, Jaguar, Panther, Tiger, Leopard, Snow Leopard, and finally Lion and Mountain Lion.

My guess Cougar is next. I know Puma and Cougar are the same, sometimes called Panther, but this is tech-land, not animal science…