When did it become so hard to make friends? Huh?

What happened to the days when you could be calling your peer a butthead one day, throw crayons at them, step on his coloring sheet; yet, the next day call him your best friend?

What happened to the days when the one who showed up to class with pink hair, a Mohawk or lime green jewelry was the talk of the town? Everyone in class circled them and asked a million questions and then went home and asked their parents if they could do the same. Nowadays that same person gets gawked at, talked about, made to feel bad about themselves simply because they don’t wear the latest name brands – yet then their trends are seen all over Hollywood short after.

And let’s not get started on that.

For instance, what happened to the days when you could step on someone’s shoe and simply say, “I’m sorry,” and the next thing you know you are both playing in a sandbox, shoes full of dirt? Nowadays the person throws a hissy fit, spouting off the name brand of the shoe – of which is not themselves – all while getting huffy and posing a fight under the assumption that you have “disrespected them.”

No, your simple behind disrespected yourself for buying a pair of $150+ shoes, which kiss the ground all day, with an expectation of them not getting dirty. Use that money and buy a vowel. Start with the letter “I”… you fill in the blank.

What happened to the days when having something in common with someone was an endless conversation? You could go on for hours and by the end of the day you have a friend for the rest of the school year. Now, it seems that people are so heavily into one-upping one another that simple commonality equals competition.

Sometimes I want to scream, “No, I wasn’t stating a bigger number because I was competing, I was only trying to show you how much I agree with you. Now I feel stupid because your mindset is stuck on competition. I am NOT competing. We are talking about eating M&M’s here (or something related which is equally absurd to be competing over)”

(But, then again, you have those people who do make simple stuff like that a competition. That is a whole other conversation entirely – i.e. number of friends on Facebook… 5,000LET’S BE HONEST! That’s called a FAN page)

Which brings me to wonder why is it that being nice to someone always means you are looking for something more or are expressing ULTERIOR interests/motives?

I have watched my nephew for the five years he has been teaching me. I have never met a kid so honest, polite, well-mannered and inquisitive as he. He tells stories of overlooking someone’s shortcoming simply because he would rather he be uncomfortable for a few minutes than have someone play alone. Furthermore, when he has to leave he designates another to fill his shoes.

It, even at this moment, brings a tear to my eye. (Yes, just one eye).

When I think of “No Child Left Behind” I think of him.

He doesn’t mind children bumping him and giving others ample turns is a simple concept to him. I grit my teeth and grimace as I restrain myself from tossing every other child aside so that he, my nephew, can enjoy himself the way I feel he should. And when he exits the playground, waiting to return home, he answers my questions by responding,

“Yeah, I had a good time.”

No double meaning implied.

And that is when guilt takes over.

When did I become so calloused? What happened to me?

As we grew up did those names start to stick to me, causing me to put up a wall? Did I become so subconscious about myself that I am constantly on the defense at the slightest visual abrasion someone inflicts on me? When did I forget how to harbor the forgiveness of a child and the comfort of knowing I have loving arms to always run to when I feel unsure of myself?

So is it sad that as I stare at this white page taking on black words that the only thing I can think of is, “When I grow up I want to be as forgiving and carefree as my five year old nephew and as fearless as my two year old nephew?”

I guess when I truly grow up I want have the maturity of a TRUE adult, but the heart of a child!

And I hope my nephews can retain theirs.

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Don’t you just hate when you are geared up for a movie. You, going along with the theatre cliché, get your popcorn ready, crack open a soda and cozy up ready to take in some cinematic pleasure. Then, suddenly you find yourself playing with cournels and finding that even chewing on them is more exciting than the unbelievable characters on the screen.

Well, Fear No More! I am here to bring you a TYN (Touch Your Nose)  Approved Movie: Extraordinary Measures!

Extraordinary Measures

Based on a true story and the book The Cure by Geeta Anand, Brendan Fraser, Harrison Ford & Felicity – I may never stop calling her that, Felicity…Felicity… Felicity – also known as Keri Russell, star in a movie in which two of their (Keri and Brendan) children are born with a fatal disease known as Pompe nope, I have never heard of it either, Tay-Sachs yeah (a story for another time), but not Pompe. My knee reaction to the word had me thinking of Palm Trees.

Brendan Fraser (John Crowley) a top-notch executive can’t stand to watch both of his children die – as the disease progresses it enlarges the internal organs and will eventually lead to death. He charts a plane to another part of the U.S., completely spontaneous, and basically bribes a doctor (Harrison Ford) into furthering his theories on controlling the affects of Pompe on humans.

The big issues are that the doctor, Harrison Ford (Dr. Robert Stonehill), hasn’t actually put his theories into practical practices, the university he is at is slacking on the funding, and above all his personality straight sucks. I mean his people skills are as painful as trying to have a make-out session with a cactus. However, Brendan Fraser does not take no for an answer.

Through jeopardizing his career, medical coverage for his kids and ultimately his life, a little betrayal is added to the mix as well, Brendan Fraser does whatever he can to extend his time with his kids.

Here comes a spoiler.

I CRIED! Yes, the tears were coming down my face. Not alligator tears. Slow, driplets, the sentimental kind.

All I could think of was watching my kids, faces bright and shining, slowly marching towards death and feeling completely helpless. And then, when I realized what type of person I was, I dried my eyes knowing I would do everything and more to extend their lives by even one minute if I got the chance – yes, I’d kiss a cactus.

This picture gets a big TWO THUMBS UP (Touching) Your Nose!

Enjoy!

what do I fear…

Posted: June 4, 2010 in Rambles

Monsters! No not monsters. Your parents assure you when you are little that monsters do not exist. However, as you insist that you heard things go bump in the night, more than once – depending on whose room is next to yours – there are simple remedies to the monster ordeal.

–          Turning the light on

–          Spinning around in circles repeating “scat, bats, and take that.”

–          Sneaking into your parents room

–          Sleeping with a bat, poison, or what have you underneath your pillow

Nevertheless, your parents still forget to tell you that monsters do in fact exist; they just don’t seem to come around until you get a bank account and/or credit to your name. Then they take on acronym’s that sweep across the nations throwing people into panics forcing them to keep records of instances they wish to be long forgotten. The best ways to avoid these monsters are turn off all the lights, park your car in the garage and avoid your mailbox and phone like the plague – if at all possible.

What do I fear…

Jury Duty! No not jury duty. I await the summons that tells me that I have been chosen to spew forth my opinion on matters that neither concern me, nor am I an expert on. Sitting on a podium, pretending to be interested in individuals make claims to events that are over-exaggerated or completely taken out of context is better than reality television. Wait! It is reality television.

I long to be the juryman that is hated for creating the “hungness” in the room, simply because I am not convinced enough to go against my moral judgments. As far I am concerned they better enjoy the day off, take the $20 dollars a day they are paid and get happy on a Happy Meal.

What do I fear…

Being Left at the Altar! No not being left at the altar. Hey, it’s better to be left there, than twenty years later or so when you find your wife in bed with your best friend. As you stare in disbelief, you loathe hearing the words, “I knew I shouldn’t have married you in the first place.” This is all coupled by the excuses of:

–          You don’t always flush after you pee

–          I didn’t know N-Day did not stand for Necklace-Day

–          You grit your teeth

–          Throwing flour on the kitchen floor does not make it an ice skating ring

–          You have a gap

Granted, these are all things you did/had before you got married and suddenly they have become a problem. Besides, isn’t the wedding all about the reception? So grab your guest, head to the dance floor and gets your money’s worth.

What do I fear…

REJECTION! No not rejection. I reject your rejection!

What do I fear…

I fear mediocrity, normalcy, a lack of drive, dead inspiration, beige. Yes, I fear BEIGE!

I don’t want to be Beige!