Can't see the forest for the typos

Poor Brendan Byrne. First the arena bearing his name was changed, with the naming rights sold to Continental Airlines. Then he gets a forest named after him. A forest! That's much cooler than an arena. When then-Gov. McGreevey renamed the Lebanon State Forest as "Brendan T. Byrne State Forest" in 2002, it prompted Byrne to joke, "it's nice to be immortal again."
But the new AAA road maps for New Jersey identify his newer namesake as the "Brenda Bryan State Forest." Seems Byrne has been immortalized as a woman!
I'm not big on naming things after people. Or airlines or banks. I still call the Garden State Arts Center by that name. And when I go to a Seton Hall basketball game, I simply say I'm going to the Meadowlands. But if I ever have a hankering to visit the swath of woods in Ocean and Burlington counties, I'll think of Brenda.

Put the portrait in the trash

How absolutely sickening. Jim McGreevey's "people" tried to get his portrait-hanging ceremony to coincide with his book release tour. Gov. Corzine's people told him no. McGreevey's people tried again, Corzine's staff stuck to their guns and said no ceremony until the book tour is done. Good for them.
McGreevey's such a slug! I could care less about his love life. But considering the lousy job he did at the helm of our state, appointing a lover to head Homeland Security right after we were all reeling from the 9/11 attacks, and all the other damage he left behind, he doesn't deserve to have a portrait -- taxpayer funded, mind you -- in the statehouse. One of our readers said the only place his picture should be hanging is on the Post Office wall.
I hope his book tanks. A few years back, my parents saw a copy of Christie Whitman's book in a Georgia book store bargain bin for a dollar. I wouldn't even pay that to hear any more of McGreevey's self-centered whining.

Scams and spams

Hope everyone had a great Thanksgiving. I'm looking forward to my favorite leftover: a turkey, stuffing, cranberry and mayo sandwich. MMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM-mmmmmmmmm.
But back at work today, I started going through the editorial page e-mails and got to wondering: How did we get on some of these lists?
We get the spam-scams, usually addressed to "My Beloved" or "Dearest One": Someone from some European or African country and is either dying, representing someone who died or and they want us to help them safely get their millions of dollars to the United States. If we'll just give them our bank number, Social Security, etc. Who falls for these?
We get e-mails from some Cleveland night club, telling us of their latest promotions. Now, Randy, Larry and I aren't likely to be found at a local nightclub, much less a Cleveland one. That one always cracks me up. How did we get on their e-mail list?
We also get e-mails from a company that sells quirky things, like this "great gift idea" for people who are sick of bringing bananas to school or work, only to find them crushed and bruised: A BANANA SAFE BOX. It allows for the safe transport and storage of individual bananas, letting you enjoy perfect bananas anytime, anywhere. What a cool Christmas gift to the banana lover! Price: USD$ 30. Thirty bucks for a box to put a banana in?
Lately we've been getting e-mails from people all over the country, asking us to run their advertisements to sell pets and to send them the price of the ad. But they're obviously not legit. Here's how one opens: "I will like to place an Adverts of my Little yorkie Puppy for sale on your Here is my English Bulldog Description Below." Say what? The person's address was in Augusta, Geargia (sic).
On the same day, we got similar e-mails: a Kentucky woman looking to sell an English Bulldog; another Augusta, Ga., resident who wrote, "Hello, Its my pleasure to informed you that i will like to place and Ad for my little baby which is Yorkie" (no Georgia drawl there) and another Yorkie Puppy from "Reverend Mike" who addresses it to "Dear Sir/Ma" but this time, doesn't say where he's from.
What are these guys after?

Going, in style, in Times Square

I was thinking of taking my daughters to see a Broadway show as their Christmas gift. For my hurtin' wallet, that means an early ride to the Tickets booth opposite Times Square to purchase seats for that day's shows at half price. Too bad it won't be until after the New Year. I'll miss the potty party.

The new public restroom area set up in Times Square is apparently something to experience, so to speak. It's got a waiting room with white plush couches and flat-screen TVs, a kids' mini-dance floor and 20 stalls with lights overhead to alert those on line of an available, um, seat. Check out: http://hosted.ap.org/dynamic/stories/H/HOLIDAY_BATHROOMS?SITE=NJASB&SECTION=HOME&TEMPLATE=DEFAULT

One thing that's strange -- the Charmin company, which built the john joint, has leased the Times Square space until 5 p.m. on Dec. 31. Now, I've never been tempted to go to Times Square on New Year's Eve, but doesn't that seem like a really, REALLY bad time to close public restrooms? There might be a stampede! Or is that a stam-pee-peed?

Coverage mauled by TomKat

OK, I know people are thrilled with peeking into the lives of celebrities, but during my week off, it seemed every channel was overly devoted to covering the wedding of Tom Cruise and Katie Holmes.
Honestly, I couldn't care less. But while I was housecleaning, and housecleaning, and housecleaning (and it will all be a shambles again by the end of this week), I opted to have the TV playing in the background. I should've chosen the radio or some CDs.
Can't they leave that stuff to the entertainment shows? Just about every mainstream news program seemed to be gushing over Tom and Katie getting married, and at the red carpet guest list. Allllll weeeeeeek looooooong.
OK, a story or two could suffice -- in the ENTERTAINMENT segments, please! When you boil it down, celebrities are people, just like us, sort of. When they get married or they have babies, it seems as if they're the first ones to accomplish such feats, and they're questioned ad nauseam about the experiences. I don't bother with the blurbs on how Britney found motherhood and the like. I do listen to who marries who, usually to be disappointed at the length of their marriages. A decade often seems like it'll net them a lifetime achievement award.
The only thing about the whole TomKat thing (and how annoying is that little nickname?) that piqued my interest was that they had a Scientology service. What the heck is that? I never really looked at Scientology; sounds more scientific than religious. Do they use beakers and Bunsen burners instead of candles?
Never mind, I don't really want to know that either.

Watch your language - at least around kids

My last blog before my vacation next week was inspired by my teenager, and by Margaret, a regular Press blog contributor. In a comment on my posting on cell phone use, Margaret told about hearing a woman's screaming, expletive-laden cell phone conversation, then later learned that same woman had been hired to work at a local school.

That got me thinking about dicey language used in front of children.
I was walking through a parking lot and heard a mother getting out of her car tell her two children, roughly about 10 to 12 years old, "Don't ask me for a f*@#in thing." What purpose was served by that? She wasn't yelling; it was almost conversational.

I know people who don't seem to think the S-H word is a "four-letter word." Or who think it's OK to swear in front of kids, as long as you tell them they're not allowed to repeat it.In my house, telling somebody to "shut up" is unacceptable.
Cursing happens - I've been known to drop the F bomb on the rare occasion (LOTS, when I was in labor). The S-H word isn't so rare. But it's never when little kids are around. NEEEEEEver.

Driving my teen and a friend of his - who he's been friends with since preschool - I got cut off and the S-H word slipped. The friend froze, then said, "Wow, I've never heard you curse before." I admitted I shouldn't have cursed then, but I took his moment of stunned silence as a compliment.

It's hard to offend me with any curse word - when adults are around. When people curse in front of children - theirs or mine - I can't stand it. Maybe I'm too sensitive, but I don't think so. And growing up in my very Catholic household, the only thing worse was using God's name in vain.

Last week, my teenager decided the new thing to yell was "Jesus Christ!" After a pointed warning or two, I took him aside and said I didn't want to hear that, and I especially didn't want his much-younger siblings to hear that. Or repeat it. He said, "It's not a bad thing to say." I have a great comeback, supplied to me by our friend Carol Kelly: "No, it's not a bad thing. As long as you say it quietly - and with your head bowed."

Distracted by potty mouths

OK, I blogged on this once before, but I have to plead once again: Public bathrooms are not appropriate places for cell phone conversations!
A friend once walked into a ladies' room behind me, chatting away on the phone, and I quickly asked everyone in the stalls to start flushing their toilets so she'd get the hint that her conversation should have ended outside the door. She laughed and hung up.

This morning, I was in a public building when nature called (not on the phone, either) so I located the restrooms. When I entered, someone was in one of the three stalls. Then I heard her talking, and it was obvious she wasn't talking to herself. Or me. Or nature.

We're already lacking in privacy. Do we have to bring in an outside party to join in too? Whoohoo, it's a potty party! I was "done" before my neighbor, so I did what one does when one is "done." I heard my neighbor tell the obviously unaware third party, "Oh, sorry, I'm talking to you from the bathroom, that was somebody else flushing." Then she kept the conversation going. Fortunately, I was long gone before she was "done" herself. I wonder what our third party thought of the whole arrangement? Rather undignified, and it kind of falls under the "too much information" category.

We already have too many people having should-be-private cell phone chats. People seem to forget they're out in public. But really, if you're willing to expose your personal life to the world by blurting out candid conversation with no thought to who you're standing near, please, please, please keep it out of the restrooms, where others might want their own business to remain a little less public.

Public questions: Do we ever say no?

Do people actually take the time to really analyze the public questions on ballots? Or are we so caught up in the personalities of the candidates that we pay little or no attention to the questions?

I brought the topic up with a group of friends over the weekend. (Yup, the life of the party, that's me) and some didn't know what the state and county questions were. OK, I'm in a job where I'm required to be familiar with such issues, but I remember going over them on my sample ballot before elections and at least gave some thought to them.

But they never fail. Is that because they all have merit, or are they just written so they all look great on paper?

Stalked by Joe Piscopo?

Last week, I activated my voice mail service that will send me an e-mail when I get a message on my machine at home. I'm deactivating it. At least until tomorrow. The last few days I've received several - today's highlights were calls from Bill Clinton and Joe Piscopo. "Hi! It's me, Joe Piscopo. Yes it's me, Joe Piscopo." Oooooookay. I didn't doubt him the first time. Then he went into his get-out-the-vote speech that I didn't listen to. I voted hours earlier. And nothing any last-minute phone call I get will influence me anyway.

The phone is ringing more now than the week we took away our oldest's cell phone. But these canned messages are such a pain. It's much more fun to get a live person. Then, if you let your youngest one answer, you can listen in to the frustration as they beg the child to get Mommy or Daddy, only to hear, "I free years old!" over and over again.

Take time to stop and smell the pizza

I had another incredibly busy weekend. The McDowells were on the run - we even square-danced with our friends the Muras, who put on a terrific audience participation show at their church Saturday night. The kids had a blast.

But now I need a quiet Monday. I can't wait until I get home. I'm not cooking. I'm not cleaning. I'm not doing anything but order pizza and gather the kids to either rent a pay-per-view movie or play board games.

That decision was made after I reviewed today's paper. The Monmouth section had an article about a 10-year-old boy who was given a new bike and a helmet by the Aberdeen police. He was hit by a pickup truck while riding without a helmet on Oct. 3 and had multiple skull fractures. Fortunately, he's made quite a recovery. I couldn't really read the article. I only read the caption and that sent me into a tailspin. I lost my little brother - this time of year - when we were teens when he was hit by a car while riding his moped. Even 20-plus years later, I'm still very sensitive around anniversary time. A helmet would have saved his life - they were required by law a year later. While articles like this don't hit so hard at other times of the year, right now, just reading the caption tears me up. I feel like Robbie's accident was yesterday.

But it's doing some good, spurring some much-needed family quiet time. I'm a bit of an over-doer. I rarely sit still. On weekends, we get a lot of family time in; on weeknights I'm nonstop. After I get the kids done with homework, I clean up the kitchen from dinner and do laundry until their bedtime, then I spend the rest of the evening readying their lunches/bookbags/papers for the next day. Not tonite. It's pepperoni pizza on paper plates, followed by mom-dad-kid time. I can't wait.

Shiver me timbers and show me the three-pointers

Pirate season starts today. I'll be consumed until March. My beloved Seton Hall basketball team plays Bloomfield College tonight at Walsh Gym. My husband and I had season tickets several years back, but for two full-time working parents with four kids (and the cost of babysitters when we do go), it was unrealistic. Now, I go when my folks have extra tickets. They have seats with friends, and when their friends can't go, my brother and I usually get the tickets.

We're huge fans. Dad taught and was an administrator at Seton Hall for 40-plus years. I remember watching games as a kid in Walsh Gym. My parents and grandparents were in their regular seats up high while the kids sat closer to the court.

Brag point: When I was about 12, a ball rolled to me on the sidelines. A player signaled for me to toss it, and I said, "Can I shoot it?" He laughed and said sure. Swish. I got cheers and "sign her up!" from the people behind me. Embarassing point: When I was dating my husband, I got to shoot from half court at halftime in the Meadowlands. I got so nervous, I practically threw it straight up in the air.

I remember many good years - like 1989, ending in a 1-point overtime loss to Michigan in the NCAA finals (and Daryll Walker's unsuccessful Hail Mary last shot of the game) following the Pirates' stunning semifinal victory over Duke. And I remember when we finally beat Syracuse (I was at that game, a little blue spot in a sea of orange since my coworkers from Syracuse bought the tickets) after about 10 years of straight losses.

I remember the bad year, too - the "dream team" Eddie Griffin year comes to mind, where we started the season at the top of everybody's rankings and wound up near the bottom of the Big East. And I recall the funny: Gyratin' Joe, but he, and the messages painted on his belly, called it off years ago.

I don't know how this season's going to turn out. I don't know how I'm going to like the new coach. I just know I'll be tuning in to the TV and radio, cheering in delight (I hope) or yelling in frustration at bad plays and bad calls. Loudly. That used to freak out my neighbors in my long-ago single days when I lived alone. It embarasses my kids now. Go Pirates! Please!!!!!!

The hell with cottage cheese; pass the Merlot

Did you hear about the scientists that fed huge doses of red wine extract to a bunch of obese mice? They found the chunky Mickeys got all the benefits of being thin - living healthier, longer lives - without dieting. That's hilarious.
I don't think I'll give up my salads and early-morning jogs just yet.
It's far too early to know if this would work in people, scientists said. Why not just loiter at the local wine shop and interview people who've purchased merlot, cabernet sauvignon and the like?
The study also found that the organs of the wine-treated fat mice looked normal when they shouldn't have. My favorite quote:
"They're chubby, but inside they look great," said Dr. David Sinclair of Harvard Medical School. "You have to pinch yourself to make sure that this is all real, but the study involved 27 different researchers each of whom had a 'eureka' moment."
You just don't expect a Harvard Medical School researcher to pinch himself or say "Eureka" after throwing a long Mouse Party, do you?
Another favorite quotation from the Associated Press story: the overfed, wine extract overloaded mice were "as agile and active on exercise equipment as their lean cousins." I can just picture them with their little mouse jogging suits and headbands now, running like the Six Million Dollar Man on the treadmill, a stem glass of chianti in paw.

Goodbye, Halloween. Hellooooo, Christmas

I took Halloween off to visit school classroom parties, put final touches on Halloween costumes and do the travel trick-or-treating (to family and friends out of town), the town party and the local trick-or-treating. During a last-minute run to the store to get some red hair spray for my Little Mermaid and some tooth-black-wax for my pirate girl, the Halloween stuff was already on sale and the Christmas stuff was loading up. I saw the same thing at another store, when my teen came home from school and suddenly needed a costume for "one last year" of trick-or-treating. Augh. He couldn't have thought of that over the weekend?

But I guess Halloween gears you up for Christmas. I have to go through my kids' rooms over the next few weeks to get rid of excess toys that built up over the years, just like I have to go through those Halloween bags, and bring in the excess candy to the office coffee station.
The Halloween decorations are not on the scale of the Christmas stuff, but I had to replace batteries and put my ever-increasing collection of stuff out. This weekend I'll load it all back in. Just like Christmas. I love getting it all out and ready, and hate putting it away. But I look forward to the lack of madness that January brings.
We stretch out Christmas, but Halloween is all rolled into one day, and it's exhausting. (The little ones and I did t.p. our own tree on Mischief Night: My 7-year-old excitedly said, "I hope the cops don't see us!") After a full day of Halloween, my 3-year-old conked out on our way home from our after trick-or-treating visits - long before the town curfew. The candy I left on the porch was all gone, I don't know if it was taken by two or 50 people. I was wiped out, but pleasantly, because it was really a fun day with the kids. And I had to laugh when I woke up at 5 a.m. to find a very short Power Ranger climbing in to curl up with my husband and me.
Thanksgiving's a breeze. I don't decorate, my family shares cooking and it's generally a nice, relaxing day. So I guess I'll start my Christmas shopping now, to cut down on the last-minute craziness that always seems to happen. Is it too early to put my tree up?