Uncontrollably Laugh Your Way to Medical Attention

I was watching TV with my grandma this morning when a commercial came on that triggered bouts of laughter from both of us. The irony is, the commercial was explaining the pseudobulbar affect, which is a medical condition characterized by episodes of uncontrollable laughing or crying, also referred to as "emotional incontinence." The ad seemed like a cheesy fake commercial in a Saturday Night Live episode, except this commercial was no laughing matter. The pseudobulbar affect is listed and explained on the National Stroke Association website.

But isn't it kind of cruel to create a commercial identifying this condition in such a comical way? Maybe a little, but it certainly got my attention. So if you have recently had a stroke or some other brain related incident or illness and you are experiencing emotional incontinence, you're not alone. Get your PBA pamphlet today!

Forest Graffiti

Washington Grove is a popular 100 acre forested area in the ROC, and features a unique artistic attraction. Graffiti smothered water towers rest on a hill surrounded by hiking trails, and no hike is complete without taking a spin around the two water towers to view the most current images. The artwork is constantly changing, so if you see something you like, you better snap a photo. Chances are it won't be there next time you visit. A recent adventure to the towers left me stopping every few feet to photograph my favorite creations before dashing to catch up to my two hiking companions. One of my friends was visiting from Brooklyn, and I may have missed out on some important conversation, but the impressive graffiti kept drawing my camera phone out of my pocket.

Gary the ubiquitous cartoon snail

After reviewing my picture plunder, I noticed floating animal heads were a recurring theme. I was also amused by one particular artwork that took me by surprise with it's simple execution. I couldn't help but take a photograph to contrast the demented creature donning a bubble gum pink sweater vest with the more elegant and sophisticated work that dominates the water tower walls.

"I'm special."

The water towers provide a creative outlet for artists of all aesthetics and levels of experience. Hopefully this artistic gem can continue to provide a vast canvas for graffiti artists. With the recent loss of 5 Pointz in Queens, we can be glad no one seems too interested in converting rusty old water towers into ritzy condos. Of course, no one is about to develop land in the middle of a park either, so the water towers hopefully have some added immunity.

Sidewalk Garnish

Leaving Jeremiah's Tavern on Monroe Ave today after a tasty lunch with the family, I noticed a peculiar growth by the edge of the sidewalk. As I inched closer, it was impossible to ignore how eerily similar the lettuce-like foliage looked to the lettuce garnishes that often accompany a restaurant meal. The rich purple and green hues of the leafy growth tempted me to take a little taste, but the thought of eating street lettuce stopped me in my tracks. My uncle noticed the vegetation and jokingly exclaimed, "fertilized with cigarettes!" I'll keep wondering how that strange lettuce specimen managed to sprout and thrive in a tiny dirt patch by the edge of a grimy, well-traveled road. I hope Jeremiah's acquires their garnishes elsewhere.

Lookin' pretty good considering the cold and salt and all

Communication Breakdown

Ahhh the holidays, a time when doting grandparents can finally reunite with the beloved grandchildren they are lucky enough to see but a few times a year. I can't help but chuckle as I observe the interactions between my grandmother and her toddler granddaughter. They sit at the dining room table together, making art from a pile of yellow construction paper, crayons and craft scissors.

The young girl mouths of wordy, half coherent sentences while Grandma attempts to translate and respond accordingly. The pile of once whole sheets of yellow paper is slowly but surely being transformed into a heap of dissected squiggly strips.

Markers with missing caps littler the tables, and other young children join in the fun, adding to the squiggly paper mayhem.

Little girl: (proudly holding up a shape she just cut) "That's a guy. I love it."

Younger boy: (planning to cut out a boat from some black construction paper) "I was thinking one with a banana end and one with a dragon tail end"

Younger boy:
"Does that look like a butterfly to you?"
"That looks like a dragon."
"My mom used to eat snails. I never want to eat snails in my life."
"Cranberry sauce tastes bitter to me."

Grandma talking to little girl: "Do we have glue on the scissors by any chance? It looks like we might... Nope you're good, keep cutting."

One older little boy chimes in, "The great thing about these scissors is it's not really messy." And he's absolutely right. Even a three year old just learning to refine her crafting abilities can cut artistic squiggly lines without having to worry about making them too straight.

And it doesn't really matter if Grandma can linearly translate what her adorable granddaughter is trying to tell her. They're conversations are as squiggly and haphazard as the paper shapes that litter the table and floor. As long as they're making art and spending time together, that's all that matters.

Younger boy on the left, little girl in the middle
holding the magical craft scissors, and Grandma
on the right facilitating the discussion

National Lampoon's Thanksgiving Odyssey

Most of us have seen those ridiculously over the top slap stick holiday movies featuring Chevy Chase and his neurotically abnormal family members. It is with a combination of bitter remorse and bewildered amusement I must admit  those movies evoke all too accurately the daily operations of my own crazy family.

This Thanksgiving the insanity erupted in a last minute volcano of vacation mayhem as we rushed to get on the road in time to beat the atrocious snowy weather pelting the northeast on one of the busiest travel days of the year.

Having neglected to vet Shaggy, my grandma's enormous Old English Sheepdog, we couldn't kennel him anywhere. We had no choice but to make space for him in the back of the station wagon and haul him along with us for the six hour drive to our relative's house. Have you ever tried to fall asleep while a slimy dog tongue exuding a strong fishy stench drools saliva on your shoulder? It's a fun challenge. Not only was Shaggy basking in his normal dirty dog aromas, he'd also snatched a juicy Burger King cheeseburger my grandma had left too close to the edge of the counter earlier that day. Between the existing smells and the threat of a dog diarrhea explosion, the car ride was a little tense.

Oh and the looming threat of blizzard conditions and icy roads didn't help the tension. Despite repeated travel advisory warnings, my family was dead set on making the half day drive through the snow and ice. As we nervously rolled past eighteen wheelers veering dangerously close to our car, I was envisioning a perfectly browned, juicy turkey floating in front of a distinctly pearly gate.

Despite the obvious danger, there were also the haphazardly packed bags crammed between my sister and I in the back seat. The precariously perched glass bowl of gluten free stuffing threatened to crash to the floor and ruin the pathetic mush my sister insisted on having. But there's really nothing like a glass dish of stuffing periodically rolling into your lap to get you excited for the Thanksgiving feast.

Luckily we made it to the relative's house unscathed and stuffing intact, and it wasn't until the next morning that Shaggy's cheeseburger bender came back to bite him in the you know what.

Happy Thanksgiving!

Fond Fang Memories

As the holiday season looms in the chilly November future, nostalgia inevitably draws people to bust out the homemade decorations and family photos from years past. I was recently combing through my mom's jewelry collection stored in the top drawer of her dresser. The collection is chock full of old pairs of earrings and some of the first jewelry my sister and I were ever given. As I inspected the contents of tiny boxes and silk bags I couldn't help but mourn the countless broken gold chains and earrings missing their matching counterparts. The numerous pairs of dolphin-shaped earrings made me question whether I had a forgotten obsession with dolphins as a young girl. No such obsession came to mind, which left me wondering why my mother repeatedly chose dolphin themed earrings for my sister and I.

As I continued examining the jewelry collection, my mind wandered to other childhood collections. It was at this point I started searching for my baby teeth, hoping my mom had not thrown them out. As it turns out, the tooth collection was being safely stored in a jewelry box in a loose drawer on top of the refrigerator in the garage. Though smaller than I remember, the teeth made the familiar clattering sound as I pushed them around the box with my finger. They sounded like tiny seashells bumping into each other when I closed my eyes.

I brought my collection back inside and gingerly selected my favorite tooth. Ah, but it was no ordinary tooth. Have you ever had a tooth grow from the roof of your mouth? Well I have, and for the duration of it's lifetime, I had no idea it was not normal to have a tooth growing up there. Growing singularly behind my two front teeth, the rogue tooth had a mind of its own, growing in a rather conical shape with a pointed, fang-like tip. I don't even remember what it was like to have a tooth growing where it shouldn't, but I wouldn't make this up.

I DO remember the terrifying experience of getting the tooth removed, as the tooth-extracting-people realized with a shock how well my crazy fang tooth had rooted itself. Oh yes, being held down by two technicians and injected with repeated doses of numbing agent was an unforgettable event. And the gap, oooh the glorious gap I couldn't stop feeling with my tongue after the horrifying procedure was over. Despite the terrifying extraction process, I am still very fond of my fang. It is doubtful I will ever produce another fang in my lifetime, but I can't help but wonder if I have some secret mystical power not yet known to me. I've always been fond of the woods. Perhaps one day the rest of my fangs will finally grow in and I can run with the other wolves and howl at the full moon.

Trick or Cheat

It's sad to admit, but now that I am a senior in college, I'm fairly certain I have just completed my final trick-or-treating escapade. It's true, most trick-or-treaters lose sight of the magic of taking candy from strangers long before college, but I have persisted, with the help of the two young girls I babysit.

This year it was unseasonably warm, yet rainy and muddy. In anticipation of this weather, my friend and I prepared detective costumes incorporating black rain coats to shield us from the unfortunate weather. The only actual detective garb consisted of handmade paper badges safety pinned to our jackets, along with notebooks and pens we kept in our pockets to record evidence. Our costumes did look rather lame on the outside, and the mother of the girls we escorted offered to let us borrow two brief case-type bags to make our costumes more legit. The detective bag I used was a red leather purse with shoulder straps, but I think it actually may have worked against me. Since it looked purse-like, a lot of adults thought I was just carrying it to carry it. As one adult passionately commented however, "people should expect any bag at the door at Halloween is for candy." Amen. Still, my friend and I left many candy-giver-outers wondering if we were just accompanying the girls or if we were also trick-or-treaters.

On this gloomy Halloween evening, several cars were seen slowly rolling down the streets, carrying the lazy "trick-or-treater cheaters" who refused to walk from house to house, or whose parents wanted to shield them from the treacherous sprinkling of rain and occasional puddle. The girls laughed at them as we trudged up and down driveways on foot. The youngest girl in our group had decided to wear high heels as part of her drama queen costume. I knew she would suffer, but there was no talking her out of it. Halfway through the candy route she started giving in, huffing and puffing, but relentlessly exclaiming, "If I don't get more candy I'll die." And in her next breath she admitted, "I wish I had my power scooter." Instead of stooping down to trick-or-treater cheater level, we cut our losses and went home early. There was still plenty of candy to go around.