Update 9-30-08

Hi,

It's a good thing this is an apolitical newsletter because today I'm mainly trying to distract myself from the state of the world.  I keep thinking about my grandparents, who lived through the boom of the 20s, the Depression, and then, at about our ages, were facing World War II.
   
    On a happier, more personal note, good news from Robin Feit Baker:  A little information to include when you have a chance.  I have a new grandson, Brody, born last Tuesday, September 23rd, to my daughter Lindsey and son-in-law Jaime.  Needless to say, we are thrilled.
        Hope all is well.  Love to everyone.
   
    [Rich -- Congratulations, of course.  I'm sure from everyone.]
   
    Next, an urgent-seeming but cryptic note from Claire Brush Reinhardt, accompanying a mime attachment I couldn't open, which may explain everything:  We will not be able to respond to your e-mail until September 29.  If you are writing about Valley Stream South High's Homecoming on October 18th and would like to e-mail Roberta Brill Birnel, please do so at:  Robbie2@optonline.net
   
    [Rich -- I think Claire and her husband are off traveling and that the e-mail was just an automatically sent reply to my update last week.  But it is good to remember that South's Homecoming is coming, and if you want to participate, this would be the time to tell Robbie Birnel.  It also reminds me that there's probably an Alumni Association meeting this week, but I don't know how that's affected by the Jewish holidays.
        Speaking of those, as they kind of used to say in the military when they ordered, "Smoke 'em if you have 'em," if the holidays are yours, celebrate 'em.]
   
    Topically, from Linda Cohen Greenseid, sent with "wishes for a very happy and healthy new year":  On the morning of Rosh Hashana, as the congregation was filing into the sanctuary, Rabbi Feldman noticed little Max standing in the foyer of the synagogue, staring up at a large plaque.  It was covered with names and had small American flags mounted on either side of it.  The six-year-old had been staring at the plaque for some time, so the rabbi walked up, stood beside the little boy, and said quietly, "Boker tov, Max."
        "Boker tov, Rabbi Feldman," Max replied, still focused on the plaque.  "Rabbi Feldman, what is this?" he said, pointing to the plaque.
        The good rabbi tenderly put his arm around Max's shoulder and said, "Well, son, it's a memorial to all the young men and women who died in the service."
        “Which service?” Max asked.  “Rosh Hashana or Yom Kippur?"
   
    Larry Kincade sent another series of photos of interesting looking airplanes.  But again, unfortunately, the file is unforwardable.  So if you want to know what the planes look like, please ask him directly.
   
    Tom McPartland wrote saying:  Just wanted to make sure I had given everyone my current e-mail address.  My old Verizon address has finally been canceled.  My new address is:  tommcp@ptd.net
   
    An answer from Barbara Blitfeld Pech to last week's question from Zelda White Nichols:  From the Fashionista desk of Barbara Blitfield Pech to Zelda -- Nope, poodle skirts were worn in the 50s, with either "saddle shoes" or black sling back flats, a white peter pan collar blouse, or a back-buttoned cardigan with a matching side scarf tied around the neck.  Pony tail was optional.  My treasured weejuns were -- and are again, thanks to the local school uniform store -- part of my preppy existence, originally worn with hip pleated shirts, khaki pants, and of course "forever in blue jeans..."
        On a note of a different color -- Does anyone know why South's colors were changed to red and white?  I remember "knowing" that the South school colors were red and grey to represent the colors of the Southern soldier uniforms.  I suppose now you're going to tell me the school paper is no longer The Southern Belle.
   
    [Rich -- Actually, I believe it's now The Southern Bell, but it's an interesting point that the school colors supposedly repeated the Confederate army's colors.  I remember the gray, of "The Blue and the Gray,"  but don't remember red being involved.  And how does that relate to green reflecting the Spartans of Greece and North High?]
   
    Speaking of the South, a reflection forwarded by Alan Bendel, who I guess has lived there for quite a while.  As he indicates, the forward isn't exactly what it immediately seems.
        This isn't your typical redneck joke.  Please Read.
        We have enjoyed the redneck jokes for years.  It's time to take a reflective look at the core beliefs of a culture that values home, family, country, and God.  If I had to stand before a dozen terrorists who threaten my life, I'd choose a half-dozen-or-so rednecks to back me up.  Tire irons, squirrel guns, and grit -- that's what rednecks are made of.  I hope I am one of those.  If you feel the same, pass this on to your redneck friends.  Ya'll know who ya'are.
         You might be a redneck if:  It never occurred to you to be offended by the phrase, "One nation, under God."
         You might be a redneck if:  You've never protested about seeing the Ten Commandments posted in public places.
         You might be a redneck if:  You still say "Christmas" instead of '"Winter Festival.
         You might be a redneck if:  You bow your head when someone prays.
         You might be a redneck if:  You stand and place your hand over your heart when they play the national anthem.
         You might be a redneck if:  You treat our armed forces veterans with great respect and always have.
         You might be a redneck if:  You've never burned an American flag nor intend to.
         You might be a redneck if:  You know what you believe, and you aren't afraid to say so, no matter who is listening.
         You might be a redneck if:  You respect your elders and raised your kids to do the same.
         You might be a redneck if:  You'd give your last dollar to a friend.
         If you got this e-mail from me, it's because I believe that you, like me, have just enough redneck in you to have the same beliefs as those mentioned.  God bless the USA.
   
    [Rich -- Finally, a joke that's been around the Internet for a while but was just forwarded by my cousin Lori and has slightly eased my present mood.  This is, of course, one of the purposes of humor and the point of the movie Sullivan's Travels.]
        The teacher told the class, "Today we'll experiment with a new form called the 'Tandem Story.'  The process is simple.  Each person pairs off with the person sitting next to them.  One of you will write the first paragraph of a short story, then you'll e-mail it to your partner.  The partner continues the story, also sending a copy to me.  Then the first person goes  on, and then the second.  The story is over when both writers agree a conclusion has been reached."
        First paragraph by Rebecca:  At first, Laurie couldn't decide which kind of tea she wanted.  The chamomile, which used to be her favorite for lazy evenings at home, now reminded her too much of Carl, who once said, in happier times, that he liked chamomile.  But she felt she must now, at all costs, keep her mind off Carl.  His possessiveness was suffocating, and if she thought about him too much, her asthma started up again.  So chamomile was out of the question.
        Second paragraph by Gary:  Meanwhile, Advance Sergeant Carl Harris, leader of the attack squadron now in orbit over Skylon 4, had more important things to think about than the neuroses of an air-headed, asthmatic bimbo named Laurie with whom he had spent one sweaty night over a year ago.  "A.S. Harris to Geostation 17," he barked into his transgalactic communicator.  "'Polar orbit established.  No sign of resistance so far."  But before he could sign off, a bluish particle beam flashed out of nowhere and blasted a hole through his ship's cargo bay.  The jolt from the direct hit sent him flying from his seat and across the cockpit.
        Rebecca:  He bumped his head and died almost immediately, but not before he felt one last pang of regret for psychically brutalizing the one woman who ever had feelings for him.  Soon afterwards, Earth stopped its pointless hostilities towards the peaceful farmers of Skylon 4.  "Congress Passes Law Permanently Abolishing War," Laurie read in her newspaper one morning.  The news pleased her, but instead of considering it, she stared out her window, dreaming of her youth, when the days had passed unhurriedly and carefree.  "Why must one lose one's innocence to become a woman?" she pondered wistfully.
        Gary:  Little did she know, but she had less than 10 seconds to live.  Thousands of miles above the city, the Anudrian mothership launched the first of its lithium fusion missiles.  The dimwitted, wimpy peaceniks who pushed the Unilateral Aerospace Disarmament Treaty through the Congress had left Earth a defenseless target for the hostile alien empires who were determined to destroy the human race.  Within two hours after the passage of the treaty, the Anudrian ships were on course for Earth, carrying enough firepower to pulverize the entire planet.  With no one to stop them, they swiftly initiated their diabolical plan.  The lithium fusion missile entered the atmosphere unimpeded.  The President, in his top-secret mobile submarine headquarters on the ocean floor off the coast of Guam, felt the inconceivably massive explosion, which instantly vaporized poor, stupid Laurie.
        Rebecca:  This is absurd.  I refuse to continue this mockery of literature.  My writing partner is a violent, chauvinistic, semi-literate adolescent.
        Gary:  Yeah?  Well, my writing partner is a self-centered, tedious, neurotic, whose attempts at writing are the literary equivalent of Valium.  "Oh, shall I have chamomile tea?  Or shall I have some other sort of FUCKING TEA?  Oh, no, what am I to do?  I'm such an air-headed bimbo, who reads too many Danielle Steele novels!"
        Rebecca:  Asshole!
        Gary:  Bitch!
        Rebecca:  FUCK YOU -- YOU NEANDERTHAL!
        Gary:  IN YOUR DREAMS, HO!  GO DRINK SOME CHAMO-FUCKING-MILE TEA!
        TEACHER:  A+.  I really liked this one.