Oh, Len, say it isn't so. How could you possibly have a horrible time in Pennsylvania Dutch Country? And what could you possibly have against those wonderfully simple folk?
Truth be told, I've got nothing against these horse-and-buggy types. I would probably have loved this visit.
If I had only gotten the chance to actually see anything there. Why would you go on vacation to a destination and then never visit it?
Yes, this is one of my childhood vacations with the family. A trip that went horribly wrong at every turn. And was badly conceived from the get-go.
When I was a kid, our major family summer outings were confined to two specific weeks a year. The last week in July and the first week in August. Those were the two weeks that my dad took off every summer. You could set your calendar watch to those dates. If Mom was working, she would do the same.
So, the big summer fun was always super-concentrated into those fourteen days. A night at Playland in Rye. An afternoon trip downtown to see the summer fare at Radio City Music Hall. A Met game at Shea.
And, somewhere embedded in those two weeks, we would actually pack a couple of suitcases and actually go someplace far. Not on a plane, of course. It was always a car ride. Niagara Falls. Atlantic City. Lake George. My mother would prep for the excursion by buying lots of peaches and plums for me to snack on during the four or five hour drive. Invariably, these treks would be done in tandem with another family. Usually my parents' friends and their kids. The children would get along famously. But, at some point, one of the adults would say the wrong thing to one of the other adults and the proclamation would be announced:
"WE'RE NOT GOING ANY PLACE WITH THEM AGAIN."
By the very next year, we would likely be out on the road with the same people all over again.
These vacations were fun for me, but, as I got older, I didn't necessarily want to hang out with a bunch of kids I barely knew. I'd much prefer staying home with the gang in my neighborhood.
And, of course, bury myself in the New York Mets.
Such was my sentiment the year my mother took me aside and gave me the word on that year's planned trip.
"We're going away with Aunt Anne, Uncle Bob, and your cousins."
For informational purposes, that would be my mom's loony sister, her New York Yankee-obsessed husband, and my cousins who were close to my age. They lived in Suffolk County and I wrote about our Sunday trips to their home several weeks ago.
Sound harmless? I didn't think so. We had never traveled with this tribe before. Our holiday visits on Long Island always found us with somebody being pissed at somebody else. Now we're going to take this hilarity out on the road for the unsuspecting public to see??
I was eleven and felt that I could exert a bit of independence.
I'll stay home and keep Grandma and Grandpa company. And, oh, yeah, watch the Mets on TV every single day.
Er, no.
Apparently, the voting age in my family was 12. Because I didn't get one for this proposition on the ballot. My mother went into oversell mode, telling me how much fun we would have in the planned destination.
The Pennsylvania Dutch country.
Oh, I thought. That's where the noodles come from.
More heavy-handed selling from Mom. The history of the region. How educational it would be.
I saw impending doom at every turn in the country road. I asked the simple question as to how they all had decided on visiting the Pennsylvania Dutch country.
"Well, that's where Uncle Bob's parents live."
Oh. Why are we going? That's not our family. "Yes, it is. Sort of."
But it's Uncle Bob's family. Your brother-in-law's parents. How are they connected to us?
"Well, they are. Sort of." I would not win a single point in this discussion. I went into my room and looked at the New York Met baseball schedule which hung over my bed next to a photo of Jesus Christ. Damn, the Mets were home that whole week. And I wouldn't be.
The trip into the middle of Pennsylvania seemed to take forever. We were traveling on our own. My aunt and uncle were in a separate car. As I looked out the window of my back seat, I saw nothing but grass. I sucked down one plum and peach after another. I thought briefly about swallowing a pit and ending it all right there in the back of the Buick.
When we all arrived in the midst of nowhere, I was startled at how desolate it all was. Where's our motel?
"We're staying at their house."
ALL OF US???? UNDER ONE ROOF???
I was back to thinking about clogging my windpipe with that peach pit all over again.
The house in question seemed to be the only one within miles. There were just fields and fields and fields of grass. It was as if we had come to a new planet.
We were all greeted by my cousins' grandparents and my amazement/shock continued anew. I didn't remember seeing these two before. They looked incredibly old. My own grandmother and grandfather looked like John and Jackie Kennedy compared to these fossils.
I had briefly thought that, perhaps, these two relics were actually Pennsylvania Dutch types. Maybe I'd be riding in a horse and carriage. Or get to watch the old lady churn up a stick of butter.
Nope. As I surveyed their home, they had all the modern conveniences of the 20th century. Except for one.
There was no air conditioning.
Or electric fans.
Or any breeze of any kind.
I felt my clothes adhering to every pore of my skin. The only way I will be able to get undressed at the end of the day is by using a spatula.
And then the vacation started to kick into high gear.
We did nothing but sit around the house and talk.
My cousins and I fooled around outside and played in their yard which seemed to go on for acres. But there was nothing but grass. No swings. No slides. And, definitely NO SWIMMING POOL.
I could feel the temperature getting hotter by the second.
I asked my mother what our plans were for the next few days. Sightseeing? An amusement park nearby? ANYTHING????
"We'll see what they want to do."
Meaning her sister and brother-in-law, who were too busy yakking it up with their side of the family. And ultimately didn't really want to go anywhere.
I looked at the clock on the wall. Back in civilization, it was 8PM. The Met game would be starting right about now. I could be sitting in the backyard with Grandma and Grandpa. Wolfing down a slice of her rhubarb pie while radio announcer Bob Murphy would be telling me the New York Met lineup.
It would get worse. As the night dragged on, people started to stretch and yawn.
It was time to hear the sleeping arrangements. Or how to cram six adults and three children into a two bedroom house that had virtually no air.
The shortest straw again? Yours truly. My bunk mates were my cousin Bobby and his grandfather. From the heat I felt, it might have been on the top shelf of their convection oven. Sweat pored out my body as if it was Old Faithful. But dehydration was the least of my issues on that night.
The old fart snored.
I don't mean lightly. He could be heard clear into Ohio. Martians could hear him in their backyard light years away. It was like I was trying to get some shut-eye in the middle of a lumber mill.
I kept looking at the clock. Counting the minutes and the seconds until it would be morning.
Tick, tick, tick, tick, tick.....
The next days were filled with as much boredom as the first one. If there was anything to do in the vicinity, we sure as heck didn't do it. I got the impression that my parents had even been sold a bill of goods on this one. They started to look bored, too.
It was Friday and the coma set in on me early. Until I remembered something. Back home on the planet Earth, the Mets were home that night. Playing the Philadelphia Phillies.
Whoa!!!!
Since the TV was always on in this dungeon, I knew that we were in the Philadelphia TV market. Maybe the game was on with the Phillie announcers. This was in the days before ESPN and the MLB Network. But, local teams did broadcast games. The Mets and Yankees did. The game had to be on in Philadelphia.
OH, GOD, PLEASE LET THE GAME BE ON.
I asked the retched old buzzsaw which channel carried the Phillies.
"I don't know."
Do you have a TV Guide?
"We use the newspaper TV listings."
Do you have today's paper?
"I think we threw it out."
OLD MAN, THIS SHOULDN'T BE THIS HARD!!!
Guess who didn't get to see a baseball game on TV that night?
When I attempted to turn the channel in the family room that night, Uncle Bob scolded me.
"Don't turn that channel. My father's trying to watch the 11 O'Clock News."
I wondered why. There didn't seem to be happening within a hundred miles of this God-forsaken place.
Meanwhile, the sports report came on.
"The Mets beat the Phils tonight in 10 innings, 3-2."
In those days, the Mets didn't win more than 50 or 60 games a season. And I had missed it. I felt so defeated that I wanted to cry. Except there was no water left in my body. All the liquid had been used up as perspiration.
I don't remember much about that vacation after that. It might have lasted another day or maybe ten. But, it certainly wasn't what my folks had in mind either. There was definitely a tension in the air.
As we began the long drive back to where real people lived, I heard my mother's declaration from the front seat. "WE'RE NOT GOING ANY PLACE WITH THEM AGAIN."
Usually, those disposable razor blades do manage to last for the entire shave.
Is there a Bosley Hair representative working in this cell block?
There is not a single hair on this head that is real.
Oh, my God! They've arrested the late Ed Koch.
Just guessing. Marijuana possession charge???
You think you're angry now? Wait till Obamacare really kicks in next year.
He didn't see the cop standing on his left.
Who put this Band-Aid on? The guy in the previous picture??
Follow me. There's a pattern developing...
Can you guess what it is?
All those who guessed "bow tie on a t-shirt" can now report to the warden. Your sentence has been suspended. Dinner last night: Wine and cheese and lots of other great stuff at the Hollywood Bowl.
Happy birthday to Jan Smithers. You all remember her as the super-hot Bailey Quarters on "WKRP." Or maybe you don't.
324: IN THE BATTLE OF ADRIANOPLE, CONSTANTINE I DEFEATS LICINIUS, WHO FLEES TO BYZANTIUM.
To get his security blanket.
987: HUGH CAPET IS CROWNED KING OF FRANCE, THE FIRST OF THE CAPETIAN DYNASTY THAT WOULD RULE FRANCE TILL THE FRENCH REVOLUTION IN 1792.
That's a nice run for those Capets. Almost Roosevelt-like.
1608: QUEBEC IS FOUNDED BY SAMUEL DE CHAMPLAIN.
So why is the city not called De Champlain?
1754: GEORGE WASHINGTON SURRENDERS FORT NECESSITY TO FRENCH FORCES.
So, obviously, the fort was not a.....
1767: NORWAY'S OLDEST NEWSPAPER STILL IN PRINT, ADRESSEAVISEN, IS FOUNDED AND THE FIRST EDITION IS PUBLISHED.
I wonder if there was a Night Owl edition the evening before.
1775: DURING THE AMERICAN REVOLUTION, GEORGE WASHINGTON TAKES COMMAND OF THE CONTINENTAL ARMY AT CAMBRIDGE, MASS.
So that fort really was not a....
1819: THE BANK OF SAVINGS IN NEW YORK CITY, THE FIRST SAVINGS BANK IN THE US, OPENS.
Toaster anybody?
1849: THE FRENCH ENTER ROME IN ORDER TO RESTORE POPE PIUS IX TO POWER.
Who knew that the French had a Pope in the race?
1852: CONGRESS ESTABLISHES THE UNITED STATES 2ND MINT IN SAN FRANCISCO, CALIFORNIA.
The first mint being created by Wrigley Gum.
1863: DURING THE AMERICAN CIVIL WAR, THE FINAL DAY OF THE BATTLE OF GETTYSBURG CULMINATES WITH PICKETT'S CHARGE.
I wonder what he charged. Oh, probably some body bags.
1878: ACTOR/COMPOSER GEORGE M. COHAN IS BORN.
My father thanks you, my mother thanks you, my sister thanks you, and I thank you.
1884: DOW JONES AND COMPANY PUBLISHES ITS FIRST STOCK AVERAGE.
And officially became the part of the newspaper that everybody ignores.
1886: KARL BENZ OFFICIALLY UNVEILS THE BENZ PATENT MOTORWAGEN - THE FIRST PURPOSE-BUILT AUTOMOBILE.
You mean the original car invention was an accident?
1890: IDAHO IS ADMITTED AS THE 43RD US STATE.
Potatoes are on the house.
1906: ACTOR GEORGE SANDERS IS BORN.
All About Birth.
1913: JOURNALIST DOROTHY KILGALLEN IS BORN.
At birth, she was bigger than a breadbox.
1938: WORLD SPEED RECORD FOR A STEAM RAILWAY LOCOMOTIVE IS SET IN ENGLAND.
So the entrant from Petticoat Junction finished out of the money?
1938: PRESIDENT FRANKLIN D. ROOSEVELT DEDICATES THE ETERNAL LIGHT PEACE MEMORIAL AND LIGHTS THE ETERNAL FLAME AT GETTYSBURG.
You see how history works? We had a Gettysburg entry for 1863 and now this. I love when things make sense.
1941: ATTORNEY GLORIA ALLRED IS BORN.
Let me know when she finally croaks and relieves us all from the pain.
1944: DURING WORLD WAR II, MINSK IS LIBERATED FROM NAZI CONTROL BY SOVIET TROOPS.
The Night They Raided Minsk.
1947: ACTRESS BETTY BUCKLEY IS BORN.
Well, that's your first memory.
1949: ACTRESS JAN SMITHERS IS BORN.
She was once married to James Brolin but eventually was smart enough to cast off this lummox to be Barbra's house mule.
1952: THE CONSTITUTION OF PUERTO RICO IS APPROVED BY THE CONGRESS OF THE US. The simple question is.....WHY???? 1965: TRIGGER DIES. Two days later, Roy Rogers dismounted. 1969: THE BIGGEST EXPLOSION IN THE HISTORY OF ROCKETRY OCCURS WHEN THE SOVIET N-1 ROCKET EXPLODES ON ITS LAUNCHPAD. The biggest explosion?? Have you ever seen a Michael Bay movie? 1971: ROCK STAR JIM MORRISON DIES. Come on, baby, light his fire. 1979: US PRESIDENT JIMMY CARTER SIGNS THE FIRST DIRECTIVE FOR SECRET AID TO THE OPPONENTS OF THE PRO-SOVIET REGIME IN KABUL. One of the four days in his administration that Carter actually did something. 1981: ACTOR ROSS MARTIN DIES. Sun sets in the Wild Wild West. 1986: SINGER RUDY VALLEE DIES. My Time is no longer Your Time. 1988: UNITED STATES NAVY WARHSIP USS VINCENNES SHOOTS DOWN IRAN AIR FLIGHT 655 OVER THE PERSIAN GULF, KILLING ALL 290 PEOPLE ABOARD. So that's 2980 people who ultimately won't move to the west side of Los Angeles. 1989: ACTOR JIM BACKUS DIES. I wonder if Mr. Magoo saw this coming. 1993: ACTOR JOE DERITA DIES. The Curly nobody remembers. 1993: BASEBALL STAR DON DRYSDALE DIES. I remember where I was when I heard this. I had just left a Met game and had turned on my car radio in the Flushing Marina parking lot. 1994: THE DEADLIEST DAY IN TEXAS TRAFFIC HISTORY. FORTY-SIX PEOPLE ARE KILLED IN CRASHES. All of them in one car.
You want to know how long this blog has been around? Almost as long as one of these contraptions that get shoved up your ass. In the early days of Len Speaks, I did a piece on my very first colonoscopy. Well, here we are, six years later and I'm a bit...ahem...behind. My first exam revealed a polyp and my doctor wanted me back in three years. Well, that didn't happen as scheduled. Back at the three year mark, I had heard that my doctor was sidelined due to a hand injury. Apparently, something had happened in a fight with a dog. I didn't ask for details. Nevertheless, if my doctor was less "handy" at the time, the last thing I wanted was him trying to insert a Kodak Instamatic up my...well....up me. But everything healed on his end. So to speak. And I couldn't wait any longer. Polyps take five years to grow back. Mine have probably already returned and was snacking on some cancerous nitrates that I had gleefully ingested with my last grilled Taylor Ham sandwich. I needed to go. There was a lot of symmetry this time around. I like consistency. I went to the exact same place for the procedure. And, in a fashion, so did my doctor.. Everything was the same. Except for the night-before prep, which is what scares most people from ever having a colonoscopy in the first place. My doctor told me to get a two quart bottle of apple juice. I mixed that in a pitcher with a bottle of Miralax. I drank half the pitcher around 6PM. Yes, by 7PM, I was. Meanwhile, the concoction was pretty tasty. I won't be ordering it at cocktail parties but, for the purposes intended, it could have all been a lot worse. The next morning, I drank the other half of the pitcher. But, by this point, my insides were dryer than the Gobi Desert. I was as clean as a whistle and it would be a shame to eventually put food down and dirty it up again. Like when you have your carpets cleaned and you then try to avoid walking on them. Meanwhile, the hardest part of any colonoscopy is the waiting once you get called in from the reception area. Donning the gown that opens in the back. Wondering if the personal training has paid off in that area of the body. Getting the IV put into your arm. And then stretching out on a gurney to await your close-up with Mr. DeMille. And await and await and await. I amuse myself by listening to all the conversations going on behind other curtains where patients are in varying depots along the Colonoscopy Express. I hear them wheel an old lady next to me. She's done and just coming out of the anesthesia. Lady: "Nurse, I have a question." Nurse: "What can I do for you, dear?" Lady: (SHEEPISHLY) "I have a little gas." Nurse: "That's very common." Lady: "But what should I do?" Nurse: "Let it pass." Lady: "But how do I do that?" Nurse: (A BIT ANNOYED) "You fart!!!" Lady: "But I don't know how." Uh-huh. Somehow, I'm sure this lady knows how to fart. Especially if you're sitting next to her on the bus. I'm ultimately saved from this non-Neil-Simon-like banter when my anesthesiologist Lisa arrives to take me for a ride. She's cute and I'm sorry that I am meeting her for the first time without any pants on. That view should be reserved for our second date. Nevertheless, pending dinner plans not withstanding, I am shuttled into my private soundstage. My doctor is on his laptop. I asked if he was Googling "colonoscopy." Yes, when I am faced with a medical procedure, I always resort to humor as a means of calming myself down. The Reader's Digest is right. Laughter is the best medicine. I asked the attending nurse how many of these procedures are done in a single day. She replies they do at least 30. I remark that I used to see that many assholes a day in my last job. I announce to all assembled in the room that it's the anniversary of Michael Jackson's death and I want to honor him by taking a shot of propofol myself. Big laughs ensue. But, as usually happens, the medical staff gets tired of me and can't wait to administer the knock-out drops. Lisa, my future wife, taps me on the shoulder. "Okay, turn on your side and look at me before you go to sleep." I say "gladly." I think I ask for her phone number but I only get to hear the area code. Zzzzzzzz. At least, for a little bit. I'm suddenly in a daze. I'm still on my side. Lisa's finger is holding my IV in place. And there is a conversation going on. My doctor, the nurse, and Lisa are discussing baked goods. Most notably, the return of Hostess Cakes to store shelves.
The nurse, however, counters that she's not a fan of Twinkies. Growing up in Philadelphia, she's a fan of Tastykakes.
Ah, but my doctor reveals himself to be a child of Southern Boulevard in the Bronx. In his childhood, Drake's Cakes were all the rage.
Meanwhile, I can feel something going on inside me. Did they screw up my procedure? Was I going to be awake for it all? I finally had to speak out.
"You do realize that I can hear your entire conversation. And, oh, by the way, I used to love Drakes' Yodels."
My doctor said that he knew I was awake. The hard part of my procedure was over. Since there were no polyps and everything was, as they say, "unremarkable," they brought me out early. I glanced up at the flat screen monitor on the wall. Wait!!! "Is that me?????" It was. I got to watch the last five minutes of my own colonoscopy. And, if you think that sounds gross, it really wasn't. Heck, if you could look at Katie Couric's insides, mine were a lot cleaner. I was super-impressed. Sadly, I did get a Starbucks Java Chip Light on the way home so the carpets weren't pristine for long. I was given photos of my innards and I refrain from using them as illustrations here. The good news is that, with a great bill of health from this procedure, I don't have to do this again for five years. That, however, will likely not help me to forge a lasting relationship with Lisa. Cute anesthesiologists not withstanding, a colonoscopy is a painless and easy way to safeguard your long term health and well being. If you're due, go. If you're overdue, you really should go. Of course, nobody can make you go. You'll need the Miralax for that. Dinner last night: The salad bar from Gelson's.
