Tag Archives: The Write Side of 50

The Saturday Blog: Head to Head

02 Saturday Feb 2013

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Head to head

By Julie Seyler

It appears that all of us at The Write Side of 50 are neck and neck, and head to head, with ambivalence when it comes to tomorrow’s Super Bowl. Bob will be the life of the party, Anthony may be “fixing” a doorknob, Frank admits to being among the “men who hate the Super Bowl,” Julie has already turned the game into an art project (above), and Lois just loves a good game (and the accompanying party), and will jump on the bandwagon.

My Super Bowl Sunday “Channel”: Dad

01 Friday Feb 2013

Posted by in Confessional, Men

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Buccino_Tools4

Dad’s Phillies have nothing to do with football. Photo by Anthony Buccino.

BY ANTHONY BUCCINO

During one Super Bowl, I spent the evening changing the door knobs on all the doors in our old house. “That,” my daughter has said for 25 years, “is why none of them close.”

Who needs football to prove manliness? Men build stuff, use saws, hammers, nails, screwdrivers and pound nails. Me, I don’t use those electrical gadgets you find in the box stores these days. I use the hand-tools Dad left behind 33 years ago. The ones with his initials burned into the handles. He was a carpenter, and had a lot more practice, but I can still hit my left thumb pretty good.

Neither of us was much into watching football on TV. He preferred to sleep through war movies. His love was pedigree homing pigeons. I don’t bet money on football. I won $10 on a football ticket in 1971, but Big John lost my ticket, and I’m still waiting for Roger Ross to pay me. (He’s hiding out in Hawaii.)

All those big super-charged football players are best used to run after each other and knock each other down. Spare the testosterone. Memory tells me that the high school rough kids’ exuberance was corralled into wrestling and football. Better they should run in the mud, muck, ice and bone-chilling rain, snow and cold.

These days, my wife will call me in to see a super commercial as she flips from the game to her shopping channels. Or challenge me to choose the cutest puppy in the dog bowl while our old Lab lies nearby comatose, snoring through gray jowls. That is about as close as I get to any kind of bowl.

Like many I’ll catch some commercial highlights in previews or post game. When I think of the money spent on ads for a football game, it’s unthinkable. Some places have a soup-er bowl where they collect cash and food for soup kitchens. How many hungry folks could eat for the cost of a one-minute commercial?

The Super Bowl is coming to my neighborhood in a few years, and all I think about is the traffic and how hard it would be to get to work if I’m working a real job by then. I would not bother to schnorr a free ticket to that game – it’s not my style. Instead, I’ll fix something around the house that has been awaiting repair. It’s probably on the Honey-Do chit list right now.

When it came to those door knobs, I knew how it needed to be done. I had the tools, the hardware and the shims. They just wouldn’t line up like they should have.

In the third quarter, the door jammed closed. I was locked in the spare bedroom. Contemplating climbing out the window onto the garage roof, dropping to the pavement and then trying to open the door from the hallway. Yeah, that’s when I wished Dad was by my side.

Invoking his forty years of woodwork, windows and framing, I channeled a sliver of his ingenuity and got that door open from inside. “Cancel the 9-1-1 call, Honey,” I called down the stairs, “I’m out!”

Maybe we’ll just leave these doors open, for circulation.

I Don’t Man-Up for the Super Bowl

31 Thursday Jan 2013

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Football from the outside in

Football from the outside in. By Julie Seyler.

BY BOB SMITH

I failed as a baseball pitcher because of a bad attitude. I didn’t have the athletic skills for basketball or soccer. And I lacked both the skills and raw physical aggression needed for football. As a result, I was never particularly interested in watching other people play those games.

I don’t regularly watch any sport, for that matter. But I make an exception for the Super Bowl, because it’s a championship game where the best teams are playing really hard, there are cool commercials, and an interesting halftime show. And best of all – greasy snacks. But otherwise, because I was never very good at sports myself, I’m pretty much a non-watcher of televised sports.

It started when I played Little League baseball as a boy. They made me pitch, because as a left-hander, it was natural for me to sling the ball across my body from left to right. The pitch started high, looking like a strike, but then it slid down low and inside against right-handed batters – really hard to hit.

But if the ball was hit back to me, whether in the air or on the ground, I couldn’t catch it worth a lick. And at the plate, I struck out almost every time. Worse yet, I was a perfectionist – I thought that unless I struck out every batter, I was a failure. So as soon as anyone got a hit I got angry and threw harder, losing all control. I issued walk after walk, loading the bases.

Wise guys supporting the other team would start to chant: “Pitcher’s crackin’ uh-up! Pitcher’s crackin’ uh-up!,” and I’d get madder, throwing even more erratically, proving them right. The coach would yank me, and I’d sit in the dugout pissed off for the rest of the game.

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I’m a Man That Looks Up to Women. (I’m 5-Foot-9)

30 Wednesday Jan 2013

Posted by in Confessional, Men

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tall woman

Sketches by Julie Seyler.

BY FRANK TERRANELLA

I was at a cocktail party not long ago, where several 20-something women came over and stood next to me. Now, at 5 feet 9 inches, I have never considered myself tall. I am average height for a male Baby Boomer. But all three of the young women were 5 feet 9 – and above. I know that because I asked them. Two of them were wearing high heels, which made it even worse. In years past, I rarely encountered a woman who was taller than me. What is going on here? When did women start growing so tall?

Just from personal observation, I think that on average, women in their 50s tend to be about four inches smaller than men. But it seems that young women today are growing much taller than their mothers. Although scientists say the average height height of women today is only one inch taller than it was 50 years ago, I seem to see very tall women everywhere I go.  Maybe more women are wearing higher heels than 30 or 40 years ago, but I doubt it. tall woman 2

Women have been wearing that ridiculously uncomfortable footwear for decades. No, I think there actually are more women taller than me today than there used to be. Add to that the fact that people lose height as they age, and I expect to feel like I’m walking among giants soon. And men tend to fear giant women. Do you remember the 1950’s film where a woman has an encounter with an alien and grows to enormous size? It was called, “Attack of the 50 Foot Woman” despite the fact that the woman had no malicious intent at all.  Roger Corman made a similar movie just this year starring Sean Young called, “Attack of the 50 Foot Cheerleader.”

The point is that this idea that a tall woman is a menace is long-running and pervasive. I think that most men dislike looking up at women. The one famous exception was the 5-foot-2 Dudley Moore, who dated 5-foot-11, Susan Anton in the early 1980s. He used to joke that he loved the view, as his eyes were at the level of her cleavage. But that was a much-heralded exception to the rule. And it is notable that they each went on to marry other people.

No, I think that most people avoid having significant others who are much taller than they are. Anyway, I think it’s an inevitable trend in my life that I will be looking up at more and more women in the years to come as I grow smaller and they grow taller. Maybe I can learn to accept it and, like Dudley Moore, just enjoy the view.

It’s Ancient History: What’s New is Old

29 Tuesday Jan 2013

Posted by in Art, Opinion

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Left hand of Maitreya, Buddha of the Future ca 550 AD

Left hand of Maitreya, Buddha of the Future ca 550 AD

BY JULIE SEYLER

The Institute for the Study of the Ancient World (ISAW), is a resource center for scholars devoted to documenting and recording a time that existed thousands of years before Facebook. But they also put on exhibits for the curious, like me. If I tell people I am heading off to see a show called “Pagans, Jews, and Christians at Roman Dura-Europos”, of course eyeballs are rolled. But I am endlessly fascinated in the continuities from then to now: that we have always made art; that gold has always been prized; and that grapes have always been fermented into wine. 

Our tradition of adorning ourselves and getting drunk is so old it can never be new. So it is always a pleasure to see an old, old treasure like the pure gold fragment of a plaque embedded with pieces of turquoise that represents a snow leopard from Kazakhstan made about 2800 years ago. A cat of the ancient world that would blend in perfectly at Tiffany’s today.

Photo of a recreated cave from Xiangtangshan, China

Photo of a recreated cave from Xiangtangshan, China

One Saturday afternoon before hip surgery I needed an art pick-me-up, so I dropped by to see ISAW’s latest exhibit called, ” Echoes of the Past: The Buddhist Cave Temple of Xiangtangshan,” which just closed on January 6.  The focus of the show was these earth-carved caves located in northern China near the city of Xiangtangshan. The caves, decorated with beautiful lotus flowers, once housed 20-foot Buddhas, grand bodhisattvas and imaginary monsters sculpted from limestone by unknown artisans sometime between 550 AD, and 577 AD. The monumental Buddhas, with their half-opened eyes and plush lips scream, “benign contentment”.

Staring up at these tranquil giants made me think that the desire to seek a more noble world is timeless. It also made me think that in every culture, in every era man/woman has needed to create art. And sometimes that art has reflected the continuous search for spirituality.

Blogs We Like

28 Monday Jan 2013

Posted by in Art, Concepts, Food, Men, News, Opinion, Travel

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BLOGS WE LIKE Photo

By Julie Seyler.

BY LOIS DESOCIO

According to the most recent stats, there are 156 million blogs, and counting, on the Internet. A good chunk of the pile seems to be geared to us baby boomers. Apparently, we like to read, talk, and write about ourselves. Here are some age-appropriate (and a couple not), that are worth mentioning:

The big guys, Booming from The New York Times and Huffington Post’s Huff/Post50, will give you news, commentary, debate, celebrity bloggers – basically all the good, the bad and the ugly that comes with the “middle ages.”

There’s gutsy girls:

A read of The Feisty Side of 50, BOOM! By Cindy Joseph, and Almost 60? Really?, will help us women feel good being gray, and naked; make us want to climb the biggest mountain out there, and then maybe kick up our heels at the summit, and scream “Yay Menopause!;” and then come down to earth – in that order.

Wordly men:

Award-winning writer, and our new contributor, Anthony Buccino, writes about history, travel, even N.J. Transit. And there’s David V. Mitchell’s, Sparsely Sage and Timley, a West Coast, post-boomer blogger, who had us with his title.

A cool spot for a little bit of everything, including some tech advice, is boomspeak.

There are others that we like because, even though the bloggers are over 50, they manage to write about something else. Annalena’s Kitchen has everything to do with the fun, the passion and the science behind food. Blogger Norman Hanson, is “just an over the hill gay guy who likes to cook.” And no doubt you’ve noticed that we tend to be madly appreciative of the visual image and the craft that comes with being a highly-skilled artist. Barbara Rachko’s barbararachkoscoloreddust delivers.

No 50-year-old bloggers in sight on The Five O’Clock Cocktail, but it is right on time with us.

And Stilettos Stuck in Snow (full disclosure – we know her mother), and Everyday is a Holiday must be mentioned, because although these bloggers are nowhere near 50, they’ve managed to produce some visually appealing, artsy, fashion-focused blogs. It’s important for us boomers to remember it’s not all about us, and they offer us a fun way to check in and keep up the with the times.

The Saturday Blog: Cherries

26 Saturday Jan 2013

Posted by in Art

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Life is just a bowl of cherries

Photo by Julie Seyler.

One of our favorite movies is Auntie Mame, starring Rosalind Russell, and one of our favorite lines from the movie is: “Yes! Live! Life’s a banquet and most poor suckers are starving to death!” Hence the bowl of cherries – which captures the luscious richness of life. Have a great weekend, everybody.

Eating Early is for the Birds. But a 5 O’Clock Cocktail is Special

25 Friday Jan 2013

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martinis at Rolf's-3

It’s 5 o’clock stemware! Photo by Julie Seyler.

BY LOIS DESOCIO

I’m noticing among my fellow “fifties,” as our families morph into new patterns, that 5 o’clock is our happy hour; our Early Bird Special. There seems to be an unspoken, and early-onset vibe at my local bar: times are tough, the world is messy – let’s share a drink. Let’s go early. We don’t even have to know each other’s names.

I’ve always enjoyed drinking early. These days, I’ve found, I’ve comfortably fit into a new pattern of pushing the workday back, sliding the mealtimes forward, so I can slip into the sip about two hours after my last meal. I work at home for the most part. I get up at 5, have breakfast by 11, lunch around 3:30, (my dinner is often at the eleventh hour), and I don’t need bells nor whistles to herald: it’s 5 o’clock, who wants to go out for a drink?

There’s something about that first sip. The palette is primed. The lips greet the glass with precognitive delight (that premiere swig always delivers), and all the day’s duties are backstroking, thanks to the clink, the sip, the swallow. And at 5 o’clock, chances are the pressures of the day are still whooshing within. This timely trek down to your local tavern goes hand-in-hand with no pressure. No pressure to hurry, no pressure to move. No pressure to have more than one. And it’s early enough to get a seat at the bar (even the much-desired corner).

It’s different from going out to dinner – which has a turnover timetable as restaurants limit your time at the table. It’s different from the cocktail before dinner – which is also on a schedule. Often, that cocktail takes a back seat once the food comes. And often, the food comes too early. I don’t appreciate my half-sipped martini being usurped by a salad. (My dirty martini comes with its own olive salad, thank you.)

I’ve always bucked the pre-50 credo that labels early as un-cool. I’m damned with being both a morning person, and a night owl. I’ve always liked to start early, but have suffered through years of cajoling and prodding to get anyone to join me before 8 or 9. And I don’t like drinking alone, and since I’m pretty much living alone these days, I prefer not to drink at home. So this new fraternity of imbibing is working for me.

And 5 o’clock as a bellwether is nothing new. Factory laborers toiled away until the 5 o’clock whistle, it’s been prime time for Wall Streeters to work the room, and of course, there’s the Flintstones. And for the less-secure among us that need to justify, there’s the overused excuse, “it’s five o’clock somewhere.“

An Off-the-Hip Collage of Passion

24 Thursday Jan 2013

Posted by in Art, Opinion

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without passion, by Julie Seyler, May 2012

BY JULIE SEYLER

Can we live without passion?  I don’t think that question ever arose in my 20s, 30s, or 40s. It was a fait accompli based on youth, pheromones and hormones. But during the first half of 2012, at the riper age of 57, when I was dealing with a relentless pain in my left hip, I must admit I started wondering.

I had seen seven doctors, three physical therapists, and two acupuncturists – all of whom had various theories and proposed remedies for my distorted walk and constant ache, but no solutions. My hobbling gait just got worse and worse. I was definitely experiencing the passion of pain, but felt little passion for anything else.

About this time I saw a still of Joel McCrea and Dolores del Rio from the 1932 movie, “Bird of Paradise.” The way they gaze into each other’s eyes screams ardent lust.

And so I had to have some passionate fun making a collage about what it feels like when the only passion you have is feeling the passion of pain.

Blackouts Less Severe for Middle Age “Electroholics”

23 Wednesday Jan 2013

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BY FRANK TERRANELLA

NY Times article

Click to read.

While many continue to suffer, Hurricane Sandy is just a memory for most of us now. But the one effect that just about everyone experienced was a loss of electricity. For some, it was just a day or two. For others, it was weeks. In my case, my house was without power for 54 hours. The signs of electronics withdrawal manifested themselves almost immediately.

Back in 1976, I wrote a piece for The New York Times about what I saw at the time as an addiction to electronic devices. This was before cell phones, MP3 players and even VCRs. The first commercially available personal computer, the Apple II, would not be introduced until the next year. So the electronic items I was writing about in 1976 were basics like televisions, radios and lights. The more exotic electrical uses were electric can openers, electric vacuum cleaners, electric ovens and electric toothbrushes. In my 1976 article, I labeled people who are addicted to electricity as “electroholics.”

Today, the loss of electricity is a very different matter. No electricity means no Internet, no DVD player, and no home phone service (since the phones now run on house current). We had a battery-operated radio during our Sandy blackout, so we could get news. But that was about it for electronic entertainment. Fortunately, today, we now have battery-operated telephones and iPads. But since the charge in these devices is quickly depleted, and there is no way to recharge them without electricity, we used them sparingly. I used the iPad to access e-mail, and the cell phone to talk with relatives.

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