Missing Home

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My Favorite Domer is home for Easter Break, and I can’t help marveling at the reasons he gave for his visit.

1) Toilet paper. Notre Dame dorms get their bathrooms cleaned at least daily (if not more often!). Sad to say, my son doesn’t get that princely treatment at home. But home offers something his dorm doesn’t — cottony soft toilet paper. And MFD said all the guys like going home for that. Imagine, something they took for granted all those years through childhood and high school is now a prized commodity!

2) Comfy bed. Most of the dorms at Notre Dame feature twin-sized beds, twin-sized extra long, to be exact. Which makes it lots of fun buying sheets and mattress pads. But the beds themselves are thin. Not the extra-deep variety with a pillow top. Thus, sleeping (which most college kids seem to avoid while on campus) becomes a treat at home, and rousing a kid for a new day takes determination and steely resolve.

3) Hot water. To hear MFD tell it, Notre Dame must not have hot, running water in the dorm showers. I trust that’s not 100 percent true, as tuition and other fees are certainly sufficient to provide a warm bathing experience for our little dears! Still, there must be something about coming home and standing in the shower until the hot water tank runs cold! It’s like going to a swanky hotel, and you’ve even got Mom around to do laundry.

4) Roommates. By this time, even the best of friends are tired of each other. And when you’ve got four in a quad, there are four personalities to deal with, four people with their own quirks and mannerisms. Some like the dark; others have to have light. Some like total quiet; others surround themselves with music. Some study all the time; others barely crack open their textbooks. Yep, it’s a real challenge to remain on speaking terms with roommates who are so different, especially for an only child like MFD!

5) The dog. I’m convinced college dorms should each have a dog mascot, somebody the kids could run to for comfort, companionship, and total love. Cats are too independent; fish and turtles aren’t cuddly; rabbits are too fearful, and horses are too large. A dog would be perfect, bestowing generous kisses, lapping up the attention, and helping to ease the stresses of campus life. Why, the mere act of petting a dog lowers blood pressure and puts a smile in your heart! No wonder my son misses the Sheltie so much!

What was one thing you missed most when you were away at college?

Standing up for myself

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I have so had it with people who demand private information before performing a service for me.

Take this afternoon, for example.

I went into one of our department stores — well, okay, I wasn’t going to say which store (to protect the “innocent”), but why not? It was JCPenney.

Anyway, I went in simply to pay my bill, 26 dollars and some cents (I know, last of the big spenders!). The catalog station was busy, so I found a customer service booth in the ladies section and proceeded to hand the cashier my payment stub and check.

As she was putting my check into the machine, she turned to me and asked, “Does your check have your driver’s license number on it?”

I replied, “Of course not!”

She said she’d need to see my driver’s license then.

I asked, “What for?”

She startled a bit before mumbling that it was “corporate policy.”

Now I fought this same beast a couple of years ago (same store, by the way) when a male cashier wanted my driver’s license. I obliged then but, arriving home in a hot tizzy, I called the corporate office and learned it was NOT their policy to do that.

Yes, if a person is making a purchase with a check, the clerks ask for a driver’s license for identification purposes, but not if someone is just paying a bill.

I explained all this to the girl and, seeing I wasn’t about to give in, she backed off.

Good thing. I was this close to yanking my card from my wallet, telling her to cut it up, and promising her I’d never darken their doors again!

At home, I called corporate in another fury, and they assured me I was within my rights. They also suggested I call the store manager, which I did, and she said she’d see that all the clerks are clear on their policies.

One can’t be too careful nowadays. Sensitive personal information — social security numbers, driver’s license numbers, birth date, height, weight, you name it — is too often used for identification and just as often, mis-used when it falls into the wrong hands.

And as I told that girl, “corporate” already has that information on file; they got it when they approved my application for a charge card years ago. She surely didn’t need it to process my payment.

An Era Comes to an End

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Last night’s TV news announced that two ABC soaps, “All My Children” and “One Life to Live,” were going off the air after a 40-year run.

Now, I didn’t watch those soaps, but I know lots of people (mostly women) who did. Every day, they’d tune in hoping for a bit of romance, intrigue, or drama, as well as the enjoyment of seeing interesting people in interesting situations. They’d root for their favorite characters to get together, weep at touching scenes like weddings and funerals, ooh and aah over cute babies, gripe over storylines that didn’t go the way they thought they should, and hang onto every spoken word.

Then do it all again the following day.

So for them to hear that ABC is taking these shows off the air — well, it’s like they’re losing part of their family. A cherished tradition.

I feel for them. I mean, they’ve been on for practically my entire life, too!

The network blames a dwindling viewership on its move, noting that the folks who would have watched no longer did — because of jobs and other responsibilities.

That might be true, but women who dearly love their soaps will find a way to keep up with them. It might be via Websites; it might be via TiVo; it might be simple word-of-mouth with like-minded viewers.

And the network claims soaps as a TV genre are no longer relevant to today’s woman. Really? Who doesn’t want to occasionally escape into someone else’s fiction world, to fret over someone else’s problems for an hour or so?

Isn’t that part of the magic of novels?

We all know you can only watch so many reality shows before you go nuts!

Wasn’t it up to the writers and editors and such to make the storylines relevant, to change with the times?

ABC says it plans on replacing these soaps with talk shows, one featuring a food-based theme.

Food? Talk?

Excuse me, but don’t we have entire networks already devoted to food programming?

Why do they think more food programming is what the viewing public wants to see?

And just how many talking head shows can the world endure?

Sigh.

So come September, “All My Children” will be no more. “One Life to Live” will cease in January. Only “General Hospital” will remain in the ABC lineup of daytime dramas.

It’s truly the end of an era.

Drinking after Other People

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I’ve got a confession to make — I’m too squeamish to take Communion wine.

My sister, a Communion minister in another parish, regularly drains the cup after everyone has received; doesn’t bother her a bit.

Me? No can do.

In case you didn’t know, Catholics receive Holy Communion under both species, bread and wine. We believe these substances are consecrated by the priest during Mass and transubstantiated (changed) into the Body and Blood of Jesus Christ Himself.

I have no problem believing this and welcome Communion as often as possible.

What disturbs me is drinking wine from a communal cup.

Why? I can think of three reasons:

  • Back in the day, Catholics were permitted to receive Communion only under the bread species. Receiving the wine was reserved for special occasions (weddings, for instance), so it never became habitual for me.
  • I don’t like the taste or even the smell of wine — period.
  • My mother was a bacteriologist, someone who studied micro-organisms that cause illness. Growing up, I became a “germ-phobe,” or whatever a person is called when they’re afraid they’re going to “catch something” and get sick. In fact, I can remember as a child using my inner forearms to open the back door to let the dog out so I wouldn’t have to wash up again!

Truly, these reasons aren’t logical. “Habit” is a poor excuse for matters of faith. And I suppose I could develop a taste for a sip of wine, hoping I missed out on the alcoholic genes in my heritage. And God is infinitely powerful, certainly able to overcome a few cold viruses on the Communion cup.

After all, according to a devotional I read this morning, drinking Communion wine signifies our desire to share fully in Christ’s Passion, especially the suffering God isn’t quite ready to take away yet.

But what about those germs?

Sometimes church services sound like they’re held in a hospital ward, with all the hacking and wheezing going on. And I don’t eat or drink after my own family, much less casual acquaintances or strangers!

Thankfully, the Church makes allowances for people like me. Those who are allergic to the bread used in making Communion wafers can take only the wine. And those of us with germ issues can partake of the bread alone. The General Instruction of the Roman Missal says even receiving Communion under only one species does not deprive one of the grace needed for salvation.

But wouldn’t it make more sense if we used little paper cups (kind of like the ketchup containers at fast food restaurants)?

I Do…or Maybe I Don’t

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It was announced on the news yesterday that Britain’s Prince William doesn’t plan on wearing a wedding ring after he and Kate Middleton tie the knot later this month.

Now, we in the States have always been terribly fascinated by anything “royal” — their style of dress, their manner of speech, their day-to-day lives. But aren’t there more critical things taking place around the world today than whether this handsome young man chooses to wear a ring after he’s wed?

Maybe not.

The custom of both bride and groom exchanging rings is a relatively new one, according to my online research. Prior to WWII, men traditionally didn’t wear wedding bands. Apparently, it was enough that the woman publicly proclaim she was “unavailable.”

But servicemen during the Great War wanted the world to know it when they were taken. Double-ring ceremonies, spurred by an aggressive marketing campaign from the American jewelry industry, climbed to 80% of all weddings by the late 1940s (compared to just 15% before the Depression).

For women, a wedding band is typically preceded by an engagement ring (generally a diamond). Most women admit to loving jewelry of any kind — from playing dress-up with their mother’s gems to browsing through jewelry stores or online for their own.

Men, on the other hand, seem averse to jewelry. Some equate it with femininity; others, having never worn jewelry, don’t see any reason to start just because of a marriage ceremony. Many men view a wedding band as a “noose.” And some are in jobs where jewelry is banned for safety reasons.

Still, today’s male has more reasons to be accepting of rings. There are class rings for high school and college men, fraternity rings, and even rings for members of organizations like the Masons.

And wedding rings don’t have to be the traditional plain gold or silver band. There are enough innovative styles and materials for even the choosiest of couples.

In the end, wearing a wedding band comes down to personal preference. Most women today seem to feel that, if they’re going to wear one, their husband should, too.

It’s plain that Miss Middleton doesn’t feel that way. She’s given her prince the go-ahead not to wear a wedding band.

I don’t think we have any business judging them. We can’t know what goes on between them, and it’s certainly within their right to make this choice.

Besides, who in the world won’t know they’re married once April 29 rolls around?

Fish Fry Fridays

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One of the things I like best about Lent is our Catholic tradition of hosting “Fish Fry Fridays.”

Back in the day, Catholics had to abstain from all meat on Fridays — every Friday. But when the Church relaxed its rules (permitting meat on Fridays except during the 40-day period of Lent and on Ash Wednesday), Catholics turned to fish. Reason tells me that was probably to help a struggling fishing industry somewhere, but oh well, fish is a good choice.

Who but a kid can exist for a whole day on peanut butter-and-jelly sandwiches or macaroni-and-cheese?

In many parishes, it’s the men — often members of the Knights of Columbus — who do the cooking and serving at Fish Fries. Usually, you can find the ladies or the youth group helping by carrying trays for senior citizens, taking up the money, cleaning tables.

It’s nice when everybody gets involved. Kind of homey.

Wise organizers of parish Fish Fries encourage lots of active participation — something about many hands making little work.

And generally, the group hosting the Fish Fry returns a portion of the proceeds back to the parish.

So everybody wins.

The menu typically features any or all of the following: deep-fried pieces of fish, hush puppies, French fries, baked potatoes, coleslaw, applesauce, baked beans, green beans, grilled cheese sandwiches, bread, rolls, lemonade, iced tea, hot coffee, cold beer, and desserts.

Catholics and non-Catholics alike come out to enjoy Friday Fish Fries. Many stick around for the socializing; others opt for carry-out.

But staying is part of the fun.

Fish Fries offer a chance to get together with folks you might not see every day.

And they’re excellent for would-be politicians seeking to “press the flesh” while supporting a worthy cause!

Most parishes hold Fish Fries at the school cafeteria or their parish hall. Those facilities are already paid for (or in the process of being paid for!); they seat a lot of people, are close to the Church, and have things like TVs and kitchens, bathrooms and game rooms for the kids.

As for the time, Fish Fries typically occur during the dinner hour. Parishes often try to hold their weekly Stations of the Cross observance then, too, to “capture” the early or late diners.

With so much fun and good food, Fridays seem more of a celebration than a punishment!

The Big Dance

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I guess there’s a reason they call it March Madness.

Watching the NCAA men’s and women’s basketball games, I’m struck by how different the game feels from what we played as kids in P.E. class.

Besides being taller (w-a-a-a-y taller!) than most of us were, these young men and women are tougher. More aggressive, even.

Sure, there’s a lot riding on the outcome of their games. Prestige, trophies, money, commemorative rings, bragging rights.

But what’s with those other changes?

  • Chest-bumping. The guys don’t have a corner on this market; even the women are getting into the act, slamming themselves up against one another after somebody does something commendable. I know they probably wear those binding sports bras, but I cringe every time they do it.
  • Tattoos. Again, you kind of expect to see some of the young men sporting tattoos, but when the women start falling into that fad, I shudder. Isn’t it enough to have small tattoos that can be concealed? Why must they decorate their entire arms with graffiti? I mean, one day some of these people are going to be working in offices, banks, legal firms, medical plazas. Might they (or their employers) regret their “artistic” indulgence? Besides, I’ve got to confess that the unadorned arms, in my opinion, look cleaner. Just sayin’.
  • Traveling. Taking even one step with the ball without dribbling was considered a traveling foul for us in P.E. Now we see players take huge lunging leaps toward the goal, and the refs seem unfazed.
  • Penetration. Why is this word a sports announcer’s favorite word? You always hear the male announcers use it — you can hardly watch for five minutes without hearing it — but now the females are coming on board with it. They almost make it sound nasty.
  • Clock. The NCAA doesn’t use an automated clock for these championship games. Surprised? So was I when I read about it this morning. All of the teams who get to the championship level are good. Real good. And they deserve to have their contests monitored by something other than a timekeeper and a stopwatch. Especially when a first-class timing system wouldn’t cost much and would eliminate so much confusion.

Hey Reb

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Something (or rather, someone) caught my eye last night as I watched the NCAA men’s basketball game between Illinois and UNLV on TV (the Fighting Illini won, for those who missed it!).

The “Rebels” of UNLV have a mascot that looks amazingly like Ole Miss’s Colonel Reb!

How is it possible that this school of more than 28,000 students located hundreds of miles from the Deep South can still have a Confederate-based mascot and Ole Miss had to ban ours?

So I did some research. “Hey Reb” debuted in 1983 and underwent several makeovers. Today, he wears UNLV’s school colors of scarlet and gray, a Confederate gray hat, and has a flowing white handlebar mustache. He even was named one of 12 All-American mascots.

UNLV got its start in the 1950s as an extension campus of the University of Nevada, Reno. In 1965, it became Nevada Southern University, adopting the “Rebels” name and Confederate-styled symbols as a way of breaking free from its northern neighbor. Its first mascot was Beauregard, a winking Confederate-styled cartoon wolf that played opposite to UNR’s Wolf Pack mascot.

Beauregard was ditched in the 1970s after a group of black athletes complained about its connection with the wrong side of the Civil War. The student senate selected the human “Hey Reb” mascot and it stuck, sending UNLV to the top in college apparel licensing in 10 years.

I hate to belabor the point, but it’s all about Tradition.

Obviously, a cartoony college mascot dancing on the sidelines of an athletic event isn’t a big deal in the overall scheme of things. Not when you consider all the grave events taking place in our world today.

But that mascot symbolizes something to past and present students. It unifies them the way songs and slang unify generations.

Outsiders have a right to dislike a school’s mascot, but does any outsider have a right to strip an institution of its long-held, much-loved traditions?

I think not.

Who Goes to Hotels to Sleep?

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Why do some people act worse than animals when they stay at a hotel?

Take last Friday, for example.

I’d picked up My Favorite Domer for Mid-Term Break and, rather than fighting traffic, we checked into a chain hotel with plans to watch college basketball and get an early start home on Saturday.

I’d stayed there before and found it okay. Nothing fancy, mind you, but clean and readily accessible to the shopping/dining spots we were visiting.

No sooner had we settled in to watch the games, the NOISE started.

Our room was located near the end of the hall, far from the typical noise-makers: ice and soda machines and elevator.

But some parents must have decided everybody should share in the delight of their little darlings, as the kids charged up and down the hallway, screaming like banshees and slamming their room door every chance they got.

A few minutes after this began, MFD looked over at me and asked, “Do you smell smoke?”

Fleeting images of us re-donning our day clothes, re-packing suitcases, and evacuating the premises went through my mind as I shook my head. Then it wafted my way.

Cigarettes, on our non-smoking hall.

I called the Front Desk and was told our entire wing was non-smoking. “If we catch them,” he added, “we’ll assess them an extra $75.”

Ooh, I’ll bet that would’ve scared them — not!

So we turned up the TV and clicked on the heating/air conditioning unit to block out the noise and disperse the smoke.

I also called down to the Front Desk again to complain.

Nothing did any good.

Along about 11 p.m., the kids started crying at the top of their lungs. Their parents must not have known they were over-stimulated and up past their bedtime.

Finally, just before midnight, the smoking ceased, as did the noise.

When we checked out the next morning, I voiced my displeasure to a new Front Desk clerk, who was somewhat more sympathetic. I couldn’t help noticing the No Pets Allowed sign and told her, “I’d rather have stayed with dogs than endure those screaming kids.”

St. Paddy’s Day

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Methinks St. Paddy’s Day celebrations, especially on college campuses in the U.S., have gotten out of hand.

At the University of Illinois, for example, “Unofficial St. Patrick’s Day” was held this past weekend. Buses and trains brought in party-goers from across the state and even from out of state. Besides consuming more alcohol than was reasonably prudent, these revelers tossed objects from balconies, received more than 300 notices to appear in court for drug possession and public urination (among others),  and left behind enough litter to fill a football stadium.

More than 20 were taken to local hospitals on alcohol-related issues. In previous years, some have been injured or even lost their life, again mostly alcohol-related.

Now I love a good party as much as the next Irishman, but really, is all this craziness necessary? When a person can’t remember how he got where he is, who he was with, or what he did, why does he think he had a good time??

Traditionally, March 17 was set aside to honor St. Patrick, who used a three-leafed shamrock to explain the Holy Trinity to pagan Irish people and convert them to Christianity.

What once was a mostly Catholic saint’s day, with observers attending church and dining simply on corned beef and cabbage, has become an excuse for drunken celebrations across the land.

That makes me a wee bit sad, for as a culture, the Irish have been known for too long as drinkers. There are Irish drinking jokes, Irish toasts, even Irish quips on T-shirts.

I suspect there’s one reason behind all this — money.

Bars and restaurants are happy to trade food and drink to party-goers for green cash. Communities, strapped in tough economic times, are glad to take tourists’ money in exchange for hosting a colorful parade or dying some river or fountain Kelly green.

But not all Irish are drunks;  some Irish never even touch alcohol.

Really!

And I hate to see what should be a joyous occasion marked by people throwing up in the streets and winding up unconscious (or worse) in some hospital.

Especially when those people are our young.

Perhaps we need to imitate the Irish in the motherland, who celebrate the festive occasion with music, sports competitions, fireworks, films, and other family-friendly events.

And remember, “There are only two kinds of people in the world, the Irish and those who wish they were!”