bad movie, good company

Alexander reminds me that I still need to “pay up” on a Golden Globes bet I lost when he was last home.  He gets to choose a movie for us to watch.  He selects Fight Club, with the endorsement, “It got an 8.9 on IMDB.”

So around 9, we start to watch it.  It’s from 1999, got all sorts of praise, and it starts out promising.  “See, I told you this was great.  You like it, right?”  I do.  But about half way in, the movie starts to fall apart.  It becomes increasingly violent and hard to follow.  Where are they now?  Who’s that?  What did he just say?  What are they doing?  How did he get there? All sorts of basic questions that neither of us can answer.  With all our many hits to the pause button, it’s 12:30 by the time we are done watching. Our collective verdict:  We can’t trust IMDB anymore.

I get into bed and say to Alexander, “Please don’t stay up ‘til three again.”  He’s been going to bed so late then sleeping most of the next day.  He responds, “Mom.  You can’t expect me to adjust to retirement-home style living when I’m here.”

I have no idea when his light goes out, but’s it’s now after ten the next morning and he’s still sound asleep.

a surprise dinner

What most people would consider a late lunch or early dinner is actually breakfast for my son.  He gets up late, makes some pasta, then says, “I’m meeting Daniel.”  Soon after he’s gone.

I go to Agata, pick up some dinner, come home, and start to fill out the required financial aid forms for Cornell.  It’s pouring out — a good night to be in. 

Around 7:30 my cell rings.  It’s my friend Carol from Westchester.  “Hi.  I’m here with Michael (her husband), Abby and David  (also from Westchester) and we are having dinner not far from you.  You must join us.”  I surprise them (and myself too) and say yes.  I add some color to my cheeks and some length to my lashes.  Give up on my hair.  Throw on a sweater.  And meet them at a restaurant called SIstina.

I see Carol and Abby a couple of times a year, but not their husbands.  It’s probably been close to 20 years since I last saw them.  And, the good news is they haven’t changed.  The husbands look the same, better even than in their youths. 

Our Italian waiter comes over and recites a mile-long list of the evening specials.  We marvel at his ability to remember everything; either that or there’s a teleprompter hiding somewhere. In addition, we are handed multi-page menus.  The list of offerings is overwhelming.

And then we order.  Despite the exhorbitantly long list of options, three of us get the same appetizer (globe artichokes with fava beans, baby lettuce, pecorino cheese and balsamic vinegar) and three of us get the same entrée (roast chicken with sausage and hot cherry peppers).  Maybe that’s why we’ve been friends for over 25 years — our tastes are similar.

Although we have many shared memories, the evening is all about the present.  No remember whens; I like that.  Sometimes the unexpected is better than the planned.  Tonight is a good example.

I guess I can forget brunch

That's PM.

late arrival

The children of my friends have all come and gone.  Their spring breaks happened over the past few weeks.  My son’s break begins today.

Yesterday afternoon I text Alexander to ask when he’s coming home. “Proly 2 or so.”  He later amends this to the bus leaving around 2 or so.  That means he should be home around seven.

Great.  I text him and ask if he wants sushi for dinner. “Yes,” he immediately responds.  These kind of texts he doesn't ignore.

I imagine a nice Friday night with my son.  I haven’t seen Alexander in over two months.  We’ll watch a movie or maybe a Law & Order.  It’ll be nice.  I’m looking forward to tonight.  Have been all week.

But then last night I get a text from Alexander.  “Hey, actually don’t get sushi, Daniel’s staying at our place on Friday.”  Daniel is a friend of his from school who lives in LA.  I like Daniel; no problem I text.  I guess our nice night in together will be another night.

Then Alexander writes again.  He and Daniel are now taking a 4pm bus; they should arrive around nine.

The 4pm bus morphs into the 4:20 bus that morphs into the bus being delayed and finally arriving at Cornell at 5:30, over an hour late.

Around 11, Alexander and his friend Daniel arrive.  My son is barely recognizable under all the hair he’s sprouted since his last hair cut in January, here in New York. I like long hair.  It's just that his is unrestrained, and grows more up and out than down.  Maybe there are no hair cutters in Ithaca.Though really,  it doesn’t matter.  He’s my son. I'll always find him adorable.

helping the elderly

Let me clarify.

I’m not talking about the volunteer kind where you go to a hospital and read to an elderly person.  Or the kind where you grocery shop for them.

No, I’m talking about the kind where an elderly relative calls and says, “I just read something on dot com and now it’s lost.  I think my computer is broken.”  This recently happened to a friend of mine with her aging aunt.  

My mom will occasionally call me asking for a similar kind of help.  “My computer’s not working.  I think there’s something wrong with it.”  Computer is how she refers to her iPad. “ I keep pushing the buttons and nothing happens.”  Why is it that some people refuse to learn the right vocabulary?  If I correct my mother and tell her it’s “clicking on a link” not “pressing or pushing a button” she gets impatient and says, “You know what I mean.”  Actually, sometimes I don’t.

So recently, my friend M tells me a story about helping her elderly Aunt Lucrezia with a problem she’s having with her landline.  “Even better,” I tell M, "write it up and I’ll post it.”

So here’s M’s story.

Sunday.  A visit with Aunt Lucrezia. I’m tracking a few minutes behind schedule and I know this will throw her for a loop.  I call to let her know I’ll be fifteen minutes late.  I have an image of her standing by the doorway, dressed, redolent of Jean Nate cologne.

I dial: Busy

I try again ten minutes later: Still busy.  Hmm.  Odd.

Then my phone rings.  Cousin Patty says, “Listen, if you’re trying to get Aunt Lucrezia, she said her phone is acting irradical and that you should call her on her cell.”

I can just hear my aunt saying my cell.  As if cell phones were a new invention —  like that Seinfeld episode where the woman drives Elaine crazy by talking about her fiancé all night because she loves letting everyone know she has a fiancé.

I get to my aunt’s house and she asks me to check out the phone. I am her tech crew, and I am not all that technical.

Batteries are okay.  Phone lines are connected.  Cords are connected to outlets.  No hardware problems.  Then I notice that the message in the screen reads No Line.

I ask Aunt Lucrezia for a copy of her phone bill.  Of course she has it….filed in the same box as her Medicare EOBs from 1987.

I call Verizon. 

I have to get past the main number….to the tech support…then plug in my aunt’s 4-digit code (filed in a separate box)…then her 3-digit code (from her phone bill).  Then they transfer me to the landline department (I started in Verizon Wireless) where I need to repeat all the same steps I just did.

Now I’m six menus deep into the call with Verizon.  I’m on hold waiting for a technical person.  Total elapsed time since calling Verizon: twenty minutes.

Finally…a real person comes on the line.

Verizon:  Hi, This is Kevin.  What is the nature of your problem?

Me: Hi, Kevin.   This is Lucrezia Muccino  (I give him my aunt’s name thinking they would ask to speak to the account holder and knowing no good could come from that). I’m calling to report a problem with my phone line.  I checked all the equipment inside and it seems to be fine.  The message window says NO LINE.  My guess is that the problem is outside.  Can you run a test to determine if it is indeed an outside problem?

Aunt Lucrezia:  Hey, M!  M! Is that Kevin? (She’s waving her hands wildly across from me and I’m trying to ignore her).  M!  Ask him if he’s from Everett! (her town).

Me:  (Incredulous…I wave her off…what is she thinking?  That by some coincidence she happens to know this one person at Verizon, who for all I know may in the Philippines?)

Aunt L:  Ask him if he’s related to the Cannizarro’s?

Me:  (Hand over phone so Kevin can’t hear me) Aunt L—I’m pretty sure he’s black.  He’s not related to the Cannizarro’s unless you go all the way back.

Aunt L: I want to talk to him.

I hand her the phone.

Aunt L:  Hi, Kevin, this is Lucrezia Muccino too.  There are two of us by that name here!  (She winks at me like she just outsmarted Kevin).  Listen, did I meet you at the Verizon office in Everett?

Kevin: (God Bless him): Uh, no, Ma’am.  I’m in Atlanta.

Aunt L: Oh, cuz I was wondering if you were related to the Cannizarro’s from Everett.

Me: Aunt L—give me back the phone….NOW!

Me: Kevin…what needs to be done next?

Kevin:  I’ll send someone out there tomorrow to fix the line.  The test determined it was an outside line. 

It’s nice to help the elderly.  But if helping involves technology of any kind, be sure to come equipped with a large reserve of patience.