Author: Paul

Our friend, Jeff, sent us this soccer note:

Do you remember Mr. De Palma? He was the senior high Spanish teacher for one or two years. Rumor had it that he was a member of the 1950 World Cup Team for Spain. I did a brief search on the web and didn’t find anything about him but I think Spain made it to the second round that year. This I do remember about the guy. He was a total dud as a teacher. He was incredibly unengaged. His teaching technique went like this; talk for 5-10 minutes, give us a work sheet and then he would read the paper for the remaining 35 minutes. I sat next to a guy, I have been trying to remember who it was and I think it was Bill Rampe? The class was so dull that I told Bill that I could climb out the window of the classroom and come back into the room and not get caught. Bill’s father owned one of those coin operated car washes in Ontario and he had a tower of quarters that he had stacked on his desk. He said “I don’t believe you would do it.” I said, ” for that stack of quarters I will,” and he said, “you’re on”.

I checked on De Palma to make sure he was doing his thing and I went to one of the windows and opened it wide and returned to my seat. De Palma was fixated on his newspaper. I waited a bit and made my move. Without a sound I slid out the window and crawled along the ground past the other classrooms. I made my way to one of the back doors, they were unlocked in those days, walked down the hallway and reentered De Palma’s classroom. I told him I had been at the guidance office. He didn’t even ask for a pass. If he played soccer with the enthusiasm with which he taught, then it is no wonder Spain didn’t advance beyond the first knock out round. And while my respect for De Palma is non-existent, I have to hand it to Rampe, he delivered on his end of the deal. If I remember correctly and I think I do, I made around 5 bucks on the escapade.

We go to the mall (they are all the same) about once a year and only out of necessity. My socks had holes in the heel. They all go at the same time because I buy them in six packs, “Gold Toes” at Lord & Taylor. And my underwear was losing its elasticity so I tried some Calvin Klines this time.

The mall can completely sap your energy. There is a relentless common denominator to halls and then all the stores carry the same stuff. The clerk at Banana Republic told us we would save fifty percent by opening a new charge card which will be good toward savings in Old Navy and the Gap because they are all owned by the same company. The music is mostly hideous. I hope they aren’t today’s pop songs. They are probably picked by an algorithm that determines the best doodles to accompany menial tasks and ranked by mindless shopping performance stats. Might be time sell Apple. The help in the store far outnumbered the customers. One store, Anthropologie, sort of broke the mold with its wide open spaces and comfortable couches. The women’s clothing store had a 1970’s vibe and they sold a small selection of books like “Madeline” and “Reading Andy Warhol.”

Peggi had her pedometer on, the free one picked up at jazz fest. We walked 2.2 miles in there.

OK, so I was way wrong on Brazil. They totally fell apart. Enough said. We were way overdue for a lopsided game after all the nail-biters. I’m still optimistic about Argentina.

Our friend, Shelley Valechovic, did series of paintings of lichen and I have taken note of the stuff since. I found this bit in our front yard. Must have fallen off a tree above. I placed it on a blue chair out front for its closeup.

July tomorrow. I can handle it. Jazz Fest was a whirlwind and then this World Cup thing. We didn’t expect Mexico to still be in the game with the Netherlands but they were up 1-0 late in the match as Duane showed up, up from the big city. Netherlands took them down in theatrical fashion and we headed down to the pool. Duane swims regularly at the Y in Brooklyn and in one of those giant outdoor recreation pools in the summer so he was still bobbing around after we had withdrawn.

We headed down to Vic & Irv’s for the usual (cheeseburger, onion rings and a vanilla milkshake in my case) and took our regular stools, stage left with a birds-eye view of the post-teenage chefs. When the food arrived Duane said, “I know this sounds corny but this is as good as it gets.” I was a little slow with any sort of response but I think he was right.

On the way out of the parking lot we passed a pickup truck with a sign on the back window that read, “God Bless Our Troops. F!ck the Politicians.” The “u” in the word fuck was an assault rifle graphic. The take-away being anarchy in the USA or a bible thumping military dictatorship? I should have asked Duane to stop so I could get a picture but again I was a little slow. I could have used the photo on my funky sign site.

Back home, the tiny nation of Costa Rica took out Greece in the penalty kick round. And then Duane left. We’ll have to catch up in New York.