I was so caught up in the excitement of the Foo Fighters concert a few weeks ago that I neglected to post a few pictures I'd taken the following day in Wildwood, NJ.

Our friends were kind enough to invite us to spend the night at their condo in North Wildwood with them after the concert, so we wouldn't have to make the long drive home so late at night.

I spent my childhood summers here and I loved it. I still do. When I was a kid, going "down the shore," as we Philadelphians say, was a magical time. My extended family owned a few houses throughout North Wildwood, on the bayside, and it was always so beautiful and peaceful there.

I was never much of a beach person, but I would've spent our entire vacations on the boardwalk if I'd had my way. For as long as I can remember, the loud dance music blasting out of the speakers from the amusements, the screaming sirens and bells of the many arcades, and the smell of the sea and funnel cake and french fries mesmerized me. I loved roller coasters--still do, in fact--and I would ride them over and over again until I was dizzy. I loved the log flume, the fun house, the ferris wheel, the Gravitron. There wasn't a single ride I didn't like there. And during the day, I'd beg my mom to take me and my cousins to the waterpark on the end of Morey's Pier. We'd spend hours riding down the waterslides and tubing through the lazy river pool that ran the perimeter of the park.

As I got older, the boardwalk became a place for me to meet and hook up with guys, although the amusement rides never lost any of their appeal for me, either. I remember the painstaking process of getting ready to go out to the boardwalk at night: slapping on as much eyeshadow and lipgloss as possible, teasing up my hair and practically shellacking it with Aqua Net, and picking out just the right outfit in the hopes of finding a cute guy on the boards. I always despaired over my super-curly hair that went wild with frizz from the humidity of the coastal air.

Eventually, we stopped going to Wildwood, though I can't quite remember why. I guess I just grew out of it. Hard to believe I could outgrow something I loved so much, but that's life, I guess.

Until earlier this month, I hadn't been there in many years. I was happy to see that the boardwalk hasn't changed much, although it was much less crowded off-season. Gateway 26, my favorite arcade, is still there. Somewhere in my parents' attic, there is a Tupperware container with upwards of 20,000 Gateway 26 Skee-ball tickets. Too bad I didn't have them with me then! Sam's Pizza is still there. Kohr Brothers ice cream and Curley's Fries are still there, as is Douglas Fudge, of course.

The overwhelming number of new condominiums throughout Anglesea and North Wildwood did surprise me, though. It seemed like almost everything there was new construction. And expensive!

Here are a few pics. Enjoy!

Labels: childhood, family, friends, jersey shore, memories, nostalgia

One of my favorite holiday traditions from my childhood was going to see the Christmas decorations at the Pflaumers' house in Drexel Hill, PA, known in my family as the "Christmas House." Every year, either my parents, my godmother, or my grandparents would take me over to the large Tudor-style home on Fairfax Road, where I'd stand, mesmerized, admiring the incredible variety of Christmas decorations on and around the property. The Pflaumers owned the Schmidt Brewing Company in Philadelphia, a beer distributorship that was fairly well-known in the area. Mr. Pflaumer wound up in the slammer for tax evasion and eventually had to declare bankruptcy in the 1980s, but that didn't stop him (or his family) from wowing the local residents every year with their Christmas display.

You could actually hear the Christmas House before you saw it, thanks to the holiday music that blared on an endless loop over a loudspeaker system. Often we had to park our car two or three blocks away from the house; there was always a crowd gathered around it, from Thanksgiving all the way up until New Year's, and understandably so: there were so many fantastic sights on the property that one's eyes could hardly rest. Here was a life-sized illuminated Santa's sleigh, complete with eight reindeer, suspended from a pulley system that wound around the side yard of the house. On the front lawn was an enormous Nativity scene, with real straw and a real stable and nearly life-sized figures gathered around the manger. Not to mention all kinds of flashing lights and holiday statuary scattered everywhere. From the peak of the roof, a huge lit-up Santa statue appeared on the verge of climbing into the chimney.

If I had to guess, I'd say that there were easily 50,000 lights in the display, but that may be a conservative estimate. I remember the adults standing around and speculating what the Pflaumers' electric bill must be. There was a hurricane fence erected around the property, and I was always curious if anyone actually lived in the house during the holiday season. I never saw any cars, interior lights, or other signs of life within the house when we went to look at it. Now, as an adult looking back on it, I wonder how the Pflaumers' neighbors tolerated this show year in and year out. As much as I loved going to see it, I can't imagine living next door to it!

I can't remember exactly when I stopped going to see the Christmas House; I suppose it was sometime around the advent of my teenage years, when I thought myself too "cool" to be transported by the extravagance and magic of the display. You know what teenagers are like--nothing impresses them. But now that December is upon us, I've found my thoughts turning back to the Christmas House, wondering if the Pflaumers still put on the display.

Labels: childhood, holidays, memories, nostalgia, Upper Darby

If you had to pick one album to sum up your college years, what would it be?

(If you didn't go to college, answer it anyway, applying the standard college age range of 18-21).

This morning I'm burning some of my CDs into iTunes on my PC at work. Right now I'm listening to Ben Folds' Five's "Whatever and Ever, Amen." This entire album is so evocative of my college years. I got it as a birthday gift when I turned twenty from one of my friends, Big Jon, who attended Widener University.

I partied more at Widener than I did at my own school (which is amazing, considering that West Chester University has a nearly legendary reputation as a huge party school). I even had more friends at Widener and UDel than I did at West Chester! I don't think I could name a single person from West Chester. Oh well. I guess that's what happens when you're NEVER in class. Hee.

Anyway, whenever I hear any song from this album, I am sent back to that time in my life. I remember the good times: sneaking into The Bent Elbo, Abilene and Manny Brown's on South Street, and Walio's Frog Pond (Widener's campus bar) to celebrate their 21st birthdays while I was still underage; smoking bongs in the absolutely decrepit bathroom of the off-campus rowhouse where Jon lived with his two roommates, Pat and Bob; playing Beirut and "Think While You Drink" with them, going to strip bars with them (yes, I did!); going glo-bowling at midnight at Conchester Lanes in Aston.

I also remember the not-so-good times: being in love with David, my ex-boyfriend with the serious drug problem, who never wanted to hang out with my other friends; the handful of one-night stands I had with guys I really liked but who wouldn't commit; watching all my Widener friends graduate (they were a year ahead of me, remember?) and move on with their lives while I was still unhappily stuck at West Chester; and oh yeah--failing out of college. How could I forget that one?

Still, this album never fails to put a smile on my face. All those experiences made me who I am today, and I will always look back fondly on those days.

So tell me about your musical memories from college.

Labels: college, friends, memories, music, nostalgia

You know, I was looking through some old posts here and realized that somehow a few of them were gone. Poof. Vanished.

So here's one of them, with a new addendum at the end. Enjoy.

The combination of nostalgia, intense curiosity, and sheer boredom can do a real number on you. I have recently started Googling or searching MySpace for old friends, acquaintances and even ex-boyfriends.

The results of my searches have frequently surprised me: a handful of old high school buddies are now doctors; some are still single, some have kids, some are divorced, and some happily married. A few of my old friends are scattered across the country, but most have remained in the Philadelphia area.

I can’t ever think of the people who have come and gone from my life without thinking of Brian L. We had attended the same high school, but he was a year behind me, and I didn’t really know him until after we’d both graduated. Although we only spent a few short months together during the summer between my freshman and sophomore year in college, I know I will never forget him. He made that big of an impression on me.

I was totally and shamelessly crazy about Brian. He was probably the closest thing to a soul mate that I’ve ever had. We understood each other perfectly. He was sensitive, quiet and somewhat shy but wickedly funny, smart as a whip, and incredibly, incredibly hot. Just the thought of him made me drool all over myself.

We spent most of the summer of 1997 together, getting stoned, going to the movies, to the diner, playing video games, and talking about everything under the sun. On the rare nights I was not hanging out with him, I couldn’t even sleep, so consumed by my thoughts of him was I. I spent those nights listening to my Walkman, wandering up and down the driveway of my parents’ house, chain-smoking and brooding. I just ACHED for him, the way that only lovesick 19 year-old girls can.

Early that summer, I had bought a small, green-bordered book entitled "Getting to Know You." It was a book of questions, such as "Name the three things in life that frighten you the most," or, "If you had only 24 hours left to live, what would you do?" Basically, these were the kind of questions that provided outstanding conversational fodder for the semi-intellectual stoners we were. I don’t know what prompted me show it to him, but as soon as I did, he was immediately fascinated by it, and expected me to share it with him.

And so we spent entire nights, often from midnight till sunrise, poring through this book together while lounging on sticky vinyl lawn chairs in his dimly-lit backyard. We took turns asking each other questions from the book and discussing our answers at length, absolutely hanging on each other’s answers, and only occasionally breaking for a cigarette or passionate, urgent kissing.

As the pitch-black sky slowly turned steely grey and pink, he’d walk me to my car, where we’d cling to each other like the last two people on earth, until I tore myself away from him and went home. I realized that I really loved him when one late night, around 3:30, I asked him (from the book), "Who is your best friend?" He looked at me and said softly, without a pause, "You are." SWOOOOOON!!!!! Yes, I loved him. I really did.

There were some problems, of course. The first big issue was that, although he and I did everything together, he refused to call me his "girlfriend." He said he did not want to put a label on our relationship. At the time, this bothered me immensely, though looking back as an adult, I don’t understand why. I guess I was overly concerned with labels back then.

Secondly, we had some, ahem, physiological difficulties, if you will. We spent hours kissing, touching, exploring—but when it came time for the act...poof! The moment was gone. I guess that, technically, we only ever consummated our relationship TWICE. That was it. But still, I loved him and it didn’t matter to me. Until I met David, who would be my last serious relationship before I met my husband.

David was just about the polar opposite of Brian. He rubbed hot and cold with me. Sometimes he’d show up with dozens of roses for me for no apparent reason; other times, he was grumpy and distant, tantalizingly uninterested in me. A real challenge. Oddly enough, in my youth, there was nothing I liked more than a challenge. The thing that drew me to him the most, though, was that David had no problem with the boyfriend/girlfriend labels. How I wished Brian had felt the same!

For a while, I somehow managed to date both Brian and David simultaneously, even going to see Rage Against the Machine and Wu-Tang Clan with both of them. Looking back, I’m sure they both knew what was up, but I was just enjoying myself at the time.

Then, a few weeks after the concert, David asked me to be his girlfriend. As in, exclusively. As in, there would be no other people for either of us. Honestly, I can’t remember much about those days (all that pot-smoking destroyed large portions of my memory, sadly), and I can’t recall how difficult it was for me to decide what to do about Brian.

If I knew then what I know now, I can say with unqualified certainty that I would have--and should have--stuck with Brian L. I do remember, however, that shortly after David asked me to date only him, Brian and I were hanging out, as usual--making out in my car, in fact--when I dropped the bomb on him. The conversation is hazy, but I can remember this much:

Me: “This probably isn’t the best time to bring this up…”

Him: “Hmmm?”

Me: “Well...David asked me to be his girlfriend...and to go out with only him...and I said yes.”

Him: “WHAT? WHY? How could you do this, without talking to me first?”

If my (admittedly spotty) memory serves me correctly, Brian was crushed and furious with me. I felt awful, but in my mind, David was giving me what I wanted. I wish that I could recall more from that incident, but that’s it. And I never saw him again after that night. It was August 1997.

Fast-forward to the present: I know exactly where Brian L. is today and what he’s doing with his life, thanks to mutual acquaintances and my penchant for internet detective work. He’s in the Air Force, active duty, and living in Texas. This cracks me up because I can’t imagine him in the military at all, based on the person I knew way back in the day. Of course, we all grow and change, so what the hell do I know? Also, he’s got a daughter who is preschool age, and I think he was recently remarried.

For a while, I toyed with the idea of emailing him, just to say hello and see how he’s doing. Then I decided to go for it. I doubt anything will come of it. He may not even respond to my email because he either doesn't remember me or thinks I'm some kind of nutty stalker. So I don’t expect to get a response from him at all.

Have any of you ever contacted someone (a friend or an ex) from your past? I want to know what happened! How did it turn out? Were you surprised? Disappointed? Happy?

Labels: childhood, concerts, memories, nostalgia, technology

The 80s was a pretty good decade to be a kid.

I’ve been thinking a lot about this. I feel bad for kids these days. It seems to me like there are so many more problems for them now than the people of my generation had.

One of my coworkers sends his two kids (ages 4 and just over 1 year) to a very swanky daycare in our area. They’re learning Spanish and Mandarin Chinese. Some of these children have their very own laptop computers. Their parents are already beginning to talk about getting into the “right” colleges. It seems a bit excessive to me. Not to mention downright scary at times.

When I was 4 years old, I went to the pre-K program at our local YMCA. We didn’t learn Mandarin Chinese. We learned how to make homemade applesauce and peanut butter. We put on incredible, heartwrenchingly dramatic productions of “The Little Train That Could.” But mostly, we just played with Legos and Tinker Toys and Lite Brite and Fisher-Price Little People. Because isn’t that what the crux of being a kid is? To play all day long and not have to worry about the real world?

Now I admit that learning Spanish makes sense to a point—after all, I watched a whole lot of Sesame Street when I was a kid and learned how to count to ten in Spanish, along with other random words (“agua” was a big one, if I recall). But Mandarin Chinese? Exactly how will these kids practice speaking Mandarin, anyway? I don’t get it. Maybe the daycares are teaching this now because they believe that someday the Chinese will own all of us. Hee.

Another thing—what’s up with designer clothes for first graders these days? Not to mention those repugnant message t-shirts for little girls. The day I dress my hypothetical kid in a shirt that has “Spoiled Brat” emblazoned in pink sequins across the front is the day I’ll die. I wasn’t even decked out in clothes from The Children’s Place—they were too expensive.

(That was the one store in the mall I used to BEG my mother to take me to. They had a really neat playhouse with a sliding board and a closed-circuit TV that played episodes of “Steampipe Alley” on an endless loop. Yes, that show was hosted by Mario Cantone, way before he was Charlotte’s flamingly gay wedding planner on Sex and the City.)

No, my clothes came from stores like Jefferson Ward (later Bradlees), Clover, and Burlington Coat Factory. I didn’t have pint-sized versions of designer jeans. I didn’t have my own laptop computer. I didn’t have a VCR, or even a television, in my bedroom. I did have a Speak-n-Spell, though. And Alphie. Remember those?

My friends and I didn’t sit around inside all summer to play video games. We were outside playing from the minute breakfast ended until the streetlights came on. Our parents didn’t have to watch us like hawks because it was (or seemed, at least) so much safer back then. Child molesters were something that we saw on after-school specials—not something we had to contend with every day of our lives. The most we worried about was who was going to be “It” when we started an impromptu game of Tag.

Man. I loved being a child of the 80s. You can read a couple of essays here and here that bring back some terrific memories of those times.

Happy Friday!

Labels: childhood, fashion, friends, memories, nostalgia, school, technology

I got an email on Friday night from my friend Renee in Calgary, AB, Canada (some of the readers of my old blog may remember my post about finding her after not seeing her since we were about 14).

"Guess what? Jordan Knight is playing in Calgary this weekend. How funny is that? It's not even at a good bar. Remember our old days of NKOTB? Weren't you obsessed with his brother? Maybe you should fly in just to see it..."

HAH! Yes, I will admit it: I was rabidly obsessed with New Kids on the Block in the late 80s/early 90s. Oh, the shame!

Renee was correct, though. I loved, loved, LOVED Jordan's brother, Jon. Just LOVED him. Went to all the concerts, had all their albums, spent all my allowance money on stupid preteen magazines--BOP, Teen Beat, et. al--that detailed his stats (favorite color: black; favorite food: Italian, first record owned: Snoopy's Christmas; likes girl who are sweet and fun to be with), and had about 900 pictures and posters of him plastered on my bedroom walls. Ugh.

But, my dear blogworld buddies, I will share with you something that is even MORE embarrassing than that. (Does it get any more embarrassing than that? OH YES IT DOES!!) See, I was only 12 at the time, so that's a free pass, as far as I'm concerned.

However...do you remember when, in the late 90s, Jordan Knight had a minor comeback as a solo dance artist? Doing a one-hit wonder song called "Give It To You"? Don't pretend you don't know what I'm talking about! No need to be ashamed...I know you probably jammed to it, just like I did.

Well, he did a club tour supporting that album, which my three girlfriends and I just HAPPENED to hear about on the radio. And then we just HAPPENED to go to the club in Philadelphia where he HAPPENED to be playing that night. Yeah, and we HAPPENED to get right up in front of the stage before showtime. My friend Danielle was standing next to me, and when Jordan came out on stage, we immediately reverted into 12 year old fangurls, jumping up and down and screeching at the top of our lungs. I was clutching Danielle's hand so hard that she later said she thought I'd broken it. We screamed until we went hoarse. And when he left the stage, I swear to you, he looked directly AT ME and smiled his little dimpled grin, then WAVED to me. OMG!!!!! Get the smelling salts! Swoon!

Ahem.

But I will take comfort in the fact that we were certainly not the only girls in the crowd behaving like teenagers over him.

Thanks for reminding me, Renee!

Labels: celebrities, concerts, friends, funny stuff, memories, music, nostalgia