Crazy Crap Item #94: The part where we light the torch on the summer block party tradition

At long last, I'm recording the doings of this summer's block party on 1500 Norwood. Epic, they were.

The overview:

The theme: the Olympic Games
The duration: 9am until after midnight
The weather: thankfully glorious
The aftermath: Eamon and I slept all day Sunday, and only crept out in the evening to grill some brats and blow off the last of our fireworks with the neighbors

But clearly, no simple overview could capture the splendor. So here, I will try, with my humble skills, to paint in words all that transpired. God help me.

Morning starts early for the 1500 Norwood block party. By 9am, families began to emerge, here and there, wiping sleep from their eyes, blinking dazedly in the morning sun. Donuts and coffee were our first repast, supplied by Nancy (our former nun), the charming 80-something couple Manny and Lucille Eckert, and the now famous Delores McDermott.

As I strode toward the donut table, I was greeted by a cheerful if incoherent hello from young Gavin Calto, nearly two years old, who was hailing the entire block from his upstairs bedroom window. I waved back.

But although donuts were consumed, the block party could not truly be said to begin until the opening ceremonies. Mind you, we don't usually have opening ceremonies, but this year's being an Olympic-themed party, ceremonies there must be. And, of course, Eamon must be in charge.

Rather than try to describe the amazing display that followed, I will direct your attention to his video recording of the event, made on my brand-new digital camera. Some things to note:

* A number of my neighbors seem not to realize that I am filming, and try to stop me to chat as I chase Eamon up the street.

* I am new to video technology, and at one point, I seem to think that I can simply turn the camera on its side to better capture the vertical splendor. If you listen carefully, you can almost hear the gears turning in my head, as I think, "Wait, that won't work ...!"

* Eamon's splendiferous toga is my sole contribution to the opening ceremonies. The night before, my weary boy sighed noisily, and said he couldn't go to bed until he had created his toga. To which I replied, "What create?" He indicated that his understanding was that togas were time-intensive affairs that required much in the way of complicated stitchery. To which I replied, "Do you have a sheet? Do you have a belt? Then you have a toga." Apparently, Eamon hails from the post-post-Animal House era during which high school students no longer had toga parties at the drop of a hat, and so did not fully grasp the rudimentary nature of toga construction. He's so lucky he married me.

Once the ceremonies had dazzled the masses, the block reconvened to pursue a wide variety of activities -- most, at this point, geared to the five-and-under crowd. These included:

* Riding every conceivable form of vehicle up and down the street. That is, in the street. THE STREET, I TELLS YA!!!!! If you don't understand what a mind-blowing experience this is, then you haven't been four years old in awhile.

* Decorating aforementioned vehicles at the "bike decoration station." Mainly, that means streamers of crepe paper taped to the handlebars.

* Creating FLAGS OF ALL NATIONS at the flag-decorating station. Megan -- she who gets thirsty -- worked her fingers down to very nubs creating blank banners to be decorated by, ahem, the children. You should have seen mine. It depicted a freeform sunrise. You know, as a pun on "Daly." Like, "Daily." Get it?

* Snake petting. You heard me, snake petting. Our neighbor Gretchen has many pets. Strange, strange pets. Including a snake. So we petted it. At one point, said snake heeded the call of nature, there, on the Calto's lawn. We grownups all stared, shocked. "I guess I knew snakes did that," quoth one adult, "but I just never pictured it."

* Pint-sized sports -- including soccer and basketball. This devolved into madness as Eamon and our neighbor Chris turned it into a battle to see who could make baskets using the most absurd approach. I think Chris on the tricycle won, but I'm sure Eamon will have something to say about that.

Did I mention that many households chose to participate in the family flag "contest" (it being a contest only in the sense that we created entries; not in the sense that we did any judging or gave any awards. We just got too tired)? The idea was: the Olympics involves many countries. Countries have flags. Our block has many families. Families ... have ... flags? Or they could. And should. And for one glorious day, did.

But what, you ask, adorned the Daly family flag. As you can see, we decided to commemorate a dominating theme of family life here at casa del Daly. So if you're in the neighborhood, be sure not to peek in the windows. You've been warned.

At lunchtime, we desisted our fun-having to eat a delicious smorgasbord of hot dogs, donated by the Patio Beef stand on the corner, chips, and sody pop.

Afterwards, the small boys of the block disappeared. I got a tip that they were sequestered in the "train room" of our kitty-corner neighbors, the Burtogs. A train room is, just like it sounds, a room dedicated to a remarkably intricate model train. And if you are a 4-year-old boy, you chant "go, Thomas, go!" just to ensure the train keeps moving.

The train room was topped only by a visit from a real-live fire truck, attended by real-live firemen. They offered opportunities to swarm all over the truck and spray water all over the street, and occasionally, on others.

Me, I was more interested in the firemen. Eamon did not agree.

The firetruck visit was so exicting that we all retired for naps. I awoke to find that Eamon had prepared the back yard for our contribution to the evening entertainment... but more on that later...

Naptime was followed by happy hour, potluck din din, and a performance by my a cappella group, Faces for Radio. We were delightfully well received, especially by some of our youngest audience members, who provided a tribute of fabulous dance moves, as recorded here. Keep your eye on the small blond boy.

After our performance, there was more eating, and the playing of adult games. These included Ruth and Kevin's brew bottle toss, a polo match involving small inflatable horses (hosted by the O'Connors), and the Keyes' watermelon seed spitting contest (both distance and accuracy were factors).

Sadly, I have no photos of these events as I was busy documenting our entry into the games category. The Mexican Triathalon.

Dubbed by some a collection of the most pervasive Mexican stereotypes, the Mexican Triathalon consisted of, naturally, three events. First up was the Mexican Hat Dance, in which contestants were required to improvise a dance of their choice around a sombrero, while staying within a border of 5 flags arranged in a circle. Points were awarded by judges.

Next up was the Margarita Dash. Using contestants had to fill a pitcher with water from an ice chest located at one corner of our yard. Then, they would dash to a table covered in plastic margarita glasses, fill the glasses, and take as many as possible to a third table, and pour said glasses into a vase. Repeat. It was a timed trial; contestants were judged according to the amount of liquid they were able to transport.

The third and final event was the adult pinata. Eamon purchased four pinatas -- the numbers 1 5 0 0 in honor of our block -- and we filled them with adult treats, including beef jerky, shot glasses, mini bottles of liquor, and alka selzer. Contestants each took several swipes. When a definitive blow was made, all contestants would make the mad dash to collect the items, and earned points for each.

Several observations:
* Liquor bottles, even plastic ones, tend to shatter when hit with a broomstick. Ooops. Thankfully, there were no casualties.
* A few of the bottles were glasses, and I had carefully entombed them in bubblewrap. This turned out to be a good things, since even though these bottles did shatter, their bubbly casings tended to hold the shards together.
* John O'Connor, the winner of the pinata event, got a serious and even frightening amount of air as he leapt to smash the pinatas. Alarming.
* Contestant Ann Casey spent much of the competition on the ground. But maybe that was because she and her husband Jim hosted their own competition, which involved tasting several bottles of wine and trying to identify the country of origin. Mayhap Ann undertook too many demonstrations.

After the triathalon, I had to miss some of the other games (described above) as I was busy reviewing entries for the "When They Were Olympians" competition. Using submissions from various and sundry of the block, I constructed a poster full of baby photos, numbered but otherwise unidentified. The object was to identify the latter-day neighbor according to the baby pic. Hilarity.

The evening ended the traditional way, with much drinking in the middle of the street, and a special innovation: closing ceremonies, orchestrated (naturally) by Eamon. The great state of Wisconsin (where fireworks can be purchased) is to be thanked for its star-spangled glory.

Crazy Crap Item #93: The part where I'm puzzled by a summer blockbuster

I know what you're thinking. You know the annual summer block party extravaganza was this weekend, and you're wondering why, in lieu of telling you all the news, I'm babbling on about some movie I saw.

Well, the 1500 Norwood Block Party was a massive event, of Biblical proportions, and it's clear I won't be able capture all the splendor during my 15-minute noon-tide tostada nosh. So until I get the energy and leisure to give a truly full account, I'll entertain you with more modest musings.

To whit: Spielberg's War of the Worlds. I'm not given to watching these sorts of blockbusters, but there was nothing else on, and it was on Comcast On-Demand, so Eamon suggested we fire it up. Much to my surprise -- and despite my loathing of Tom Cruise on-screen and off- -- I found myself rather drawn in. The effects are quite dazzling, and as Eamon noted, it's rather laudable how Spielberg makes no attempt to "lighten the mood" with comedy relief. Instead, it's just a tense heaping on of scenes of dread and terror. Fun.

Until, that is, ole Steve seems to have rounded the 2-hour mark and thought, "Oops, gotta wrap this up," and subsequently substitutes any real conclusion with a strange, terse voiceover by (sigh) Morgan Freeman which rockets right over any actual narrative to sew things up in the stupidest and most pompous fashion imaginable. (And seriously, folks, can't anyone but Freeman do voiceovers anymore???)

Way to lose me in the 11th hour, Stephen. WTF?

Crazy Crap Item #92: The part where I'm all for religious education, but ...

So one of my latest gigs is writing long-form brochure copy for a video course entitled "The History of the Bible." It's all about Dead Sea Scrolls this, and King James version that, and it's all very interesting. Or, at least, I assume it will be, as I haven't started viewing the course yet.

What I have done, however, is begin researching my copy proposal. This is an odd document required by the company before copy is submitted to ensure that we writers know which end is up. It's actually not a bad little exercise, and has enabled me to explore the wonderful world of educational publishing.

You see, part of the proposal involves a sort of competitive review. For each course, I have to go out and find similar products offered by competitors, and then cite the reasons indicated in the competitors' marketing why this particular topic is worth studying (and paying big bucks to study, natch).

Anyhoo, this part of the process is usually only garden-variety interesting. But as you can imagine, when your topic is "The History of the Bible," you're opening a pretty big can of fundamentalist worms.

I'll spare you the many readers' comments about various Biblical scholarship books that decry such works for questioning the literal truth of the Good Book. What I'd like to share, instead, is a strange breed of Bible videos for kids.

Take, for instance, this handy little video review of "Wild and Wacky Bible Stories," in this case centering on the theme of jealousy. Or maybe, on child molestation. The creepy fellow on the cover makes it too close to call.

Or consider this retelling of the Samson and Delilah story, in which the famed, be-ponytailed strong man is apparently played by He-Man, master of the universe.

And who wouldn't want their kids viewing the erotic adventures of Adam and Eve? Check out the voyeuristic giraffe.

That's it. I'm going atheist. If only for the good of the children.

Crazy Crap Item #91: The part where Jack finds a kindred spirit

I wrote before about how July 4th weekend was kicked off at 1500 Norwood. But I neglected to include an episode that occurred earlier in the afternoon.

As is well known, my neighbor, Jack, is a cowboy. I've previously reported supporting evidence here and here.

During yesterday's extravaganza, he was decked out in full cowboy regalia and entertained himself by reclining against the roots of a tree while twanging "Home on the Range" on an imaginary guitar. Like cowboys do, you know.

It suddenly dawned on my that he might enjoy seeing a photo of my father decked out in similar regalia. You see, my dad -- also coincidentally nicknamed Jack -- aspired to greatness on the range at about the same stage in life as neighbor Jack. And I have a photo to prove it. It's a wondrous, Depression-era photo of my dad, age 5 or so, clad in a plaid shirt, chaps, a holster, and a 10-gallon hat. He holds a six-gun aloft. I showed it to neighbor Jack's mom, Ann, and she noted that he seems all too aware of how cool he looks.

So I showed to Jack, and explained it was my dad when he was little. Jack's eyes grew big as saucers. He grasped the frame and, staring at it, muttered, "Does he have a real gun?" I suggested that it was probably just a toy. But look!, I said, he's got chaps and a holster! Jack added, awestruck, "And a lasso."

He held it in his hands for many moments, studying it, until James, his little brother reached for it. I turned it to him. James gazed at it puzzled, the jabbed my dad's photo with his finger. "Jack," he asserted. "Jack."

And he was right, in more ways than one.

Crazy Crap Item #90: The part where we all thought this sort of thing only happened in the movies

I've said it before, I'll say it again: I live on the best block in the world.

Prior to moving in, I used to scope out our neighborhood, strolling by to see what life was really like on 1500 Norwood. And seriously, I thought they were putting me on.

More often then not, there were small children gathered on the sidewalk, cavorting. Mothers sitting and chatting. Butterflies alighting on fingertips, and bells softly tolling the hour from Lutheran church one block south.

Seriously, all except the butterflies.

After moving in, Eamon and I quickly learned this was not a bill of goods. Our neighbors are ridiculously nice. The kids on the block are ridiculously funny. We have a block fund, used to fund two annual block parties and purchase welcome gifts for new neighbors. And of course, we have our legendary badass squirrels.

Which brings me to the antics of last friday night. This weekend, as I'm sure you're aware, is a fantastic, four-day holiday weekend. Which means the week prior is all just a vamp leading into four days of glorious nothing-doing. Not surprisingly, we on Norwood started to get the holiday itch a little early.

"I'm thirsty," my neighbor Megan announced on Thursday afternoon. To the uninitiated, this seems to mean Megan needs a glass of water. For denizens of the 1500 block, this means, "We're getting together to drink tomorrow afternoon, right?"

Which we did.

You see, in addition to our several planned gatherings, here on 1500 Norwood, we play host to a variety of spontaneous shindigs. Typically, they grow out of the afternoon play period, which occurs sometime between nap time and dinner time. Small children explode onto the sidewalk, propelled by scooters, small firetrucks, and bikes with training wheels. Mothers gather wherever there's space to sit. If her work schedule allows, a feckless freelancer joins in, just for fun.

Playtime is so well established that one of our neighbors, Ruth, has even created a permanent location, consisting of two park benches, two pottted plants and a small glass table, all chained to the tree on her parkway.

You never know when playtime will erupt into something more, like a pizza party on the Daly's lawn. But this week, I had Megan's advanced warning, so I alerted Eamon, and got myself in a party frame of mind.

At about 2pm, I wandered out to playtime. We chatted of this and that, then decided to take up residence on Ruth's benches -- this despite the fact that Ruth and her family are out of town, and are hosting guests for the duration of the weekend. If the guests were puzzled that the neighborhood descended on the benches even when Ruth is not at home, they kept it to themselves, initially sequestering themselves on Ruth's enclosed front porch, where one of the children serenaded us with violin practice.

By 4 pm or so, Megan cracked a beer, and I brought out some Mike's Hard Lemonade. Sheila, from the block over, brought wine. We snacked on Megan's guacamole and cheese and crackers.

Soon, daddies came home and joined us. We ordered pizza. Then Jim (Jack's dad) brought out his fiddle and serenaded us Civil War-era folk tunes. The violin-playing houseguest joined in, as did his sibling. John O'Connor -- whose wife Ann and triplets were out of town -- brought out his drum kit, and Chris Cancilla took out his guitar. Eamon took tambourine.

And ...

Cue fireflies.

Cue small children with sparklers.

Seriously. Best neighborhood in the world. The 1400 block can bite us.