Drone Breeding Technology

I recently encountered a 3G Man, complete with Bluetooth device, at our local food market, who endeavored to strike up a conversation. “He’s got his DS,” he began as he motioned to the bottom of his shopping cart, “he’ll stay down there for hours.” I looked into his cart and packed into the bottom of it, something like a sardine, lay boy of about seven years old. Oblivious to activity beyond that on his 3 inch screen, the boy neither noticed me peering down at him, nor said hello, as he engaged exclusively and intensely with his new technological companion.

We could, I suppose, continue to lie to ourselves and believe that by providing our children with these technological “toys” we are spoiling them by giving them what they want. The more unpleasant truth may be that we are truly spoiling their social abilities by giving them what we want.

The adult form of such portable technology has already spawned a new, more rude citizen. It is hardly uncommon to be engaged in a conversation when suddenly a vibration is heard, and in a Pavlovian response the receiver springs into action, reads the message, assures you they are still listening, and texts the mysterious person at the other end. Though this technology may increase the scope of our communication, the quality of that communication is clearly being diminished. We no longer talk, we text; we don’t visit, we post pics; we don’t make people our friends, we “friend” people.

Generations of parents past managed to actively parent, socialize and, yes, even food shop without relying on drone breeding technology. Children need to be socialized when in society, not euthanized by portable technology each time we need to pick out unblemished bananas or perfect porterhouses.

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Justification for High Taxation (?)

This is not a poem to discuss budgetary concerns,
But rather one to embark on a social sojourn.
A humble attempt to perhaps justify
why we Montclairites pay taxes so high.

If it’s a crepe’s that you crave then open your door,
Take a walk to the Plaza and visit Bonjour.
You can shop on Church Street if your looking for fashion,
Or if it’s art’s your after, you’ll find it in Anderson.
If music’s your thing, catch a show at the Wellmont;
Or do some ice skating on the lake at Edgemont.
In my neighborhood, visitors marvel in awe
as artists, scientists, Spiderman, and attorneys at law,
Bang pots and pans at project Graduation,
And cruise in white limos and host weenie celebrations.
The parade and endless parties on the Fourth;
And impromptu dinners together on the Porch.
Journalists, professors, moms, and mimes,
And children running yard from yard, all the time.
Tenors, sopranos, musicians, and restaurateurs,
That’s what my taxes truly pay for.

And would I abscond if given the chance?
Perhaps, but only to a villa in the south of France.
So to my Midland Ave, and dear friends in Erwin Park,
(Please, insert the name of your favorite block),
With some conviction and contentment of heart,
Say with me proudly, Montclair Rocks! Montclair Rocks!

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A Woman Named Pretension

There once was a woman whose name was Pretension,

of famous names and liaisons she’d frequently mention.

Thought herself rather worldly; spun tales to deceive,

while you, a mere peon, she’d have you believe.

A type rather ubiquitous in our Montclair;

as common as pollen in the April air.

One Ladies Night Out the pleasure ‘twas mine,

with much thanks to Bacchus for copious wine.

Throughout our dinner Pretension’s heart did so swell,

as she expounded the topics that she knew so well.

She rattled statistics and offered some quotes,

she spoke about politics and which way she may vote.

But the topic soon turned to a new restaurant,

while still unacquainted with the popular haunt,

Pretension had no input or story to tell,

no critique on cuisine, or the fine oaken smell.

But on went the banter that rose to expand

a vivid description last Friday’s big band.

Enthused by reviews a young lady did shout:

“I’m curious now, I must check this place out.”

Upon these words, Pretension thought to herself,

“What could they know, I’ll have to see for myself?”

Pretension put on countenance of great consternation,

turned to the young lady and laid explanation.

“Young one,” she began, then paused to build clout,

“There are some things in this world I just don’t wonder about.”

Why must she be so patronizingly lofty?

Supercilious, arrogant, pompous, and haughty?

The tale I have told was not meant to be cruel,

but to illustrate a lesson often learned in high school:

that snide comments made to continually gibe,

most often disguise something shameful to hide.

For friendship is forged through kind word and deed;

and admiration is lost where malevolence breeds.

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Take it to the Streets

Pedestrians and Joggers Beware: Watch your step! In a humble effort to enlighten the Montclair Police Department as to why people may choose to walk on the street in areas where a sidewalk is available, I will elucidate a few of the most compelling reasons why people may chose to abandon the sidewalks.

The mere presence of a sidewalk does not imply that it is suitable for walking, jogging or pushing a stroller. One condition that seems to be ubiquitous throughout our community are the raised and uneven segments of sidewalk This presents not only an annoying problem for those pushing strollers, but it also presents the risk of injury to walkers and runners alike. Secondly, overgrown, thorny shrubs and low hanging branches have become an obtrusive presence along the sidewalks. Unless one chooses to run the risk of injury by thorn or branch, a reasonable person will choose to avoid the risk of injury by walking in the street. Other sidewalk annoyances deserving of mention are the scattered trashcans, which inevitably find their way into the middle of the sidewalk, and the landscapers who blow lawn debris onto and across the sidewalks.

These are the reasons why pedestrians choose to take it to the streets. In light of such hindrances, it hardly appears reasonable that we be deemed “lawless” and thereby punishable. Therefore, let this be my plea to the Montclair Police Department, we pedestrians who elect to walk or jog reasonably along the curb and in the direction of on coming traffic, do not need an education in pedestrian safety, and even less do we need a municipal fine. Simply put, a desperate pedestrian is as a desperate pedestrian does.

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A Poem in Pink

In this the “pink” season women join for a reason,
To honor the breast and conduct gentle squeezing.
So wear a pink ribbon and sponsor a dear friend
The measures we take will prevail in the end.

If you call them breasts or boobies; tits or teets
Adored world wide for their infamous hide and seek.
Make a date with yourself, we could all spare the time,
To caress your breasts for all of womankind.

Self exams could be quick and they’re easily done
Some lotion, massage, maybe some erotic fun
Go on, dim all your lights, close all your drapes
Strip yourself bare and admire your shape.

To examine your breasts any pattern will do
A clock ,circle, or grid, which ever you choose.
Be on the hunt for changes, marks, dimples, and lumps
Diligence please, scrutinize those bodacious bumps.

The lesson is this if you’ll be kind to hear
Boobs need attention now and the rest of the year.
Until a cure is found we cannot afford to rest
So do womankind a favor, feel your breasts.

Ladies, I beg, I beseech grab hold of your teets.
For October is much more than just trick or treat.
To empower one’s self and empower your health,
All we need do is simply look at ourselves.

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The Prada Pusher

The Halcyon beckoned, after nightfall.
A vanity clad muse I chanced to meet,
who joined our group, while taking a call,
then blatantly took stock of our feet.
Prada Pusher has a je ne sais quoi;
Her accent, put-on, smacked of bourgeois.
Take pause to view what lies beneath,
Obscured below her inglorious sheath?
Sad, there you’ll find all things but love.
Chanel, Louis, Jacobs and Gucci
Spade, McQueen, Cavalli and Juicy.
But soul’s true contentment? That she’s above.
She’s an expert in rampant snobbery;
for Wharton does not teach humility.

Of worldly things was versed very well,
but, of goodly things she clearly knew not.
She read The Journal and knew when to sell.
And gave guidance the same to her tiny tot.
“Son” she spoke, “We’re materialists,”
For among our group of elitists.
Prada loafers you must always wear;
yes, even to preschool; make others stare.”
And oh! How she hates the winter recess!
Two weeks, stuck at home, with her own son.
“Dreadful! When will the shopping be done?”
She simply could not accept such distress!
So arrangements we’re hastily made
And caretakers, all handsomely paid.

She caused an attack of dyspepsia!
And her son only wears True Religion.
Because, you know, pants are indicia,
of good breeding! “We flaunt what we’re given!”
Our dalliance soon died as she described
The high end wines she exclusively imbibed.
Her tales resounded so sick in my ear;
I arrived at this lesson, please listen hear:
We must curb our wants, and guide our words
for fear our children be shallowly shown
that man be measured by what he may own.
For virtue grants life’s priceless rewards.
Our world can’t afford our children be taught
Happiness is a item, only to be bought.

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Lost and Found

     Nanny is to Montclair, as latte is to Starbucks. According to my unofficial observations, in Anderson Park, on any given weekday, nannies out number mommies 5:1.

     One morning, as I walked through Anderson Park with my two toddlers, we passed a conglomerate of nannies, four in total, each charged with at least two children. We offered a quick greeting and continued along the footpath. A few moments later, I stopped to pick up one of my children’s toys, and noticed a stray child following us. Assuming this girl belonged to the group we just passed, I told her to return to her nanny. Being about two years old, however, she did not wish to cooperate. I turned to look back at the nannies to see if any may be chasing after her. Much to my dismay, none were. Apparently, they failed to notice the child left their care and was already thirty yards off. My caravan and I turned around to return the prodigal child.

     Upon arriving in front of the nannies with their child in tow, the chatter halted, and cell phones closed, as they suddenly became alarmed at realizing the child had, unbeknownst to them, gone off with me, a stranger. The child was promptly chastised, and was told “Don’t you know you don’t walk off with strangers?”

     This is neither an opinion, nor an opportunity to lay blame; I am personally familiar with many nannies that are attentive and fantastically patient. It is simply an incident, which despite its happy ending, left me rather disconcerted and uneasy. For me, it illuminated the fact that another individual with ill intentions could easily have taken tragic advantage of such carelessness and inattention. It begs asking, that if neither we, nor our nannies, are watching our children, who is?

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