As My Guitar Gently Shrinks

For a few years now, I had been trying to teach the boys how to play guitar. It turned into me sitting there for thirty-minutes while the boys strummed haphazardly and sang "IRON MAN!!!" or "HULK!!!!" at the top of their lungs like it's some new Death Metal song. They hadn't really progressed as far as playing goes because they just wouldn't sit down and learn how to play.

Then a friend of ours showed up at the park the other day with a kid-sized violin. The boys were enamored. An instrument that actually fits into their hands! What a concept.  I'm being sarcastic, here. Of course I knew there were kid-sized instruments - I just always thought it was a rip off.

I don't know why I thought that - perhaps because kids grow up so fast? But unlike ballet shoes or ski boots, at least you can still play an instrument even after they grow out of it.

So, the entire family - the boys at forty dollars each from their savings and us parents for the rest chipped in for yet another addition to our guitar collection.

We purchased a Yamaha CGS102A. It's a half-sized guitar which is best for children ages five to about eight. Older children, from ten on up, should look into a 3/4 size guitar. I like to start them on nylon strings because it's easier on their fingers. It builds callouses without shredding them to bits. I learned that the hard way.

I haven't found an instructional DVD for kids that I like, yet but when I do - I'll be sure to post it. God, I love Netflix!

If you are thinking about buying a guitar for your little one and are not quite sure what to do, feel free to send me your questions and I'd be happy to give you my advice as a professional moron.

Look at this very happy boy! Backpacking his new guitar on Music Row in Times Square.

And for the record, he's been practicing - yes, practicing every chance he gets.

Not doing to good on the share-it-with-your-brother part, however...

9/11: Baby Steps

While I was waiting for my son to finish class, I read this article in the Village Voice about the Mosque  being planned to be built near Ground Zero. Although the article leaned towards self-righteousness in singling out New Yorkers who are socially intolerant towards Muslims, I must admit that the sentiment is common. Whether it's right or wrong is not the question - it's how we deal with it.

You can't rightfully ask a person to trust someone who is trying to kill them. And that's what it boils down to.

Yes, it's ignorant. How could discrimination survive without generating fear? But it's always different when it hits close to home.

I saw the Twin Towers after they were attacked and it was...disturbing. Despite the crowds of people - the streets were uncommonly silent. In essence, it was a wake - that strange ritual Western culture has of viewing a dolled up corpse. Only, there was no fixing up the carnage of the World Trade Center. So typically New Yorkish - it is what it is.

As a Japanese American, I too, have had my share of dealing with racism, discrimination and just ignorance in general. It sucks but what can I do except try to be a bigger person and learn how to deal with it? In school, I had to deal with people taunting me about Pearl Harbor. Pearl Harbor!

All I can say is, people need time to forgive. The bigger the atrocity - the longer it's going to take. And as wrong as it is for New Yorkers to be wigging out over a Mosque and to be judging all Muslims on the acts of a few fanatics, you can't deny them their fears.


One day the time will come where we won't be labeling all Muslims as terrorists. Until the destruction of the Berlin Wall, all Communists were...well, Commies. Now, they are allowed to exist in peace and even make our toothpaste and fill it with lead but you know, that's just me saying it.

The Flower Pickin' Bandit

By now, I'm sure my neighbors are wondering where all their pansies are. My three-year-old, Samu loves to pick them to give to me. No matter how many times I tell him that it's better to let the flower live and leave it where it is, he seems to believe I'd be much happier having it wilt in my pocket.

Up until now, he's left the bigger blooms alone. But the other day, we were in Walmart's nursery shopping for a birthday gift. As we were walking up and down the aisles looking for a plant, Samu runs up to me with a Zinnia bloom that was so big, he had to cradle it in two hands.

"Holy Shit, Samu! You can't pick the flowers in here." I told him.

"But it's to make you happy," he answered.

How could I get mad at that? So, I quickly hid it between two plants after making sure no one saw - then I thanked my lucky stars that Walmart's nursery is understaffed on Sunday.

Next time he fights me about picking up his toys, I'm going to tell him to imagine that they're flowers in full bloom waiting to get picked. We'll see how that goes.

But Texting Is QUIET

It's called regressing but I want to get rid of my iPhone and go back to those ancient flip cell phones. Why? Because I never get my calls. And when I do - the other side can't hear me. I could be standing outside in my front yard with nothing blocking me but Zuki's zinnias and still get no signal.

The only reason I keep the darn thing is because of unlimited texting. As much as I abhor the keypad on the iPhone, it's still a heck of a lot easier to text than a regular phone's keypad - I could never get the hang of it. As a result I never texted until I got an iPhone and no, I still don't use Emoticons or end every bitchy sentence with "LOL".

Texting should be free - why do consumers have to pay five cents or whatever the price is to receive a text message? If I don't have to be subjected to the conversation between smelly-construction-guy-at-the-bank and whoever it is he's arguing with about fitting in the Lexus, then our nightmares are over.

Texting is the ability to intrude without interrupting. I text my husband all the time during work, "Stella $17 pls replace the $$ in Spiderman bank". Translation: I just picked up a 12 pack of Stella on sale and you need to replace the cash in our beer fund. As my five-year-old loves to say, easy-peasy-lemon-squeezy.

Nobody else hears our conversation and everybody who needs to get the memo - gets the memo.

So speaking of memos, Apple iPhone, here's my ultimatum - fix the damned bugs you have with your reception and knock off that extra $40 I have to pay for texting and just having it in general.  I may never switch to a PC but I sure ain't squeamish about flipping phones!

The Newest Russo

I can't explain why my three-year-old, Samu is so interested in crabs. If we walk past Associated supermarket, sometimes he'll have a fit if we don't go in to visit the seafood department. They have a huge model of a crab hanging in the center of the counter and he feels the urge to kowtow to it.

Like most boys, he's fascinated with frogs and sharks as well but nothing grabs his attention more than crabs.

On vacation, I showed him how to take apart a steamed crab and fed the meat to him. At first he thought it was delicious. Then he realized what he was eating and he grew hysterical when I couldn't put the crab back together again. It was like that classic story about the kid who became attached to a rabbit the family kept in the backyard. Then one day the kid comes home from school to find the rabbit missing and nobody knows what happened but everybody enjoyed the chicken casserole dinner.

I see now it was a little thoughtless of me but we made it up to the little guy. Grammy bought him a hermit crab on the boardwalk at Wildwood, New Jersey. And now we have a new addition to the family.

Meet Frank.

Look how proud Samu is of his little crustacean pet. I just hope he survives longer than the Betta fish...

Personally, I think he's creepy looking. And I hate the way he moves around in his tank and makes me think there's a big fat mouse rustling in the house. At least he doesn't smell or take big poops.

Forty-something

I love celebrating my birthday but I hate getting old. Here I am, not even forty-five and already I can't keep track of how old I am. As if that weren't bad enough, I'm starting to act like an old fart; grumpy and cynical and trying to get more mileage out of a dollar. I even wear socks to bed.

Tomorrow, I turn forty-four and as it approaches I contemplate which way to look - the future or the past? At this point it stretches equally in both directions. I suppose this is the time to go through a mid-life crisis but honestly, my youth was spent working hard, paying off debt and drinking uncontrollably. It was a great deal of fun but once was enough.

In general, birthday posts are supposed to be inspirational - sharing the reiteration of how life should be embraced and becoming a better person, but who am I kidding? My mother still tells me I need to grow up and as I fight with my five-year-old for the last piece of gum, I see her point.

If I took her example, at my age she was partying every weekend adorned with fat gold jewelry and fitting into size one jeans. Meanwhile, her misfit teenage daughters stayed at home and listened to records. That's right...I mean vinyl albums. Talk about ancient.

So yeah, I'm feeling old. Too old to be changing careers, diapers and learning new knock-knock jokes but that's where I am. And if another young person subjects me to their inexperienced optimism with an "you're never too old to have fun" crap, I swear I'm going to puke on them.

I will have a happy birthday, however. How could I not with two little demons wanting to blow out my birthday candles? Afterward, I'm going to put my slice of cake in the blender and puree it so it won't ruin my dentures.

Stamp Out Soda

Every once in a while I have a really, really bad experience at the checkout counter. Today it was at Rite Aid on Greenpoint Avenue, which is usually pretty cool with me. The one woman ahead of me held up the line because she wanted to buy three 12 packs of soda with food stamps. The soda was covered but she was having a hell of a hard time understanding that the can's five cent deposit had to be paid in cash.

Yes, it really annoyed me that I had to watch the whole stupid transaction, which took nearly ten minutes but do you wanna know what I found truly wrong with this picture? It's that she bought SODA - Fucking Soda with food stamps!

Excuse my language but that's just Satanic. You shouldn't be able to buy soda with government assisted money, especially when you have the First Lady campaigning her heart out (again with our tax dollars) to fight obesity among American children.

It kills me when I see a kid - a child who still has baby teeth - drinking a can of Coke or worst still a can of Diet Pepsi with it's growth inhibiting saccharine. Don't their parents realize how detrimental this stuff is for children? As I watch the rotund parents shove a bag of potato chips in their face, I realize no..they don't.

Junk food is cheap, tasty and readily available. Carrot sticks and water don't stand a chance.

I am not a health food advocate and I don't pretend to be. As a matter of fact my favorite foods are beer and salami, but I don't feed that to my kids. Well, salami I do but my boys are half-Italian - c'mon man! The point is, if food stamps are to provide less fortunate families with assistance to eat a nutritionally balanced diet, then I think there's no reason it should be paying for a can of Mountain Dew.

....and...

Good Night, Mr. Steinbrenner.