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Dear Humanity:

My faith in you is restored, thanks to an honest person at Islands of Adventure who returned a Harry Potter bag containing a stuffed owl and my husband’s prescription Ray-Bans.

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That faith was sorely tested earlier when my oldest son discovered a different Harry Potter bag filled with pee in the line for the Pteranodon Flyers. Yes, pee as in human urine. I guess someone really had to go, but there are better options. Even my 8-year-old knows that.

Dominic: Maybe somebody doesn’t like Harry Potter, but they didn’t have to do that! They should have left the line to go to the bathroom.

Yes, they should have.

Anyway, we lost the aforementioned bag during the death-defying action-packed adventure called “The Harry Potter and the Forbidden Journey Locker Experience.”

We thought all hope was lost, but some kind soul did a good deed. While I was retrieving Jay the Owl and the glasses, the Keeper of the Loot told me that someone had turned in a wallet that day with more than $1,000 in cash. That buys a lot of stuffed owls.

It’s humbling, really, to be reminded that there is good in the world. It’s especially hard to fathom after a day pressed against the teeming, undulating flesh of other theme-parkers.

Thanks for the reminder.

Sincerely,
Beth

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Twerk it, girl!

Oh Miley

Dear Miley,

By now, you’ve likely slept off the adrenaline rush from last night’s performance at the VMAs. You have undoubtedly noted the less-than-stellar reviews of your presentation. Many people are wondering now (and were wondering last night), “What was Miley thinking?”

Will Smith and family react

Will Smith and family were fairly shocked, I’d say.

I bet I know what you were thinking.

I bet it was, “I don’t want to be known as Hannah Montana anymore.”

I get it. Many child stars go through the same thing. Look at Britney and Lindsay. Heck, even look at Judy Garland!

Reinvention is the name of the fame game. When Christina Aguilera wanted to show us she was all grown up, she gave us the “Dirrty” video (which made us feel like we could get herpes from contact with our TVs).

When Julie Andrews wanted to shed her wholesome Mary Poppins image, she took off her top in “S.O.B.”

Notice a theme emerging here. I don’t want to scream “gender issues,” but there is a problem. Why do women feel like they have to get naked, or nearly naked, to shed an image? In running away from Rachel Green, even Jennifer Aniston has headed down that path with “Horrible Bosses” and “We’re the Millers.”

Jennifer Aniston

And usually, the response is shock and dismay (OK, maybe not in Aniston’s case, but still). And the level of outrage seems greater than when male stars try to break out of their mold.

For example, there is no massive backlash against Bieber. Chris Brown seems to be doing just fine. Even Danny Bonaduce has a regular gig now.

Maybe this is on my mind because today is Women’s Equality Day.

Yes, it would have been nice if you had taken the Ron Howard route to respect. You didn’t. OK. All the haters need to just quiet down now and let you work this out. (Robin Thicke and his wife are the only ones who get to complain if they want.)

I hope you will consider carefully your next move. And I hope it doesn’t involve bending over and wiggling.

You stay classy, Miley.

Best wishes,
Beth

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Dear Adam,

It was lovely to see you again. I must admit that you are looking much improved over the last time I saw you .

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The huge cummerbund (ie. Man Spanx) is gone, I see. You have a new jaunty Hussar hat that appears lightweight and vented. I’m sure it is much more comfortable than that wool monstrosity you were wearing in October. Your voice also has improved over the past 10 months, and the near-yodeling section of “Stand and Deliver” has benefitted markedly.

The only problem? You look tired. Worn out. In need of a vacation. I grant that you’ve been traveling for about a year. I get it. But you can’t just phone it in. People are counting on you.

I drove hours and my friend Julia flew over numerous states so that we could celebrate the 30th anniversary of when we saw you together the first time (with my poor dad as chaperone). The least you could do was one of your high kicks. OK, you are 58. I would have settled for a low kick — or even a sultry move to stage left. Nothing. You were center stage at Center Stage the whole night.

And you wore this:

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It’s not wise to wear a young version of yourself. As my friend Royce noted, you are now “that guy.”

To add insult to injury, you skedaddled seconds after the last note, thus depriving us of the chance to squeal at you for old times’ sake.

Really, Adam. Fans deserve better.

The fans who, as pre-teens, wore “Pure Sex” on our backs deserve better. (And P.S., how did we get away with that?)

The fans who still count you on the GOOMF list deserve better.

I’m disappointed. Julia is disappointed. (I think our friend Colleen is fine, but that’s because she did not have your former concert self as a guide for comparison.)

Of course I’ll give you another chance.

Don’t let me down.

Love always,
Beth

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Home, sweet home

Captain’s Log, Day 6 and 7

At long last, we are home.

30 hours of driving
+ 1,903 miles
+ hundreds and hundreds of dollars
= a trip we won’t repeat.

There were some good moments (“Wicked,” pierogies, seeing family, Roadside America, Crayola Factory) and some bad (Dad and I are not quite on speaking terms).

We are planning our next trip to the New York/Pennsylvania area, but we will not drive. It’s just exhausting for a family that does not much care for road trips. We prefer to fly.

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The highlight of the drive back was a detour to the Lincoln Memorial.
The low point was the traffic everywhere. Where was everyone going this weekend?

I’m exhausted. Going to work tomorrow will be a relief.

And then my mother-in-law arrives.

Stay tuned …
Beth

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Color me happy

Captain’s Log: Day 5

In “Poetics,” Aristotle wrote:

Since the objects of imitation are men in action, and these men must be either of a higher or a lower type (for moral character mainly answers to these divisions, goodness and badness being the distinguishing marks of moral differences), it follows that we must represent men either as better than in real life, or as worse, or as they are.

I’m going for comedy out of tragedy here, so you all know that I pick and choose what will make the best stories. Heroes and villains and a story arranged just so.

You know that, right? Right?! I guess I know how Augusten Burroughs feels. Sigh.

Anyway, today made the whole vacation worthwhile. Family time all day with the Crayola Factory thrown in for good measure.

The place is pretty awesome. A Mecca for my artistic boys, although they were leery at first. A few kids in mid tantrum came out as we were going in. Dominic said, “What’s happening in there that everyone comes out screaming?”

It’s nothing a little nap couldn’t fix.

This was the best thing we could have done. Look at the boys with their cousins!

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Eddie just said, “I liked today.”
Yeah, me too.
Beth

Coming tomorrow: the home stretch

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Captain’s Log: Day 4

New York was hot. So hot. The musical should have been “Spider-Man: Turn on the Air.” After the 10-block walk from Penn Station, the sweat had dripped into my eyes and pooled in my underwear.

I felt sorry for the furry characters hawking photo opps in Times Square. I could only imagine the human soup puddles in their fuzz-covered shoes.

I’m from the South, but even my blood wasn’t thin enough for that heat.

The musical was … meh. Even the boys were a little bored. After another romantic Peter/Mary Jane love scene, Gideon groaned, “Not again!”

A walk through the sea of people that is the theater district, dinner, then “Wicked.” That musical did not disappoint. I saw it when it first opened in 2003 and featured Idina Menzel and Kristin Chenoweth. It’s still snappy, even at 10 years old.

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Day 3 ended with two trains, a bus and a shuttle back to glorious Newark.

Today began with another trip down memory lane. This is the Somerset, New Jersey, house I lived in until I was 3.

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I remember standing at the front door eagerly awaiting the garbage man, on whom I had a crush. Nice.

Then we were off to Easton, where we spent the day with half a dozen of my cousins — none of whom knew we were in the area and coming to visit until I happened to text one of them last night. They hadn’t heard we were supposed to be in town with the RV either. Oh Dad. Dad the Anti-planner. Surprise!

All’s well that ends well. Or ends wet in our case. Yay for play time for the kids!

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Finally vacationing,
Beth

Coming tomorrow: Crayola factory adventure

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Captain’s Log: Day 3

Eight states and 12 hours later, we arrived in the thriving metropolis of Newark.

You may be asking, “Why? Oh God, Woman, why Newark?”

Because the budget for this trip from hell does not include $400 per night for a New York hotel.

Featuring reasonable hotel rates and convenient (sort of) train service to New York City, Newark it is.

On the way up, we stopped at a place that looms large in my memory from road trips with my parents: Roadside America.

My boys loved it as much as I did. That right there almost made the whole fiasco worthwhile.

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Today we head to NYC where the main attraction — and the reason we couldn’t cancel this trip — awaits us on the Great White Way: tickets to Spider-Man and Wicked.

We’re all pretty excited. We’re ignoring all the news reports that feature phrases we don’t want to hear — phrases such as “heat advisory” and “hottest day of the year.”

We’re going to make this work.
Beth

Coming tomorrow: Land of my father

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On the road again

Captain’s Log: Day 2

We are on our way. The “we” does not include my father.

I’m sorry (not sorry) to say we abandoned him and his motor home like rats leaving a sinking ship.

Let me explain.

When last I wrote, we were waiting for the RV to get out of the shop. We waited the whole day, trapped in the dollhouse. There’s nothing I hate more than waiting (except for maybe a guy named Tony, but that’s another story).

The estimated time for completion was noon. Then it was 3 p.m. Then “come on by and we will get it to you before we close.”

We showed up and saw this:

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Keep in mind that the mechanics had it since last Tuesday!

They got the tires on by 5:30 p.m. As we were paying, this happened:

Dad: “Did you check the generator?”
Shop dude: “No, we didn’t get to that.”

Uh oh.

No generator = no air + no electricity
No generator = no trip

Fine. Trip cancelled and we go home, right?

Not so fast.

Eddie and I had the bright idea to take the kids to New York to see “Spider-Man: Turn off the Dark” and “Wicked.” After all, NYC is only a little over an hour away from Easton.

Yeah, I bought tickets.
I’m a planner.
It’s a curse.
Clearly.

So we had to go or lose (more) money.

We threw sandwiches down our gullets, tossed the suitcases in the back of our truck, shoved the kids into the back, and took off in a cloud of dust.

We were headed north by 7 p.m. No lie.

We passed this on the way out:

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Dad killed Bobby the Lion with his mad RV driving skilz.

Maybe it’s best we postponed the RV trip with Dad until spring break.

Stay tuned,
Beth

Coming tomorrow: Glorious Newark, Treasure of Jersey

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Captain’s Log, Day 1 Day .5:

We were supposed to be approaching Easton, Pa. — my father’s homeland — in his RV by now. Yes, an RV. Specifically, an RV filled with my dad, his wife, their four dogs, two birds and cat, plus Eddie, the boys and me.

Pause for Xanax break.

Yet I am writing this at my father’s kitchen table.

Why?

Because my father insists I told him we would leave on July 18 instead of what I actually told him, which was July 14. I even confirmed this via text.

The evidence

He did confirm with the doctor that he could go, and we’ve been talking or texting every other day for weeks.

Those of you who work a regular M-F job know that it would be crazy talk to decide to go on a week-long vacation on a Thursday. You leave on a Saturday so that you only have to take one week of vacation off but you can have more time because of the bookending weekends. Right?

Anyway, my dad got it in his head that we were leaving Thursday, July 18. We were about to leave our house Saturday, July 13, as planned to go to his house but there was a huge storm. I texted him to tell him we’d leave once the storm abated a little. He immediately called me.

Dad: “What are you talking about? Why are you coming up now?”
Me (incredulous): “Because we are leaving to go to Pennsylvania tomorrow.”
Dad (also incredulous): “We aren’t leaving until next week.”
Me: “Um … no, that’s not the plan.”
(Argument ensues.)

No big deal right? He and Kat throw some things in the RV and get ready to go as planned. They are retired, so no worries.

Yeah, well. The RV is in the shop getting a workover and new tires. It won’t be ready until sometime today. Maybe. And in the meantime, we have to look at this:

The eyes, the eyes!

Surely you must remember my stepmother’s particular interest.

If you are a praying person, please do so for me now. If you are not, then simply wish me well.

Updates to come, of course.
Beth

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I’m falling apart

Listen, Body Parts: We need to talk.

Bladder, I’ll start with you. I’m fine with hanging out with you during the day, but this 2:30 a.m. desperate cry for attention is getting on my nerves. And Brain, just because Bladder is up, that doesn’t mean you have to be also.

Neck, I’m not sure why you are cranky all of a sudden, but you need to get over yourself. It shouldn’t be all about you. Now everyone else is overcompensating because you don’t want to move. Get with the program!

Metabolism, I’m still not speaking to you after you started to balk at carbs and bacon.

Skin, what’s with the random displays of pigment and dry patches? I thought we were good. I take care of you with hundreds of dollars worth of potions and this is how you repay me?

All of you renegades need to take a cue from the Eyes. They are doing their job, working well with others, and are not clamoring for attention.

So this is a warning that you all need to settle down. Don’t make me have to call in backup.

Sincerely,
Beth

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