Bernie and Me

How does one describe my publisher Bernie McCormick? With difficulty, that's how.

But there'd be no point in this blog if I didn't give it a good ol' try.

Bernie's being honored tomorrow night at Saint Anthony School's annual Gentlemen's Dinner. A highfalutin event that undoubtedly caters to some of Fort Lauderdale's most dedicated and legendary businessmen and philanthropists, Bernie's honoring is an esteemed one.

As I write this, I'm starting to understand how much influence Bernie has had on me and everyone else who's in this crazy world of journalism. He's been in the biz for nearly 50 years, and quite honestly, he doesn't look like he's going to stop any time soon.

What the outside world doesn't know is that Bernie's an easy target for much of our office banter. The running office jab on Bernie is that he plagiarizes. Himself. We assume there's no legal ramifications on this, especially since the victim is also the aggressor. However, it's always fun to read the same three topics (JFK Assassination, trains and uniforms) over and over again. One would think Bernie has a template article saved on his computer about topics like the Tri-Rail that he can just insert a new word here and there, take out a word or two, change the date, and then present it as if it's a new article. Either our readers have short memories or they don't read our magazine because no one's ever commented on his repetitions.

And somehow we manage to make it work. I heard from others that Bernie's past editors (Alan Halpern, Maggie Walker, Christie Caliendo, among others) always had a hard time engaging him. It's no different these days. A septuagenarian with a penchant for all things Irish, Bernie couldn't be any more different from me. I'm a Vietnamese-American who's nearly 50 years his junior and almost a foot shorter than him. I love Gator sports (Bernie's a La Salle University alum who roots for a non-existent football team). I don't think a team's football uniform has any bearing on their success and the outcome of the game (to this day, Bernie thinks the Gators lost the 2009 SEC Championship to Alabama because they came out in all-white). I can sport a tan; when Bernie tries to tan, he actually gets whiter.

I constantly joke that Bernie hasn't done anything for Saint Anthony's in about 20 years and hasn't done anything for this magazine in about 30. But all kidding aside, my wry sense of humor no doubt is in contrast to the great things he's accomplished. Bernie's subtleties are legendary. So subtle that at times you forget what a genius he is.

He's taught me to really have fun in journalism and with my writing. He has an ease about him that's slowly rubbing off on me. I'm learning how to relax in pressure situations, and it no doubt is attributed to B.Mac himself.

So congrats to Bernie for the great award he's earned from Saint Anthony's. Tomorrow night should be a good event. As the Irish say, mazel tov.

Where's the Music?

I still remember my elementary school's music teacher, Mr. Spence. A lanky man with dark-rimmed eyeglasses and an eternal 5 o'clock shadow, Mr. Spence taught my classmates and me about woodwinds, brasses, treble clefts, bass clefts and more in our northeast Florida classroom. While in class, we memorized songs like "My Bonnie Lies Over the Ocean" and "Dixie Land," songs that for some reason I still can hum the chorus to.

I'd be lying if I said he left an indelible mark in my musical education -- I'll credit my piano teacher, Bronia Kimmel, for that -- but what he did show me was the music has an incredible impact on a child's development.

Sadly, it was announced last week that at least 12 Broward County public schools have been asked to further cut their budget on arguably the most influential school subjects: music, art and physical education. A recent Sun Sentinel article by Akilah Johnson says the teachers at these 12+ schools are given a choice: either take a 50 percent salary cut or find a job elsewhere.

Florida public school teachers and journalists have something in common: We knew ahead of time that we weren't going into our respective profession to make our millions. And now, these already severely underpaid professors in art, music and PE are being asked to accept a horribly unjustified figure -- and live on it.

As a child, I sometimes forgot Mr. Spence was a person. I mean, I held him and all my other teachers -- Ms. Coursey the art teacher, and Ms. Eicorn and Ms. Woolwine the PE teachers -- to another level, a level that took them out of the category of a regular person. I forgot they had families, loved ones, and needed to take care of them. To me, they did a great job, and I forgot part of the contract was to get financially compensated in order to live comfortably.

It was also announced last week that Broward County schools were facing up to a $130 million budgetary shortfall. Sad, huh? That means our kids' education is getting $130 million less than it did previously.

The article also says that while the district did require all area schools to trim their budgets down by 6 percent, it was up to the individual schools to determine how exactly that figure was met. And, for the principals at these 12+ schools, the decision came down to art, music and PE.

I can't imagine what it's like being a principal faced with the decision on what (and who) to cut. I'd like to think that the principals don't want to reduce these programs. But unfortunately, Broward County isn't the only county in the country faced with this issue. Unfortunately, there's thousands of Mr. Spences out there who perhaps wish they decided to find interest in a science or math subject in order to have some fighting chance to stay in the school system. I, for one, don't want the music to stop playing.

Day trippin' in Dania Beach

Cross this off my to-do list: Day trippin' in Dania Beach.

Something else to cross off: Beating a boy in a one-on-one sit-up match.

I guess chronology and explanations are in order to unite the aforementioned feats. On Saturday, I got a call from my buddy to participate in a charity event at Dania Beach. The event would take place the next day beachside in Dania Beach (home of the family style sand and no-nonsense raucousness). It would consist of a single-elimination beach volleyball tourney, egg race, sprint, push ups and sit ups. Not one to ever turn down a competition, I signed up on the spot.

Along with my buddy, I was on a four-member squad called Team Norton (the surname of our fearless team captain). And, all proceeds (i.e., entry fees and raffle sign up) benefited a local church looking to send its members to Haiti to help after the earthquake.

After crushing defeats in volleyball and a disqualification in the egg race (our fearless captain cheated: He held the egg on the spoon the entire time), our only chance at victory was the sit-up and push-up competitions.

I'll fast-forward to the sit ups portion of things. Soooooooo, I was paired up to compete against a dude. To be fair, my competition wasn't stiff. In fact, it was a little gelatinous. I had the guy by about 20 years, and it looked like the last time he did a sit up was for the elementary school President's Fitness Award Challenge (you know, the one where you have to do sit ups, pull ups, v-sit stretch and shuttle run). Still.

So we had 60 seconds to do as many sit ups as possible. At the start, the guy came out like a race horse. One, two, three, four, five, six sit ups in about four seconds. At that pace, I thought, he'd be cruisin' to 90 in no time. And, I thought, I better be gracious in my defeat.

Somehow I pulled out the victory. While there's debate over the final number, it seems I managed 45 sit ups in 60 seconds. Not a blistering number, but for me, I'll take it. I was a full 10 sit ups over the gentleman, who, it seems, got ragged on by his friends for losing to a girl.

But man, I'm feeling it in my abs today. It hurts to laugh.

Asian or Not

Let's play a little game. It's called Asian or Not*. See if you can figure out if the below folks are Asian or not.

1. Asian or Not: Vanessa Hudgens (actress and singer)

2. Asian or Not: Rob Schneider (Actor)

3. Asian or Not: Ronde and Tiki Barber (twin football players)

4. Asian or Not: Tyson Beckford (model and TV personality)

5. Asian or Not: Hines Ward (football player)

6. Asian or Not: Joseph Gordon Levitt (actor)

7. Asian or Not: Kelis (singer)

8. Asian or Not: Kim Kardashian (model and actress)

9. Asian or Not: Jennifer Tilly (actress and poker player)

10. Asian or Not: Summer Glau (actress)

Answers

1. Vanessa Hudgens: This "High School Musical" star is indeed Asian. Of Irish and Native American heritage, the lovely Hudgens' mother is from the Philippines (she's Chinese-Filipino).

2. Rob Schneider: Yes, Deuce Bigalow is one-quarter Asian. His grandmother is Filipina.

3. Ronde and Tiki Barber: While the brothers have a little look of Asian, there's no information on hand to support the theory that they are of Asian descent.

4. Tyson Beckford: Even if he wasn't Asian, we'd still like to claim him. But indeed, Beckford has Asian blood in him, with ancestors being of the Chinese-Jamaican variety.

5. Hines Ward: Ward is what we like to call Blackinese. His mother is Korean and father is African-American.

6. Joseph Gordon Levitt: Sadly, this "(500) Days of Summer" star is not Asian. Or, as my co-worker says, "If he's not Asian, he's probably Filipino or something."

7. Kelis: Her milkshake does come from the Asian yard. Her mother is of Chinese-Puerto Rican descent.

8. Kim Kardashian: Nope, this gal is of Armenian descent.

9. Jennifer Tilly: She's one-quarter Asian.

10. Summer Glau: There's no confirmation that this well-named actress is Asian.

Thanks for playing. Stay tuned for more chances to play!

* This post is totally meant to be playful and whimsical. Please note that being offensive is the last thing I'm looking to do. My sincerest apologies is I did not achieve that goal.

Ode to Earth Day 2010

Here are some small things you can do every day to help the planet out (notice that buying a hybrid is not on this list).

1. RECYCLE. If you don't already recycle, then you kinda suck. Just kidding. You don't. Well, you kinda do, but we'll forgive you. Just look to see if that funny lil' triangle with the number inside it is on the bottom of your plastic bottle. And, since everyone here is an avid reader of Gold Coast magazine and is also a subscriber, just be sure to recycle the mag every month.

2. BRING BACK HANGERS TO THE DRY CLEANERS. You know those flimsy wire hangers with the white cardboard roll that the dry cleaners use to hang your clothes? Well, next time you go to the cleaners, bring back the ones from the last time. It'll reduce your household's total trash, and the dry cleaners can reuse them. A nice trade-off: If enough people do this, it'll help keep your dry cleaners from jacking up their prices.

3. REUSABLE SHOPPING BAGS. Grocery store, market, Target, shopping malls, whatever. They are all locations where we invariably pick up paper or plastic bags to hold our newly bought items. Have available reusable bags instead.

4. REUSABLE LUNCH BAGS. Gone are the days of brown-baggin' it. Use a reusable bag to pack yours or your child's lunch.

5. PRINT PREVIEW. Use your print preview option every time BEFORE you hit "print." That way you'll avoid printing excess pages as well as avoid the need to reprint if all the info isn't there.

6. PRINT ONTO ENVELOPES, NOT LABELS. Instead of printing on labels (and wasting more paper), just print directly onto your envelopes.

7. AVOID EATING INDIVIDUALLY WRAPPED CANDIES. Alright, this one's a little hard to avoid. Consider this bonus points for those who can adhere to it. Think about it this way: You know those regular-sized Reese's peanut butter cups? Well, here's all the trash you'll be disposing: the orange plastic wrapper, the white cardboard paper that it sits on, and the black wrap that holds the cup together. And that's just for one cup. Too bad Reese's are just so awesome...

Parks and Rec

When is something that's "for public use" not really for public use? When money and politics come to the table, that's when.

It's probably been a full year since I've stepped foot in Holiday Park, one of Fort Lauderdale's centrally located city parks. Located off Sunrise Boulevard, it totally appealed to me when I moved here four years ago -- vast fields, well-maintained tennis courts and even a running course (or walking course at my velocity). And, when someone wanted an easy target, I even got to play pick-up basketball there. 

But then something changed. Not so much with the tennis or basketball courts (as far as I know, at least), but more so with the four main fields. 

I wasn't allowed to step foot onto the field. I couldn't play a damn sport -- no soccer, no football, frisbee, nothing. At first, 3-foot-high sandwich board signs with "Field Maintenance - Do Not Enter" were posted. Eh, my friends and I thought. We'll just kick the soccer ball around those signs. It worked for a while. But then the park rangers would roll by in either their white sedans with fake sirens attached the roof or worse, rangers relegated to golf carts demanded we get off the fields. 

"Can you not read?" they'd ask us, pointing to the sandwich board sign.

Admittedly, I thought this was a racist dig, masked to keep the city's minority soccer players from taking to the pitch. At least in South Florida, soccer is a colloquial sport played by its mundane, soccer-crazed citizens. A typical day at Holiday Park used to have Haitians, Guatemalans, Mexicans, Brazilians, Costa Ricans, Hondurans and other non-Anglo folks kicking the ball toward makeshift goal posts.

I later found out I was right. Sort of.

After being kicked off the field on three other occasions, the last time I went was on a Sunday, about a year ago. I coincidentally arrived with three of my most Anglo-looking friends. "Mr. All-American" is what I'll call my first friend. The four of us stepped onto one of the four fields, tossing the football around. No more than 10 minutes later, a park ranger cruised next to us in his white sedan with rooftop sirens that probably didn't work and asked us to leave the field.

"Why?" Mr. All-American asked. "What are we doing wrong?"

"You need a permit," Mr. Park Ranger replied.

"A permit?" Mr. All-American asked incredulously. "Isn't this a public park?"

"Yeah, well, you need a permit to play on this Bermuda grass," Mr. Park Ranger countered. 

Turns out some individuals petitioned the city to allow only permitted citizens to play on the Bermuda grass that's in Holiday Park. Well, seeing that the only fields worth playing on are the ones with Bermuda grass, we're pretty much S.O.L.

The ranger told us to play on another "field" located within Holiday Park. Actually it's a parking lot used by Parker Playhouse. After 30 minutes of trying to avoid the grassy potholes and boulder-sized pebbles -- and nearly twisting an ankle or two -- my friends and I gave up.

I see the point in wanting to protect the grass from the mess of cleats bound to tear up the sod. But seriously. It's a field. And it's public. It seems the only folks who've gotten permits are the ones who can afford it. The elite youth soccer leagues seem to play with ease. Mr. Park Ranger doesn't seem to mind.

Sure, I could probably go to another park that's less restrictive. But really, it's the principle of the matter.

It once again is a game between the Haves and the Have Nots. Guess which team I'm rooting for.

What the Duck?!

For years downtown Fort Lauderdale has looked to mitigate the homeless population wandering the streets and our city parks. Me, well, my concern isn't at all about the homeless people. Instead, I'm more weary of the homeless ducks.

As a downtown commuter every work day for the past four years and a frequenter of Las Olas Boulevard, I'm freaked out by the quantity of Moscovy ducks mulling our streets and alleyways. I work more toward the eastside of downtown, just off Eighth Avenue, and to get to Las Olas' busy sections by foot, I cut through the alleyway between Blue and Casa Cameleon and Johnny V. Or, I used to cut that way. Right at the loading dock behind the boutiques, a gang of ducks routinely waddles out of nowhere, causing me to detour around that passage.

Even worse, as my co-workers and I walk over to get our 4 o'clock coffee fix at the Starbucks on Broward Boulevard and U.S. 1, a separate band of Moscovies hanging out at the neighboring Chase Bank seem to intercept my route. 

"Why are you hiding behind us, Nila?" co-workers tend to ask. Every time.

"You know why," I seem to mutter. Every time.

Somehow the java urge supersedes my fear.

You know how some people hold their breath as they drive over a bridge? Well, that's exactly what I do as I walk past those ducks. Call it my fear of ducks (or birds, to be more general), but there's just something about their red blotchy faces that incites a rude outburst out of me. I'm not sure why I have that fear -- I've never had a "The Birds" moment or Hitchcock-like scenario in which I was attacked and pecked. Regardless the fear exists.

Now, I'm not at all inciting we elicit any type of harm toward these creatures. After all, they seem to just be minding their own business. I've even been told that they are probably more afraid of me than I am of them. Somehow I can't seem to accept that notion, though. 

Truth be told, it's probably us who are the offenders, and I should probably get off my high duck, er, horse. We are probably invading their home turf with our concrete buildings and high rises. Seemingly, in this case what came first was the duck, not the human. Oh well, I can still hate them, can't I?