So summer's here and everyone's getting ready to hit the beach. We know, we know -- shore season began two weeks ago. But for all you slackers out there (and we know you're out there), here are a few ways to avoid hassles and just enjoy the sand, surf and sun.
A few things you should know about the beach.
Parking:
There usually isn't any. Your best bet is convincing your friend or significant other to drop you off while they scour the streets for an open meter or parking lot that's not in another county.
Tags:
You're paying out the ass for everything else at the shore, and guess what, you have to pay to go on the beach too. There are only a few towns that don't charge you to sit and swim
-- Atlantic City and the Wildwoods come to mind. If you don't buy a beach tag, men with guns will hunt you down, drag you out of the water and pour sand down your bathing suit. Just kidding, but seriously, they get mad.
Bathing suits:
Wear one. Some men, usually balding and bell-shaped, like to wear Speedos that are usually bursting at the seams. Unless you're doing it to win a bet or something, grape smugglers don't look good on anyone, even if you look like Brad Pitt. The same goes for women and thongs
-- take a long, hard look in the mirror before you throw the neon floss between your butt cheeks.
Sunblock:
If you're not Italian, Hispanic, or African American, wear sunscreen. No one wants to go out later that night with someone who's red and shiny. Even if you do go out, your friends will slap you on the back all night and that hurts bad.
Food:
Forget about your diet. Soy milk and veggie burgers are hard to come by on the boardwalks. Even if you find them, eat huge slices of pizza and drink a super jumbo lemonade anyway.
Alcohol:
Assume that you can't drink alcohol on the beach, at least out of a bottle or can. If you get drunk, you're liable to drown, trample a kid's sand castle, or worse, pass out and get really sunburned on one side of you body. You'll look like a Tylenol.
Sea Gulls:
Don't be the asshole who decides to feed the seagulls. That shit gets way out of control real fast and if someone's filming you getting attacked by a Cheeto-frenzied flock, it will be on the Internet the next day.
Other people:
Families like to go to the beach. They bury each other in the sand, eat peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, and go body-surfing, usually all day. If you set up shop next to a family, watch the language and don't be a jerk.
Fireman's memory preserved
By JASON NARK
(Originally published in the Courier Post)
Down a weed-lined dirt road in Toms River, inside a tar-paper-covered barn, Thomas Gray Stewart III is scaling a ladder, smiling at his father, a friend and a sculptor.
Down a weed-lined dirt road in Toms River, inside a tar-paper-covered barn, Thomas Gray Stewart III is scaling a ladder, smiling at his father, a friend and a sculptor.
Pictures of Stewart; his mother, Maryann; his fiancee, Danielle Ruggierio, and his son, Nicholas, are pinned to a wooden platform near a model of the Blessed Virgin Mother.
Meanwhile, his father, Thomas Stewart II, stares at the clay likeness of his son, holding his hand over his mouth with a puzzled look.
The smile on his son's face is not right.
"It was more of a smirk,' said Stewart, looking to Gloucester City firefighter Jerry Hubbs for agreement.
"Even in his coffin, I swear he had that smirk,' Stewart said with a deep laugh.
On July 3, 2002, Stewart scaled a fire engine ladder during a fireworks ceremony at Gloucester City High School to propose to Ruggierio. Hours later, in the humid, pre-dawn hours of Independence Day, he was among six killed when a burning city duplex collapsed.
Stewart, Mount Ephraim Fire Chief James Sylvester and Camden County Fire Marshal/Mount Ephraim Deputy Chief John West died while trying to save Alexandra Slack, 5, and her 3-year-old twin sisters, Claudia and Colletta Slack.
Making the mold
Two years later, Stewart is being reborn, thanks to the efforts of Hubbs, one "working class' sculptor in Toms River, a bevy of talented craftsmen, and hundreds of people who donated money for an $85,000 memorial in his honor.
At the Toms River studio of Brian Hanlon, a broken identification card sits on one of the ladder's rungs. Stewart is a rookie, a little thinner and without the grin.
Hanlon uses the card to manipulate Stewart's clay lips, and the sly smile familiar to family, friends and fellow firefighters emerges ever so slightly.
"It was always like he knew something that no one else knew. He was the cat that ate the bird,' his father said proudly.
Hubbs, a 13-year veteran of the department, spearheaded the quest to get the 9-foot statue completed by July 4 -- the two-year anniversary of the fire -- but Hanlon's frantic pace was tempered by the sluggish crawl of paperwork, fund raising and the foundry in Rock Tavern, N.Y., which refused to sacrifice quality for speed.
Earlier this summer, Hanlon -- a would-be musician, part-time comedian and working man's sculptor -- joked about the ulcers the deadline would bring, but the intensity in his blue eyes gave him away. The wiry and hyper Toms River native peered at the statue from nearly every angle.
The father of four spent long days in his chicken barn, breathing in a noxious mix of fumes to get the sculpture ready.
Hanlon said he wanted Stewart's memorial to be different from the nearly 100 other pieces he's done, including a 9/11 memorial in Pennsauken.
Stewart's memorial, he said, should invoke reflection for every firefighter who passes by it at the city's fire station on King Street.
"It's not going to be a piece you walk up to and look at,' he said. "It's going to be a piece you react to.'
During a visit to the studio, Stewart's father and Hubbs circle the mold, occasionally touching it. Hanlon and a colleague stuff newspaper in the nooks between the firefighter's thick fire pants and jacket in preparation for the application of the fiberglass mold.
"He would think this was way too much, but he would be happy that he's 6 feet tall right now,' said Hubbs, noting Stewart was about six inches shorter.
All of the gear on the mold -- including the pants, jacket, helmet and air tank -- belonged to Stewart and was destroyed in the creative process.
"I think that's nice,' said Hubbs. "A little part of him will be in this.'
Hubbs said the similarities he shared with Stewart -- a good-sized ego and a healthy dose of competitiveness -- meant they sometimes butted heads. But maturity and a mutual love of firefighting enabled the two to bond.
"I would say it really took us a few years to figure each other out,' said Hubbs. "We were really just starting to become good friends.'
The bronzing
After a few 18-hour days in mid-June, Hanlon finishes Stewart's mold and sends it to the foundry, where a wax mold of Stewart will be created and repeatedly dipped in a mixture of resin and sand before the bronzing.
Polich Art Works in Rock Tavern, N.Y., is a loud and raucous warehouse the size of a football field -- a contrast to Hanlon's bucolic barn. Sparks cascade from bronze sculptures, forklifts carry jagged metal, and 100,000-ton cranes hover four stories above the warehouse floor.
Overseeing it all is Dick Polich, a veritable Vulcan, forging weapons for the gods in his foundry beneath Mount Aetna. Polich however, has a more impressive resume than the Roman god of fire, and his creations are made to inspire, not destroy.
Polich, looking 20 years younger than 73, was raised in Chicago by Yugoslavian-born parents and attended Yale and Harvard before receiving a master's degree in metallurgy from The Massachusetts Institute of Technology.
"I grew up in era when working meant doing something with your hands,' said Polich, his biceps flexing as he grabbed the air.
After his tour of the nation's upper-echelon universities, Polich flew fighter jets in the Navy, and then began a 30-year career developing metals for airplanes and weapons systems in high-tech foundries.
The current warehouse, a former concrete duct-work plant, is the sixth building Polich has moved into to keep pace with business.
The delay
With less than a week until July 4, Hubbs makes the three-hour journey to Rock Tavern to try to persuade Polich to complete Stewart's memorial by the deadline.
"No one has told me to my face yet that it won't be done in time,' said Hubbs.
He hopes Polich's community of craftsmen will see him in his uniform and be inspired to place Stewart's memorial ahead of other pieces.
Like the one that hangs in Hanlon's barn, Hubbs brings a Gloucester City Fire Department patch for Polich but the show of camaraderie does little to sway him. Stewart's mold continues to sit upside down in the "shell room,' covered in a sandy resin and encased in a web of Rebar while men in white Tyvec suits dipped other molds in the mixture.
Still fragile, the new mold could be destroyed if they attempt to pour bronze that week, Polich said.
"There's a danger in rushing -- that's where things can get lost,' the soft-spoken Polich told Hubbs and Hanlon on the warehouse floor. "The process we that we use is the same as in the Renaissance -- it cannot be rushed.'
Frustration lingers in Hubbs's eyes for the rest of the day. He wonders how to cancel a major dedication hundreds were set to attend.
Hanlon admitted the time period was nearly impossible.
"I put on my Superman cape for this one and it wasn't enough,' said Hanlon, rubbing his chin. "When it is done though, it's going to be here for 1,000 years.'
Nearly complete
Communications between Hubbs, Hanlon and Polich finally center on Aug. 28 as the dedication. On Aug. 5, craftsmen at the foundry apply chemicals and torches to Stewart's fresh coat of bronze, changing the color from a yellowish-gold to a deep maroon. Later that day, Hubbs and Hanlon take the statue to Gloucester and work into the darkness to finish it.
All that's left is to affix it to a granite pedestal containing the remainder of the memorial -- two tall obelisks for West and Sylvester and three smaller stones for the Slack sisters.
"We were like two ninjas out there,' said Hanlon.
The statue sits there now, wrapped tightly with a tarp until its unveiling Saturday.
Hubbs said frustrations and emotions never clouded the main goal for getting the memorial done at all costs.
"It's been a healing experience with the family and me. I was able to help a fallen brother's family,' he said recently. "I don't know about the whole closure thing, but I know I just wanted to get it done.'
Hubbs, a father himself, said he doesn't want the memorial to represent tragedy or heroism. He hopes Stewart can invoke pride in his fellow firefighters, pride in the sad hearts of his parents and fiancee, but most important, pride in the eyes of Stewart's 3-year-old son.
"My vision, I mean what I really keep thinking about, is Nicholas riding his bike up there with his buddies when he's 10 or 12, and saying, "That's my dad.' '
Crime's numbing reality
By JASON NARK
(Originally published in the Courier Post)
Jasmin Smith didn't realize she was walking past a memorial Monday for two women killed by stray bullets.
The candles and deflated balloons mark the area where Tinesha Lewis and Robin Battie were shot
in September near Thurman and Lewis streets.But inside the breast pocket of her jacket, Smith carried her own memorial: three photographs of her cousin, Matthew Dunlap, who was fatally shot July 7.
"There's so many memorials in Camden, I didn't even know,' said the 23-year-old nurse, surveying the tribute. "That's everyday for us. We're born and raised with that.'
It was no surprise to Smith that a new report calls Camden the nation's most-dangerous city. The ranking is part of Morgan Quinto's City Crime Rankings, an annual reference book of crime statistics to be published next month.
Camden was ranked third-worst last year, but a sharp spike in crime in 2003 propelled it over the previous leader, Detroit, which fell to second this year.
The rankings look at the rate of crime, and include six categories: murder, rape, robbery, aggravated assault, burglary and auto theft, all of which increased in Camden last year. The city has had 45 homicides as of Nov. 16 -- four more than were reported through all of 2003.
Joe Fields was one of those homicides. An innocent bystander, Fields was shot in the head when an 18-year-old opened fire with an AK-47 near a Fairview Wawa on July 17.
"Everybody who got shot that day was innocent,' said Adamino Roman, 31, standing about 40 yards from where Fields fell. "It was the worst sight I've ever seen in my life.'
Roman said he would like to see more police on the street corners.
"If they don't do that, it will just keep going and going,' he said.
At an afternoon news conference Monday, Camden County Prosecutor Vincent P. Sarubbi said the report came as no surprise.
"It has not been a good year,' he said. "It calls out for some action.'
Sarubbi said law enforcement in Camden has made about 8,000 arrests this year and could reach as many as 10,000 by year's end, yet he reiterated his mantra that arrests alone cannot solve Camden's problems.
"This is a multifaceted problem,' Sarubbi said.
Drugs, unemployment, poverty and education are all added weights to the burden of law enforcement in the city, he said. New initiatives, such as increased foot patrols, a nonfatal shooting investigation team, and an anti-graffiti program, have seen some results, Sarubbi said.
"At this point, however, they are a drop in the bucket,' he said.
Sarubbi said he will meet with federal and state legislators on possible funding that could increase the number of officers in the city.
Acting Gov. Richard J. Codey said at a news conference that he was working on new initiatives for Camden as well, noting that he had recently met with Sen. Wayne Bryant, D-Lawnside.
"We're trying to do something else for Camden,' Codey said. "Hopefully, we can get it done. Hopefully, that announcement will be down the road, but not too far down the road.'
Angela Medina, 23, said the people of Camden have become too entrenched in the city's problems to make a difference.
"I think the people here are just too scared to say anything about crime,' Medina said while waiting for her clothes at the Village Laundromat in Fairview. "Some people sell drugs right from their family's house, in front of their parents.'
Medina said her son, 6-year-old Troy Anderson, regularly hears gunshots outside their home.
"It's like we're desensitized,' she said.'
Olga Gonzalez sees police in her East Camden neighborhood often, but that didn't stop the shooting death of her 12-year-old son, Pedro Molina Jr., Oct. 2.
Pedro was sitting on the front step of his North 25th street home at 2 a.m. when four men approached him and stole his radio. Two suspects have been charged. Authorities say one of them, Jesse Sepulveda, shot Pedro several times as the boy tried to escape into his home.
A memorial sits out front of the Molina home as well.
"It's just a shame there's so much violence,' said Gonzalez, 35.
At a news conference at City Hall, Randy Primas, the city's chief operating officer, echoed some of Sarubbi's statements about crime problems, but also noted there is unprecedented economic development in the city as well.
"What this study shows is that this is a culmination of a city that is impoverished,' said Primas, noting that Camden is one of the poorest cities in the country.
Jasmin Smith said the violent crimes, including the death of her cousin, also are a culmination of various elements. She said it's difficult for people in Camden to find a moment of happiness, let alone a decent job.
"If we could just get a decent environment, with cleaner streets maybe,' she said, motioning to the trash-strewn streets and abandoned buildings. "These streets right here are where some people in Camden die and others have to live their lives.'
With that, Smith put her headphones back on and continued her walk to her grandmother's house on Randolph Street. On the way she'll pass a memorial to an ex-boyfriend, and to her cousin, his picture now fading on a stop sign.
Tenants question safety of homes
Adela Cruz is scared of her apartment.
Cruz has been renting an apartment in a Pfeiffer Street rowhouse for a little more than a month and fears many of her home's basic necessities -- electricity, heat and water -- are rigged for disaster.
"It's all booby-trapped," said Cruz, pointing to a disheveled electric box in her basement with a water pipe running over it. "It's a deathtrap."
Her landlord, Curtis Spitz, of Lakewood, Ocean County, also owns a Westfield Avenue duplex that caught fire Jan. 10, killing a toddler and his father.
Many of Spitz's tenants in Camden said they did not know where to voice concerns about what they feel is high rent for deplorable housing.
"It's horrible in here," said Wanda Padilla, 27, pointing out mold, loose electric socket covers, and rusted cabinets inside her sister's two-bedroom apartment, also on Pfeiffer Street and one of Spitz's properties.
Spitz could not be reached for comment Tuesday.
Padilla said a man who works for Spitz was in the apartment Tuesday afternoon, installing a railing on a steep staircase where her niece recently fell. He declined to comment Tuesday.
Padilla said her sister and her husband and their three children have been renting the home since September but a smoke detector was installed only a few days ago.
Mariana Santiago, 24, lives in the one-bedroom apartment above Adela Cruz. She thinks the large patches of dark mold growing in her closet have been making her son sick. She said Spitz had painted over the mold, but it has since grown back.
"When it rains outside it rains in the closet," said Santiago, who pays $625 a month in rent, with no utilities included.
A tour of some of Spitz's other properties in Camden showed some were vacant and one rowhouse on Boyd Street appeared to be heavily damaged by fire.
On Jan. 11, Spitz was arrested on a charge of failing to appear in court on property code violations.
Spitz and his wife have been cited by Camden officials for 22 code violations in recent years, including two for the Westfield Avenue property. One of the violations, from August 2004, claims Spitz did not obtain a certificate for rental approval at the Westfield Avenue property. Camden's Code Enforcement office directed all inquiries regarding Spitz to the Law Department where business administrator Christine Tucker declined to comment.
Alfredo Palillero, 22, died on Monday from injuries he suffered in the Jan. 10 fire. His 18-month-old son, Alex, died on the day of the fire. Palillero's wife, Alex's mother, 19-year-old Adriana Roldan, is "getting better" at Temple University Hospital, according to family members.
Malecio Palillero, 38, said he and his family have met with an attorney. He said the home's heating system was in need of replacement and said he has documents to prove it.
"We want justice," Palillero said. "I lost my son and my grandson."
Palillero said his daughter, Guadalupe Palillero, will remain at Temple University Children's Medical Center for another week. Three other relatives have been released from hospitals. City Council President Angel Fuentes said the city is contemplating the formation of a committee to discuss landlord/tenant relationships.
"We are going to go after these landlords. There are people who take advantage of owning a lot of properties in this city. Many of these landlords are not registered with the city," said Fuentes. "There is a host of issues and concerns with this."
Councilman Frank Moran, who represents the neighborhood where the fire occurred, said the blaze should serve as a wake-up call for the city and prompt officials to figure out what they can do to avoid similar tragedies.
The fire department already has a smoke detector distribution program, but Moran said he wants to create community groups throughout the city that can help spread the word about the program.
Moran said he and his colleagues plan to ask the fire chief about the status of the investigation during Thursday's council meeting. They also plan to ask about ways the department can supply smoke detectors to city residents, he said.
"This is not the first time and it won't be the last," Moran said.
Fire Marshal Ralph Roberts said the Westfield Avenue fire is still under investigation. He said there was a smoke detector in that home but it has not been determined whether it was working. Roberts said he plans to meet soon with police, housing and county prosecutor's office officials to gauge the status of the investigation.
Spitz also owns properties in Paulsboro, including two boarded-up homes on West Washington Street. One small bungalow had trash strewn across the yard and an open front door that revealed the home's disheveled innards. Next-door neighbor Roman Walker said he rarely sees Spitz, but did confront him once in the summer about cutting the grass.
"He said "You can do it, but I'm not paying you,' " said Walker. Borough workers eventually cut the grass, Walker added.
Acquilla Ward rents a West Washington Street home from Spitz and said she's had few problems with him.
"Anything that needs to be done to the home, I just pay for it myself and take it out of the rent," said Ward. "I give him the receipts and he hasn't said anything about it yet. It's pretty safe."
Code Enforcement officials in Paulsboro said Spitz had amassed violations at some of his properties but those complaints were not available Tuesday.
Cruz has been renting an apartment in a Pfeiffer Street rowhouse for a little more than a month and fears many of her home's basic necessities -- electricity, heat and water -- are rigged for disaster.
"It's all booby-trapped," said Cruz, pointing to a disheveled electric box in her basement with a water pipe running over it. "It's a deathtrap."
Her landlord, Curtis Spitz, of Lakewood, Ocean County, also owns a Westfield Avenue duplex that caught fire Jan. 10, killing a toddler and his father.
Many of Spitz's tenants in Camden said they did not know where to voice concerns about what they feel is high rent for deplorable housing.
"It's horrible in here," said Wanda Padilla, 27, pointing out mold, loose electric socket covers, and rusted cabinets inside her sister's two-bedroom apartment, also on Pfeiffer Street and one of Spitz's properties.
Spitz could not be reached for comment Tuesday.
Padilla said a man who works for Spitz was in the apartment Tuesday afternoon, installing a railing on a steep staircase where her niece recently fell. He declined to comment Tuesday.
Padilla said her sister and her husband and their three children have been renting the home since September but a smoke detector was installed only a few days ago.
Mariana Santiago, 24, lives in the one-bedroom apartment above Adela Cruz. She thinks the large patches of dark mold growing in her closet have been making her son sick. She said Spitz had painted over the mold, but it has since grown back.
"When it rains outside it rains in the closet," said Santiago, who pays $625 a month in rent, with no utilities included.
A tour of some of Spitz's other properties in Camden showed some were vacant and one rowhouse on Boyd Street appeared to be heavily damaged by fire.
On Jan. 11, Spitz was arrested on a charge of failing to appear in court on property code violations.
Spitz and his wife have been cited by Camden officials for 22 code violations in recent years, including two for the Westfield Avenue property. One of the violations, from August 2004, claims Spitz did not obtain a certificate for rental approval at the Westfield Avenue property. Camden's Code Enforcement office directed all inquiries regarding Spitz to the Law Department where business administrator Christine Tucker declined to comment.
Alfredo Palillero, 22, died on Monday from injuries he suffered in the Jan. 10 fire. His 18-month-old son, Alex, died on the day of the fire. Palillero's wife, Alex's mother, 19-year-old Adriana Roldan, is "getting better" at Temple University Hospital, according to family members.
Malecio Palillero, 38, said he and his family have met with an attorney. He said the home's heating system was in need of replacement and said he has documents to prove it.
"We want justice," Palillero said. "I lost my son and my grandson."
Palillero said his daughter, Guadalupe Palillero, will remain at Temple University Children's Medical Center for another week. Three other relatives have been released from hospitals. City Council President Angel Fuentes said the city is contemplating the formation of a committee to discuss landlord/tenant relationships.
"We are going to go after these landlords. There are people who take advantage of owning a lot of properties in this city. Many of these landlords are not registered with the city," said Fuentes. "There is a host of issues and concerns with this."
Councilman Frank Moran, who represents the neighborhood where the fire occurred, said the blaze should serve as a wake-up call for the city and prompt officials to figure out what they can do to avoid similar tragedies.
The fire department already has a smoke detector distribution program, but Moran said he wants to create community groups throughout the city that can help spread the word about the program.
Moran said he and his colleagues plan to ask the fire chief about the status of the investigation during Thursday's council meeting. They also plan to ask about ways the department can supply smoke detectors to city residents, he said.
"This is not the first time and it won't be the last," Moran said.
Fire Marshal Ralph Roberts said the Westfield Avenue fire is still under investigation. He said there was a smoke detector in that home but it has not been determined whether it was working. Roberts said he plans to meet soon with police, housing and county prosecutor's office officials to gauge the status of the investigation.
Spitz also owns properties in Paulsboro, including two boarded-up homes on West Washington Street. One small bungalow had trash strewn across the yard and an open front door that revealed the home's disheveled innards. Next-door neighbor Roman Walker said he rarely sees Spitz, but did confront him once in the summer about cutting the grass.
"He said "You can do it, but I'm not paying you,' " said Walker. Borough workers eventually cut the grass, Walker added.
Acquilla Ward rents a West Washington Street home from Spitz and said she's had few problems with him.
"Anything that needs to be done to the home, I just pay for it myself and take it out of the rent," said Ward. "I give him the receipts and he hasn't said anything about it yet. It's pretty safe."
Code Enforcement officials in Paulsboro said Spitz had amassed violations at some of his properties but those complaints were not available Tuesday.
Ain't nothin' wrong with DVDs on camping trips
Every year, I go away for a few days and sleep in a tent.
That's camping, folks, and if you can think of a better word for it, you can shove it in your water filtration system.
People ask me where I go and I mumble, "The Poconos," which immediately drops my trip down a notch. Apparently, you're not really camping unless you're in Idaho or Manitoba.
This is what I bring -- a tent, sleeping bags and pillows, coolers, my iPod and its boom box, extension cords, flashlights, hot dogs and rolls, Kraft singles American cheese, bacon, eggs, beer, a coffee maker and Snapple. I bring cigarettes, too. I'm sorry, I mean I used to bring them when I smoked.
I cook on my propane-powered Coleman stove and buy ice and firewood every morning at the campground's convenience store. Yeah, my campground has a convenience store and it's very convenient.
Ironically, I don't bring a lot of clothes and make it a point not to shower the whole time.
During the day, I fish for Smallmouth Bass and do cannonballs off bridges. Since I always forget my energy bars, I usually scarf down some Arby's, a vanilla soft-serve with rainbow jimmies and some light beer by the fire later on. I expend a lot of carbs climbing up cliffs to jump from, so cut me a break.
When I used to camp with my friends, we always got yelled at by the creepy campground manager for blasting this weird Jimi Hendrix song after "quiet time." Now, we're all too busy to get drunk by the fire pit for a weekend. I'm calling you guys out right now.
Last year, my son and I went to my campground for the first time, and I'll tell you what, he's a chip off the old block -- he made me bring a DVD player.
Don't even say anything.
We also went to the batting cages and ate cotton-candy ice cream. On our nature hike at the zoo, he fed carrots to a Giraffe. They have blue tongues.
A bad, little goat ate a hole in my shorts there and my son still giggles about it. That's just not going to happen on an eight-day adventure hike through the Moab Dessert. And plus, where would I get ice cream?
Pyromania
Cookouts aren't complete without fireworks
Am I the only one who immediately thinks about blowing stuff up when someone mentions a barbecue?
Impulse wasted all that space on all-beef patties, hot dogs and stainless-steel grills and we can't even get a sparkler? We've got our chef on the damn cover and there's nothing about to explode around him. I expected better from him. I guess I'm partly to blame, too -- I wrote most of it.
Where are the fireworks?
Where is Jeffrey, my second or third cousin, duct-taping quarter sticks to Blue Claw crabs? Where is Tony, my former brother-in-law, pulling the mother lode out of his Mustang like a warped, Fourth of July Santa Claus?
Where are the rogue bottle rockets screaming toward someone's head? Where are those giant mortars that made my cousin Samantha scream like a banshee? Finally, where are the Bellmawr police, walking into my parents' backyard as their flashlights cut through a hazy cloud of burnt gunpowder?
I know, fireworks are illegal, blah, blah, blah -- that's why we have the Carolinas. Somebody must have gone south of Delaware every June to pick up the load because Tony had a stash that rivaled Penn's Landing. We never asked him any questions, we just lit it up as fast as we could and ran inside when the cops showed up.
The shorter the fuse, the more exciting. Sure, you would burn your fingers from holding the lighter sideways, but we evolved to the point where we used those extra-long lighters. If things got too out of hand, you could always jump in the pool.
The fireworks have been lame for a few years. I've been reduced to the small fire pit I dug in my backyard, where shredded credit card bills, diaper boxes and a few of my neighbor's tree branches feed my pyromania. I sit there with my dog and a beer and think about the good old days, when Nark barbecues meant someone was going to get colored paper in their eye.
If anybody is heading south, pick me up a huge box of the good stuff -- I mean the stuff in the back room. Oh yeah, get me a T-Shirt from South of the Border and one of the gigantic cheeseburgers from Hardee's too.
Thanks. I'll pay you back and take the rap if you get busted.
Am I the only one who immediately thinks about blowing stuff up when someone mentions a barbecue?
Impulse wasted all that space on all-beef patties, hot dogs and stainless-steel grills and we can't even get a sparkler? We've got our chef on the damn cover and there's nothing about to explode around him. I expected better from him. I guess I'm partly to blame, too -- I wrote most of it.
Where are the fireworks?
Where is Jeffrey, my second or third cousin, duct-taping quarter sticks to Blue Claw crabs? Where is Tony, my former brother-in-law, pulling the mother lode out of his Mustang like a warped, Fourth of July Santa Claus?
Where are the rogue bottle rockets screaming toward someone's head? Where are those giant mortars that made my cousin Samantha scream like a banshee? Finally, where are the Bellmawr police, walking into my parents' backyard as their flashlights cut through a hazy cloud of burnt gunpowder?
I know, fireworks are illegal, blah, blah, blah -- that's why we have the Carolinas. Somebody must have gone south of Delaware every June to pick up the load because Tony had a stash that rivaled Penn's Landing. We never asked him any questions, we just lit it up as fast as we could and ran inside when the cops showed up.
The shorter the fuse, the more exciting. Sure, you would burn your fingers from holding the lighter sideways, but we evolved to the point where we used those extra-long lighters. If things got too out of hand, you could always jump in the pool.
The fireworks have been lame for a few years. I've been reduced to the small fire pit I dug in my backyard, where shredded credit card bills, diaper boxes and a few of my neighbor's tree branches feed my pyromania. I sit there with my dog and a beer and think about the good old days, when Nark barbecues meant someone was going to get colored paper in their eye.
If anybody is heading south, pick me up a huge box of the good stuff -- I mean the stuff in the back room. Oh yeah, get me a T-Shirt from South of the Border and one of the gigantic cheeseburgers from Hardee's too.
Thanks. I'll pay you back and take the rap if you get busted.
'Til death do us part
I was so nervous before my wedding in Jamaica, I called the hotel a half-dozen times to make sure everything was copacetic. All I needed was a television that could get the opening game of the Eagles' 2003 season.
"Ya mon. You'll get ESPN in da room. No problem,' they would say over and over. In Jamaica, they say "Ya mon' and "No problem' when you tell them your name or ask them where to find a bathroom.
I wasn't reassured.
Most of my male friends and family members belittled me for scheduling a wedding during the unveiling of Lincoln Financial Field, so I had to guarantee them a television with decent reception in order for them to make the flight.
And on the big day, a dozen men gathered in my suite with two cases of Red Stripe that cost $2,000 in Jamaican money. With my wedding ring and a Cuban cigar, I watched the Eagles lose to Tampa and kickoff what would be another gut-wrenching season. My new wife was cliff-diving or something.
I first went to an Eagles game with my dad and Uncle Sam in 1983, when Ron "The Polish Rifle" Jaworski was still at the helm. They lost. Since then, I've been to dozens. I've gotten sunburned in September and perhaps seen the initial stages of frostbite in January. From my perch in the 700-level, I saw Randall float, in slow motion, over countless Green Bay Packers.
I've eaten kielbasa and drank beer that was half-frozen in the parking lot. I have watched grown men light seemingly valuable things on fire and opposing fans get pelted with beer and open mustard packets.
And the glory of that playoff game versus the Detroit Lions when the touchdowns flowed like Frank's Black Cherry Wishniak, I can only compare to watching my kids be born.
But mostly it's been one letdown after another -- Super Bowl losses, the Rich Kotite era, Reggie White leaving, Jerome Brown dying, Randall Cunningham just never quite getting it and all those NFC Championship games. I think I was holding my father-in-law's hand during the nuclear meltdown that was the 2002 NFC Championship. We needed each other for support.
That's why my marriage, and countless others around Philly, are built to last. If we can stay married to a team that coaxes us to the brink only to roll over with a headache every year, we can stick to our wives pretty easily.
We have one ring to prove it, now we just need the other one.
"Ya mon. You'll get ESPN in da room. No problem,' they would say over and over. In Jamaica, they say "Ya mon' and "No problem' when you tell them your name or ask them where to find a bathroom.
I wasn't reassured.
Most of my male friends and family members belittled me for scheduling a wedding during the unveiling of Lincoln Financial Field, so I had to guarantee them a television with decent reception in order for them to make the flight.
And on the big day, a dozen men gathered in my suite with two cases of Red Stripe that cost $2,000 in Jamaican money. With my wedding ring and a Cuban cigar, I watched the Eagles lose to Tampa and kickoff what would be another gut-wrenching season. My new wife was cliff-diving or something.
I first went to an Eagles game with my dad and Uncle Sam in 1983, when Ron "The Polish Rifle" Jaworski was still at the helm. They lost. Since then, I've been to dozens. I've gotten sunburned in September and perhaps seen the initial stages of frostbite in January. From my perch in the 700-level, I saw Randall float, in slow motion, over countless Green Bay Packers.
I've eaten kielbasa and drank beer that was half-frozen in the parking lot. I have watched grown men light seemingly valuable things on fire and opposing fans get pelted with beer and open mustard packets.
And the glory of that playoff game versus the Detroit Lions when the touchdowns flowed like Frank's Black Cherry Wishniak, I can only compare to watching my kids be born.
But mostly it's been one letdown after another -- Super Bowl losses, the Rich Kotite era, Reggie White leaving, Jerome Brown dying, Randall Cunningham just never quite getting it and all those NFC Championship games. I think I was holding my father-in-law's hand during the nuclear meltdown that was the 2002 NFC Championship. We needed each other for support.
That's why my marriage, and countless others around Philly, are built to last. If we can stay married to a team that coaxes us to the brink only to roll over with a headache every year, we can stick to our wives pretty easily.
We have one ring to prove it, now we just need the other one.
Bite me: One man's fascination with "Jaws'
The fact I'm writing about Jaws rather than observing great white sharks in Australia proves one thing I'm a fraud.
As a child, I wanted to study sharks all over the world. Jaws, my favorite movie, instilled that urge, but slowly began to chip away at it, too. I developed the Brody/Hooper/Quint syndrome, named after the police chief who fears the sea, the scientist who studies sharks and the crusty fisherman who wants to hook 'em and gut 'em. I'm a complex mix of all three now.
It wasn't just Jaws -- that was just a movie, after all. There was a plethora of blood-tainted information out there and I ate it up: the Discovery Channel, pictures of scruffy surfers sporting one less leg, the Internet and (God, how I hate to admit it) the media.
When television couples a shark devouring a dummy in a wetsuit with scary music, you get a reaction in the subconscious. Despite the narrator reminding me in the last minute of the show that humans are the real killers, the fear is difficult to unravel.
Just a few years ago, Dr. Erich Ritter claimed you could swim with dangerous sharks by lowering your heart rate and the Discovery Channel took him up on it. Boy, did that pay off. As he chatted with the narrator in waist-deep Bahamas water, a bull shark took a chunk out of his calf. Thanks, "Dr." Ritter. I learned a boatload from you.
Mention my name, snorkeling and the Florida Keys to my wife and she'll burst out in laughter. In case she forgets, there's the video she took of me donning my $75 snorkel kit and slipping into the Gulf of Mexico. Seconds later, amid garbled underwater screams, I scrambled into the small, glass-bottomed boat we had rented. I saw a shark, a small, harmless nurse shark which could have mistaken my fingers for squid strips.
The same irrational fear was with me as a kid while swimming in my Nan's pool. I vividly recall my Uncle Bill forming his hands into a shark fin and cruising toward me menacingly. His mouth was underwater, but I knew what tune he was humming. He always grabbed my skinny ankles just as I was reaching for the ladder, too. I would later use his masterful techniques to torture my younger cousins.
There's no doubt I'm conflicted about these toothy fish, but luckily I still can feel safe and cozy while I watch Jaws. I watch it often. In fact, if there were a marathon on, I would watch Jaws back to back, over and over, and then watch the deleted scenes on my DVD, the documentary and anything else they throw in.
I share a part of Chief Brody, but with his cigarette dangling from his lips, he always has reminded me more of my dad, a little irritable and overreactive.
My dad, like the chief, definitely would say we needed a bigger boat and he would have been mad that he had to chum fish guts. My dad would have called the shark an SOB just before he shot it.
But there's another side of my dad and Chief Brody. In my favorite scene in all of cinema, a stressed-out Chief Brody sits at the dinner table drinking a scotch. His young son mimics him and the two make monster faces at one another. The chief asks his son for a kiss . . . because he needs one.
It's the perfect expression of how much your children can recharge your batteries when you're down. My kids do it for me, and I think I may have done that for my parents, sometimes.
My son hasn't watched Jaws yet, at least not all of it, but something's rubbing off. He said he wants to go to college with me to study bears. And sharks.
Crikey, Steve, we'll miss ya!
The death of Steve "The Crocodile Hunter" Irwin was the second part of a trilogy of horror that touched my life during a recent trip to Florida.
I was down there for a bachelor party and the first night had gone without a hitch, which meant tons of booze with no hangover. Lathered in SPF 50 sunblock, I spent the next afternoon body-surfing while baby boomers teased me about sharks.
Things turned bizarre later that night at a bar when I saw what appeared to be chicken soup on my shorts. Seconds later, an anonymous member of our party spewed his main course on me, accompanying the crab dip he already ralphed onto my Dickies.
This person , who has sworn retribution on anyone who talks, insists a drink "went down the wrong pipe." It had nothing to do with the God-awful mind-erasers we all sucked down.
The next morning, while dining on jelly doughnuts and coffee, a party-goer received a text message: The Crocodile Hunter got killed by a sting ray.
Not Steve, I insisted, and definitely not some lame-ass sting ray.
But, crikey, it was true, and I was kind of upset. I've been watching this loveable madman since day one, when my ex-brother-in-law and I would sit in my mom's basement and laugh our asses off while Steve jumped on camels or flashed a toothy smile after breaking a finger.
My wife won't admit it, but I got her hot with my Crocodile Hunter impersonation. I would pretend she was a large, threatening beast who I wanted to make out with: "Whoa, she's a bute. Look at 'er eyes, look at 'er lips. She's saying, "Stay away from me, I'm a large, dangerous predator.' "
Steve loved huge, aggressive animals so much, I figured he would love my monstrous dog from South Africa, too, so I named her Bindi after his daughter. I even defended Steve when he dangled his infant son in front of a croc, 'cause dammit, he knew what he was doing -- except in the water, I guess.
Getting pulled under by a 16-foot croc or fanged by a poisonous Taipan would have been a fitting end for Steve. A barb to the heart from a sting ray is inappropriate. He deserved better.
Steve, if you can hear me, you were one hell of a bloke with a real set of marbles.
Still reeling from the tragedy, I tried to get boarding passes, check luggage and go through security in 30 minutes in Orlando. I made it back to Philly, but my luggage didn't.
My puke-soaked shorts fermented in my suitcase somewhere in America for days. It came back eventually. I just wish I could say the same for Steve.
Jaws at 30
Duh . . . Dunt.
Duh . . . Dunt.
Duh Dunt Dunt Dunt Dunt Dunt Dunt Dunt.
DUH NA NA NA!
It's still the scariest music ever, even after 30 years.
On June 20, 1975, Stephen Spielberg, a 27-year-old, little-known director, unleashed his $12 million epic Jaws onto the psyche of the American public and created the nation's first summer blockbuster.
"The summer of Jaws was my utopia. I will never forget it," said Ralph Grassi, 41, of Wildwood Crest. "I will never forget what it was like in that theater that night."
Grassi, who runs a Web site dedicated to Wildwood nostalgia, said Jaws changed the summer.
"I went berserk. I was 11 years old that summer and completely shark crazy. Jaws was everywhere."
The film went on to become one of the top-grossing movies of all time. In the decades that have passed, the movie industry has targeted its biggest, action-packed productions to debut between Memorial Day and Labor Day because of it.
With the advent of computer animation, summer blockbusters have included aliens, superheroes and, thanks to Spielberg again, dinosaurs, but few have been able to capture the same buzz that Jaws did upon its release.
Professor Allen Woll, director of Film Studies at Rutgers University in Camden, said the film has been cherished by fans and critics alike because it is effective on every level. Spielberg assembled a stellar cast of actors to flesh out the rich characters of Peter Benchley's book. Spielberg also managed to single-handedly usher in a new era of Hollywood's elite directors.
"It was a generational change. It was a time when the film business was hurting and Spielberg was part of this turnover," said Woll.
The films's 25-foot great white shark (a mechanic shark nicknamed Bruce), although larger than any ever spotted or captured, also was a more realistic threat than audience-goers had seen in a while, Woll added.
"There are a lot of movies before this where giant dinosaurs, giant grasshoppers and giants ants were eating us. With Jaws there was a level of reality," said Woll. "Still it has certain elements of a classic horror film."
Tony Cavalier, chief of the North Wildwood Beach Patrol, saw the movie's thrills transfer to the beaches during the summer of 1975.
"When I started back on the beach the next day, some parents weren't letting their kids in the water," said Cavalier. "Some parents were looking out beyond the breakers just waiting to see fins. It stayed like that until Labor Day."
Cavalier said he never has seen dangerous sharks while on duty. There are certain moments, however, such as the daily 100-yard swim, when he's not sure.
"There's been numerous times when the guards swim out there, hear a splash or a sound and you turn around and head back," said Cavalier.
Sharks, dangerous and harmless, abound in the waters off the New Jersey coast. Despite the recent shark attack on a surfer in Ocean County, which some attributed to a great white, attacks are rare, said Marc Kind, curator of fish and invertebrates at Adventure Aquarium in Camden.
The great white shark in Jaws is not plausible for a number of reasons, said Kind, namely its demeanor, size and food choice.
"The theory of a rogue shark doesn't really have any scientific basis," said Kind, 39, standing before a tank full of sharks.
A series of shark attacks that killed four and injured another in New Jersey in 1916 allegedly inspired Benchley to write the novel Jaws. Two of the four people killed that July were attacked in Matawan Creek, a small, brackish waterway miles from open ocean and an unlikely setting for a shark attack.
Kind said the 1916 attacks, especially in Matawan Creek, may have come from a desperate animal deprived of its food supply in a foreign environment. Humans are not the ideal diet for a shark, especially a great white. They prefer seals and large fish, said Kind.
"We're very bony and we don't have much fat," said Kind.
One of the sharks at Adventure Aquarium, a 700-pound, snaggle-toothed sand tiger shark, was caught about 200 yards off the beach at Cape May Point, Kind said. Sand tigers look mean, but they don't grow much bigger than the one cruising the tank at the aquarium and are usually harmless unless provoked.
Great whites can grow twice as long and three times as heavy, but those are extremely rare, said Kind.
"There's not too many big ones out there," he said.
Regardless of whether a rogue, blood-thirsty great white is cruising the coast of New Jersey searching for bathers, Jaws and the media's fascination with all-things shark is an attempt to grapple with fear, said William Lutz, Professor of English at Rutgers-Camden.
"Jaws was never about sharks. You're afraid of the unknown," said Lutz. "The worst monster, the most terrifying monster, is the one you never sense coming."
"JAWS' FACTS
"Jaws' was filmed in Martha's Vineyard, Mass.
Live underwater shots of great white sharks were used because the mechanical shark kept breaking.
"Jaws' won Oscars in 1976 for best editing, best original score and best sound. It also was nominated for best picture.
"Jaws' author Peter Benchley appears in the film as a reporter.
Stephen Spielberg originally wanted Sterling Hayden to play the role of Quint, but the actor was in trouble with the Internal Revenue Service.
The Host is the most
"The Host" is the highest-grossing film of all time in South Korea, but people still faint over Michael Jackson in other countries, so, really. . .
But when critics compared it to "Jaws," they got my attention. Just as I was about to condemn them for blasphemy, I went and saw it, and now I'm having a real crisis here.
Director Joon-ho Bong lays out a simple monster flick that focuses on a small, dysfunctional family out to rescue their youngest from the lair of a fish-frog-lizard-like beast borne of toxic waste courtesy of the U.S Army.
It's hard to throw "realistic' in here, but when this beast rises up from Seoul's Han River and people enjoying the weather go from "What the?' to "Ruuunnnnnn!' it's like a film crew just happened to be there. It's just screams and chaos and it's one of the best openers ever.
The interaction between this scrappy family could elicit tears, laughs, or even a few cheers. I'm sorry Jaws, I'll just pretend I never saw it.
The interaction between this scrappy family could elicit tears, laughs, or even a few cheers. I'm sorry Jaws, I'll just pretend I never saw it.
For more information, visit http://www.hostmovie.com/.
Costume store closing up shop
By JASON NARK
An old, dusty witch stood in the former Century Theater on Monday,stirring her cauldron for possibly the last time. Scattered beneathher tattered dress were plastic machine guns, a rubber RichardNixon mask and hairy werewolf hands.
Long the storage warehouse for Capas Creative and PerformingArts Supplies, the 82-year-old theater on Kings Highway and theWhite Horse Pike will be torn down this week to make room for an Eckerddrugstore.
`She's really seen better days,' said co-owner Lynne Campbell-Mullin,standing atop a balcony in the dilapidated theater. `She's thegrand, old lady ready to come down.'
A staple in South Jersey for Halloween pandemonium, Capas willcontinue its costume business at the former Atlantic Book Warehouseon Kings Highway in Cherry Hill. (The bookstore is now located acrossKings Highway in the Ellisburg Shopping Center.)
The 1,300-seat theater once hosted vaudeville acts and films.It closed briefly in the 1960s and reopened as the Coronet Theater,showing first-run movies until a Philadelphia-based theaterchain bought and closed it in 1979.
The Campbell family of Audubon purchased the building in 1979and after a few attempts at attracting live performances, the familydedicated the entire theater to storage for their booming costume,dance and theatrical supply store.
Audubon historian Craig Burgess has spent the last two daysat the theater, taking pictures and videotaping for the historicalsociety.
`I've lived here my whole life. I grew up about six blocks downthe road,' said Burgess, president of the society. `It's a littlemore depressing to see it go, knowing there's already so many drugstoresaround here. I guess that's progress though.'
Co-owner Tom Campbell gave Burgess a theater seat for the historicalsociety.
The 11,347-square-foot Eckerd drugstore will sit directlyacross Kings Highway from a new CVS megastore in Haddon Heights.Another Eckerd drugstore operates in Audubon's Acme ShoppingCenter.
Audubon Mayor Anthony Pugliese said he was told the Eckerd Corp.would maintain both stores.
`The last thing we heard, there were no immediate plans to closethe shopping center pharmacy,' he said. Spokesmen for Eckerd Corp.did not return phone calls for comment Monday, but Pugliese andTom Campbell said the company would build an aesthetically pleasingstore, rather than the typical stucco boxes.
`I hear it's going to be gorgeous. They're going to use red brickwith a lot of woodwork,' said Campbell.
On Monday, several of the Campbells were in the theater and adjacentstore, dismantling equipment and taking costumes out to the parkinglot where they sat next to a wooden guillotine.
As classical music echoed through the theater, workers cutexpansive wire and rope rigging, sending sandbags and lightingpoles crashing down from the seven-story catwalk.
`A lot of the old-timers have poked their heads in to wish us luck,'said 83-year-old Warren Campbell. `A lot of them had some memoriesin here.'
Tom Campbell is past feeling nostalgic about the old theater,saying utility costs and disrepair have overtaken it.
`When I see it, I see a lot of overhead,' he said. `The previous owner gutted almost everything out of here that was architecturally significant.
`I think people are generally sad to see us go, but I started thinkingabout this eight years ago. It will be a great move for us.'
Pugliese said he regrets the Campbell family's departure,but can understand their predicament.
`A lot of people drive by and think, `What a great old building,'but the truth of it is the building is no longer feasible to operate,'said Pugliese. `The Campbells tried to get it going as a theater,but they found costs were too high.'
Lynne Campbell-Mullin said her children and grandson havespent nights and days here, running up and down the aisles of gildedcostumes and frightening masks.
`I went on my first date here,' she said. `I don't want to date myself, but I think it was Love Me Tender.'
An old, dusty witch stood in the former Century Theater on Monday,stirring her cauldron for possibly the last time. Scattered beneathher tattered dress were plastic machine guns, a rubber RichardNixon mask and hairy werewolf hands.
Long the storage warehouse for Capas Creative and PerformingArts Supplies, the 82-year-old theater on Kings Highway and theWhite Horse Pike will be torn down this week to make room for an Eckerddrugstore.
`She's really seen better days,' said co-owner Lynne Campbell-Mullin,standing atop a balcony in the dilapidated theater. `She's thegrand, old lady ready to come down.'
A staple in South Jersey for Halloween pandemonium, Capas willcontinue its costume business at the former Atlantic Book Warehouseon Kings Highway in Cherry Hill. (The bookstore is now located acrossKings Highway in the Ellisburg Shopping Center.)
The 1,300-seat theater once hosted vaudeville acts and films.It closed briefly in the 1960s and reopened as the Coronet Theater,showing first-run movies until a Philadelphia-based theaterchain bought and closed it in 1979.
The Campbell family of Audubon purchased the building in 1979and after a few attempts at attracting live performances, the familydedicated the entire theater to storage for their booming costume,dance and theatrical supply store.
Audubon historian Craig Burgess has spent the last two daysat the theater, taking pictures and videotaping for the historicalsociety.
`I've lived here my whole life. I grew up about six blocks downthe road,' said Burgess, president of the society. `It's a littlemore depressing to see it go, knowing there's already so many drugstoresaround here. I guess that's progress though.'
Co-owner Tom Campbell gave Burgess a theater seat for the historicalsociety.
The 11,347-square-foot Eckerd drugstore will sit directlyacross Kings Highway from a new CVS megastore in Haddon Heights.Another Eckerd drugstore operates in Audubon's Acme ShoppingCenter.
Audubon Mayor Anthony Pugliese said he was told the Eckerd Corp.would maintain both stores.
`The last thing we heard, there were no immediate plans to closethe shopping center pharmacy,' he said. Spokesmen for Eckerd Corp.did not return phone calls for comment Monday, but Pugliese andTom Campbell said the company would build an aesthetically pleasingstore, rather than the typical stucco boxes.
`I hear it's going to be gorgeous. They're going to use red brickwith a lot of woodwork,' said Campbell.
On Monday, several of the Campbells were in the theater and adjacentstore, dismantling equipment and taking costumes out to the parkinglot where they sat next to a wooden guillotine.
As classical music echoed through the theater, workers cutexpansive wire and rope rigging, sending sandbags and lightingpoles crashing down from the seven-story catwalk.
`A lot of the old-timers have poked their heads in to wish us luck,'said 83-year-old Warren Campbell. `A lot of them had some memoriesin here.'
Tom Campbell is past feeling nostalgic about the old theater,saying utility costs and disrepair have overtaken it.
`When I see it, I see a lot of overhead,' he said. `The previous owner gutted almost everything out of here that was architecturally significant.
`I think people are generally sad to see us go, but I started thinkingabout this eight years ago. It will be a great move for us.'
Pugliese said he regrets the Campbell family's departure,but can understand their predicament.
`A lot of people drive by and think, `What a great old building,'but the truth of it is the building is no longer feasible to operate,'said Pugliese. `The Campbells tried to get it going as a theater,but they found costs were too high.'
Lynne Campbell-Mullin said her children and grandson havespent nights and days here, running up and down the aisles of gildedcostumes and frightening masks.
`I went on my first date here,' she said. `I don't want to date myself, but I think it was Love Me Tender.'
Fantasy now grim reality
Matthew Lovett blames the abuse he says he suffered at home and at school for an ill-fated carjacking attempt
By JASON NARK
(Originally published in the Courier Post)
Matthew Lovett said he only wanted to escape years of mental and physical torture he suffered at the hands of his peers.
Lovett didn't care where he went or how he got there, as long as it was far from Oaklyn.
Now the 19-year-old is surrounded by peers far worse than bullies, in a place where physical and mental escape is virtually impossible -- prison.
"I never thought things would turn out this way for me,' said a fidgety Lovett, dressed in khaki prison fatigues much too big for his lanky frame.
Lovett is serving a 10-year sentence for his involvement in a plot to shoot and kill youths in Oaklyn and random individuals elsewhere. In the early morning hours of July 6, 2003, Lovett, Cody Jackson and Christopher Olsonwere arrested in the borough after they attempted to carjack a Deptford man. The teens were carrying an arsenal of guns, swords and 2,000 rounds of ammunition.
In an interview with the Courier-Post Tuesday at the Albert C. Wagner Youth Correctional Facility, Lovett claims he never intended to kill anyone, and the guns were simply a prop carried over from his fantasies.
"There was not even a chance,' said Lovett, shaking his head at the notion. "We were stuck in a fantasy world. This wasn't real.'
Lovett said he can remember trouble at home as early as age 3.
"There was physical and mental abuse. There was never any family time,' said Lovett. "When I have children, I'll treat them like the angels they are.'
When his mother, Lorna, died in 1994, Lovett said his father slipped into a depression afterward.
Lovett's father, Ronald, said that he was never hard on his son, but admits that after high school he wanted him to make a decision on his future.
"He could have lived here for the rest of his life if he wanted to,' Ronald said. "I wanted him to make a decision on his future and I guess that pushed him over the edge.'
Ronald did admit that when his wife died it was hard on him. The younger Lovett said his relationship with his mother was traumatic.
"I'm not going to sugarcoat it, she was crazy. She treated me and my brother like animals,' said Lovett, pulling his long hair behind his ears. "I didn't get upset when my mom died, I just got scared.'
Lovett began keeping diaries immediately after his mother died, first in spiral notebooks and eventually in his beloved computer.
Life at school was immeasurably worse.
"From the time I waddled into preschool until the day I threw my cap at graduation, I went through hell,' he said.
Lovett said he never knew why he was picked on, and he rarely spoke of his ordeals to teachers and family.
At Collingswood High School, where he said he felt alienated by cliques, his agony culminated in a post-graduation party at Rowan University.
"I was having a good time and was even talkin
g to people and then the "group' showed up,' said Lovett of a group of popular students he said excluded him.
Lovett said he sat for the rest of the night, slumped against a pillar, pondering his 18 years.
"There wasn't one date, not one dance, not one party,' he said. "It was one of the saddest days of my life. I started slipping after that.'
Collingswood School District Superintendent James Bathurst declined to comment Tuesday.
Film escape
In the film The Matrix, the character Neo is an average office worker until he enters the virtual reality world of the "Matrix' where he is all-powerful.
Lovett said he and Jackson watched the movie often, sometimes three or four times in one day.
Lovett spent hours on the computer each day, where he, Jackson, and Olson networked with hundreds of friends online from all over the country.
"It was the flip side. I was somebody when I was on the computer,' he said. "I've helped a lot of people through suicide attempts. People came to me for advice.'
Lovett said movies like The Matrix and video games were a filter through which he could enact his violence.
"It didn't make me want to kill people, it made me want to be a rebel,' he said.
Lovett said his father, along with Jackson's parents, often frowned upon the teens spending so much time on the computer.
"If I wasn't online though, I was rotting away in front of the television or outside getting beat up,' he said. "Our parents hindered us, they never helped us.'
Judith Jackson, Cody's mother, said her son's artistic skills on the computer were encouraged in the household. Jackson even bought her son a new computer a month before the incident.
"Of course, we tried to keep track of what he was doing. But who would have thought he would have gotten involved with a self-proclaimed anti-Christ,' said Jackson.
Lovett said getting his computer back from the Camden County Prosecutor's Office is a top priority.
"My whole life is in that computer,' said Lovett.
"Forced to leave'
Lovett believed his father was going to kick him out of their apartment if he did not find a job after graduation. Although he did well academically his senior year, Lovett did not apply to college.
"I was forced to leave,' said Lovett. "I didn't care where we went. Cody wanted to go to Missouri but Pennsylvania would have done it for me.'
Lovett said none of the three knew how to drive and plans were vague as to how they would live beyond Oaklyn.
"I flunked out of driver's ed,' he said with a nervous chuckle.
Lovett said he still remembers seeing Mathew Rich's car speed away after he claims Cody pointed a handgun at the vehicle.
"It was the weirdest thing because I could see my house. After that we decided we should really rethink what we were doing,' he said.
In court statements, Jackson denied ever pointing a gun at Rich's car.
Before they reached Lovett's apartment, Oaklyn patrolman Charles Antrilli confronted the teens at gunpoint.
"He's probably the best cop I have ever met,' said Lovett. "I think he could sense that we weren't real criminals.'
After being brought back to the Oaklyn police station, Lovett was still naive about the magnitude of the incident.
"I didn't know walking on the streets with guns was a crime unless you used them,' he said. "I didn't know carjacking was a crime.'
Lovett said he heard and was concerned that Jackson and Olson both told authorities they feared him.
"Are they really my friends? Do they hate me?' he asked. "I miss my computer and my music but I miss Cody the most. We were always together.'
Olson and Jackson are serving four- and five-year terms in separate youth facilities. When Lovett first entered Albert C. Wagner three weeks ago, he felt as if he were back in school.
He said corrections officers regularly check on his well-being, but fear has kept him from going to the gymnasium or outdoor recreation areas.
"I keep to myself,' he said. "It really reminds me of school all too much. There are fights for the stupidest reasons.'
At the Camden County Jail, where Lovett spent more than nine months, he said he witnessed the murder of 65-year-old Joel Seidel at the hands of Marvin Lister, a former patient at the Ancora Psychiatric Hospital. Lovett said Lister spent his time yelling at other inmates, pacing the floors, and doing push-ups.'
"I really can't believe I lived through my time there,' Lovett said. "People here can't believe I came from Camden.'
Lovett said he was recently assigned to laundry duty but would rather work as a teacher's aide. Jail administrator John Robertshaw said Lovett's mobility in the prison work force depends on conduct and seniority. In the fall, Lovett will be able to take classes offered by Mercer County Community College, Robertshaw said.
Lovett's relationship with his father, Ronald, and brother, James, has improved while he's been in custody. James, who was born with a cleft palate and underwent 13 operations, has dropped out of high school and works at an electronics store in Oaklyn.
"I love him to death,' said Lovett, his eyes welling up. "He's the best thing in my life right now. My dad needs to let him find himself.'
Lovett said he plans to go to college and move upon his release, perhaps to Montana or Japan.
He said he's interested in computer graphics, but thinks he would make a great guidance counselor, believing his experiences could help bullies, victims and parents.
"Sometimes I would just be wishing, hoping and praying that someone would say hi to me. If someone says hi to you, you have to draw on that,' he said. "Sometimes I think if someone said hi to me, it would have changed everything.'
By JASON NARK
(Originally published in the Courier Post)
Matthew Lovett said he only wanted to escape years of mental and physical torture he suffered at the hands of his peers.
Lovett didn't care where he went or how he got there, as long as it was far from Oaklyn.
Now the 19-year-old is surrounded by peers far worse than bullies, in a place where physical and mental escape is virtually impossible -- prison.
"I never thought things would turn out this way for me,' said a fidgety Lovett, dressed in khaki prison fatigues much too big for his lanky frame.
Lovett is serving a 10-year sentence for his involvement in a plot to shoot and kill youths in Oaklyn and random individuals elsewhere. In the early morning hours of July 6, 2003, Lovett, Cody Jackson and Christopher Olsonwere arrested in the borough after they attempted to carjack a Deptford man. The teens were carrying an arsenal of guns, swords and 2,000 rounds of ammunition.
In an interview with the Courier-Post Tuesday at the Albert C. Wagner Youth Correctional Facility, Lovett claims he never intended to kill anyone, and the guns were simply a prop carried over from his fantasies.
"There was not even a chance,' said Lovett, shaking his head at the notion. "We were stuck in a fantasy world. This wasn't real.'
Lovett said he can remember trouble at home as early as age 3.
"There was physical and mental abuse. There was never any family time,' said Lovett. "When I have children, I'll treat them like the angels they are.'
When his mother, Lorna, died in 1994, Lovett said his father slipped into a depression afterward.
Lovett's father, Ronald, said that he was never hard on his son, but admits that after high school he wanted him to make a decision on his future.
"He could have lived here for the rest of his life if he wanted to,' Ronald said. "I wanted him to make a decision on his future and I guess that pushed him over the edge.'
Ronald did admit that when his wife died it was hard on him. The younger Lovett said his relationship with his mother was traumatic.
"I'm not going to sugarcoat it, she was crazy. She treated me and my brother like animals,' said Lovett, pulling his long hair behind his ears. "I didn't get upset when my mom died, I just got scared.'
Lovett began keeping diaries immediately after his mother died, first in spiral notebooks and eventually in his beloved computer.
Life at school was immeasurably worse.
"From the time I waddled into preschool until the day I threw my cap at graduation, I went through hell,' he said.
Lovett said he never knew why he was picked on, and he rarely spoke of his ordeals to teachers and family.
At Collingswood High School, where he said he felt alienated by cliques, his agony culminated in a post-graduation party at Rowan University.
"I was having a good time and was even talkin
g to people and then the "group' showed up,' said Lovett of a group of popular students he said excluded him.
Lovett said he sat for the rest of the night, slumped against a pillar, pondering his 18 years.
"There wasn't one date, not one dance, not one party,' he said. "It was one of the saddest days of my life. I started slipping after that.'
Collingswood School District Superintendent James Bathurst declined to comment Tuesday.
Film escape
In the film The Matrix, the character Neo is an average office worker until he enters the virtual reality world of the "Matrix' where he is all-powerful.
Lovett said he and Jackson watched the movie often, sometimes three or four times in one day.
Lovett spent hours on the computer each day, where he, Jackson, and Olson networked with hundreds of friends online from all over the country.
"It was the flip side. I was somebody when I was on the computer,' he said. "I've helped a lot of people through suicide attempts. People came to me for advice.'
Lovett said movies like The Matrix and video games were a filter through which he could enact his violence.
"It didn't make me want to kill people, it made me want to be a rebel,' he said.
Lovett said his father, along with Jackson's parents, often frowned upon the teens spending so much time on the computer.
"If I wasn't online though, I was rotting away in front of the television or outside getting beat up,' he said. "Our parents hindered us, they never helped us.'
Judith Jackson, Cody's mother, said her son's artistic skills on the computer were encouraged in the household. Jackson even bought her son a new computer a month before the incident.
"Of course, we tried to keep track of what he was doing. But who would have thought he would have gotten involved with a self-proclaimed anti-Christ,' said Jackson.
Lovett said getting his computer back from the Camden County Prosecutor's Office is a top priority.
"My whole life is in that computer,' said Lovett.
"Forced to leave'
Lovett believed his father was going to kick him out of their apartment if he did not find a job after graduation. Although he did well academically his senior year, Lovett did not apply to college.
"I was forced to leave,' said Lovett. "I didn't care where we went. Cody wanted to go to Missouri but Pennsylvania would have done it for me.'
Lovett said none of the three knew how to drive and plans were vague as to how they would live beyond Oaklyn.
"I flunked out of driver's ed,' he said with a nervous chuckle.
Lovett said he still remembers seeing Mathew Rich's car speed away after he claims Cody pointed a handgun at the vehicle.
"It was the weirdest thing because I could see my house. After that we decided we should really rethink what we were doing,' he said.
In court statements, Jackson denied ever pointing a gun at Rich's car.
Before they reached Lovett's apartment, Oaklyn patrolman Charles Antrilli confronted the teens at gunpoint.
"He's probably the best cop I have ever met,' said Lovett. "I think he could sense that we weren't real criminals.'
After being brought back to the Oaklyn police station, Lovett was still naive about the magnitude of the incident.
"I didn't know walking on the streets with guns was a crime unless you used them,' he said. "I didn't know carjacking was a crime.'
Lovett said he heard and was concerned that Jackson and Olson both told authorities they feared him.
"Are they really my friends? Do they hate me?' he asked. "I miss my computer and my music but I miss Cody the most. We were always together.'
Olson and Jackson are serving four- and five-year terms in separate youth facilities. When Lovett first entered Albert C. Wagner three weeks ago, he felt as if he were back in school.
He said corrections officers regularly check on his well-being, but fear has kept him from going to the gymnasium or outdoor recreation areas.
"I keep to myself,' he said. "It really reminds me of school all too much. There are fights for the stupidest reasons.'
At the Camden County Jail, where Lovett spent more than nine months, he said he witnessed the murder of 65-year-old Joel Seidel at the hands of Marvin Lister, a former patient at the Ancora Psychiatric Hospital. Lovett said Lister spent his time yelling at other inmates, pacing the floors, and doing push-ups.'
"I really can't believe I lived through my time there,' Lovett said. "People here can't believe I came from Camden.'
Lovett said he was recently assigned to laundry duty but would rather work as a teacher's aide. Jail administrator John Robertshaw said Lovett's mobility in the prison work force depends on conduct and seniority. In the fall, Lovett will be able to take classes offered by Mercer County Community College, Robertshaw said.
Lovett's relationship with his father, Ronald, and brother, James, has improved while he's been in custody. James, who was born with a cleft palate and underwent 13 operations, has dropped out of high school and works at an electronics store in Oaklyn.
"I love him to death,' said Lovett, his eyes welling up. "He's the best thing in my life right now. My dad needs to let him find himself.'
Lovett said he plans to go to college and move upon his release, perhaps to Montana or Japan.
He said he's interested in computer graphics, but thinks he would make a great guidance counselor, believing his experiences could help bullies, victims and parents.
"Sometimes I would just be wishing, hoping and praying that someone would say hi to me. If someone says hi to you, you have to draw on that,' he said. "Sometimes I think if someone said hi to me, it would have changed everything.'
Glo. City family torn by violence
A father is dead and a daughter is in jail
By JASON NARK
(Originally published in the Courier Post)
A bucket of blood-stained water sat on the floor of Margie Smiling's kitchen Thursday afternoon.
It was a stark reminder of the stabbing death of her common-law husband Tuesday night and the arrest of their daughter in the crime.
Authorities said Smiling's daughter, 18-year-old Jasmine Karo, stabbed 44-year-old Alan Karo in the back Tuesday night, shortly after he punched her and threw her to the floor in a headlock.
While her mother, sister and friends scramble to collect themselves, the Gloucester High School senior is in Camden County Jail charged with first-degree murder. She is being held on $200,000 bail.
"I spoke with her this morning,' said Smiling, standing in the family's bungalow. "She's doing OK. She's separated from the other inmates and has talked to counselors.'
Smiling didn't tell her daughter about an ironic problem: as Karo's legal next-of-kin, Jasmine will have to sign paperwork to authorize his cremation. Arrangements have been tentatively scheduled with Etherington Funeral Home in Gloucester City, but a spokeswoman said no date has been set.
Smiling said she met Karo 20 years ago in Deerfield Beach, Fla., where they worked at a windshield wiper factory.
"It was OK, but I guess it was always going to be OK in the beginning,' she said.
In 1999, Smiling said she filed a restraining order against Karo, but said she "unfortunately' dropped it two weeks later.
Karo had recently lost a job at the Ferry Fence Co. in Gloucester City, which propelled him back into a cycle of heavy drinking, Smiling said. The couple were living off Smiling's unemployment checks and recently arrived income-tax refunds. She said a job is waiting for her at Kmart in Brooklawn, but she doesn't plan on taking it for quite a while.
Smiling said the police visited their home on many occasions, from drug calls to domestic violence calls. Gloucester City Deputy Chief William James said Karo had been arrested several times, but said all information regarding his record had been forwarded to the prosecutor's office.
In statements to prosecutors, Jasmine and her mother said Tuesday night's fight had been broken up before Jasmine stabbed her father. The prosecutor's office said the stabbing occurred around 9:30 p.m., but city police didn't receive a call until 10:53 -- and arrived at the Lane Avenue home three minutes later.
Once there, police tried to help Karo but he was pronounced dead at 1:05 a.m.
The prosecutor's office wouldn't comment on the nearly 90 minutes between the stabbing and the call to police, but said no one else had been charged.
"This is an ongoing investigation,' said Bill Shralow, a spokesman for the prosecutor's office.
In all, there were three people who witnessed the altercation, including Jasmine's 12-year-old sister Priscilla and 40-year-old Diana St. Clair, who has lived in the house with her fiance for two weeks.
On Thursday, Smiling and St. Clair said they never actually saw Karo get stabbed.
"The knife was on the floor and I kicked it away when I broke them up,' St. Clair said. "He might even have fell on it.'
Both St. Clair and Smiling insist Karo didn't want them to call police after he was stabbed.
"He didn't want to get his daughter in trouble,' St. Clair said.
St. Clair said she sat Karo in a chair, put a Band-Aid on his wound and checked on him every two minutes.
"After a while he fell on the floor and there was blood pouring out of his back,' she said.
St. Clair attempted CPR and woke her fiance to call the police.
Authorities said Karo and Smiling had been drinking. Karo and his daughter later fought when the girl took the telephone to bed to wait for a call from her boyfriend. After he found out about this, authorities said, Karo threw the telephone at his daughter. He then argued with Smiling.
Jasmine Karo spent her life in fear of her father, said Patricia Howard of Gloucester City.
"Two weeks ago, she took home a wrong order for her dad at KFC -- she was hysterical,' said Howard, whose 23-year-old son Mallory has dated Jasmine for five or six months. "The kid never had a chance. She is a sweet child. She doesn't deserve to be in jail for first-degree murder.'
Jasmine Karo has been 18 since October. Police chief James said she had never been arrested.
Smiling said both she and Jasmine have spoken with attorneys, many of whom said they would take the case for free.
No hearing has been scheduled.
Local residents are trying to help raise the $200,000 needed for Jasmine Karo's bail.
Smiling said she taught her daughters to be strong.
"She was trying to stand up to him,' she said as the family's Rottweiler -- Jersey -- looked on.
Smiling said Jersey would have protected her daughter if she'd been in the house when the fight began. Neighbors said Karo used to punch the dog as well.
Both St. Clair and neighbor Flo Brophy said Smiling can't be blamed for not standing up to her husband. "You don't understand -- you're made to feel this big,' said St. Clair, squeezing her fingers.
Brophy said Smiling has an alcohol problem and has "failed herself' on many occasions. She also saw this as an opportunity for Smiling to turn it all around.
"She's free,' said Brophy, standing on the step of her Koehler Avenue home.
Smiling has family in the Fayetteville, N.C., area, but said Karo was adopted and she didn't know if he had family. The couple moved to Gloucester shortly after meeting, simply because he knew people in the area.
"He wanted to see snow. He never really saw snow before,' she said.
Standing in her dark, cozy home, Smiling looked around at her daughter's softball trophies and snapshots of the family.
One showed Jasmine as a little girl, smiling next to her father, who sat on a motorcycle.
For a moment, a small smile crept onto Margie's face and then disappeared.
"We used to go on picnics and go fishing,' she said, trembling ever so slightly.
"We've been happy.'
By JASON NARK
(Originally published in the Courier Post)
A bucket of blood-stained water sat on the floor of Margie Smiling's kitchen Thursday afternoon.
It was a stark reminder of the stabbing death of her common-law husband Tuesday night and the arrest of their daughter in the crime.
Authorities said Smiling's daughter, 18-year-old Jasmine Karo, stabbed 44-year-old Alan Karo in the back Tuesday night, shortly after he punched her and threw her to the floor in a headlock.
While her mother, sister and friends scramble to collect themselves, the Gloucester High School senior is in Camden County Jail charged with first-degree murder. She is being held on $200,000 bail.
"I spoke with her this morning,' said Smiling, standing in the family's bungalow. "She's doing OK. She's separated from the other inmates and has talked to counselors.'
Smiling didn't tell her daughter about an ironic problem: as Karo's legal next-of-kin, Jasmine will have to sign paperwork to authorize his cremation. Arrangements have been tentatively scheduled with Etherington Funeral Home in Gloucester City, but a spokeswoman said no date has been set.
Smiling said she met Karo 20 years ago in Deerfield Beach, Fla., where they worked at a windshield wiper factory.
"It was OK, but I guess it was always going to be OK in the beginning,' she said.
In 1999, Smiling said she filed a restraining order against Karo, but said she "unfortunately' dropped it two weeks later.
Karo had recently lost a job at the Ferry Fence Co. in Gloucester City, which propelled him back into a cycle of heavy drinking, Smiling said. The couple were living off Smiling's unemployment checks and recently arrived income-tax refunds. She said a job is waiting for her at Kmart in Brooklawn, but she doesn't plan on taking it for quite a while.
Smiling said the police visited their home on many occasions, from drug calls to domestic violence calls. Gloucester City Deputy Chief William James said Karo had been arrested several times, but said all information regarding his record had been forwarded to the prosecutor's office.
In statements to prosecutors, Jasmine and her mother said Tuesday night's fight had been broken up before Jasmine stabbed her father. The prosecutor's office said the stabbing occurred around 9:30 p.m., but city police didn't receive a call until 10:53 -- and arrived at the Lane Avenue home three minutes later.
Once there, police tried to help Karo but he was pronounced dead at 1:05 a.m.
The prosecutor's office wouldn't comment on the nearly 90 minutes between the stabbing and the call to police, but said no one else had been charged.
"This is an ongoing investigation,' said Bill Shralow, a spokesman for the prosecutor's office.
In all, there were three people who witnessed the altercation, including Jasmine's 12-year-old sister Priscilla and 40-year-old Diana St. Clair, who has lived in the house with her fiance for two weeks.
On Thursday, Smiling and St. Clair said they never actually saw Karo get stabbed.
"The knife was on the floor and I kicked it away when I broke them up,' St. Clair said. "He might even have fell on it.'
Both St. Clair and Smiling insist Karo didn't want them to call police after he was stabbed.
"He didn't want to get his daughter in trouble,' St. Clair said.
St. Clair said she sat Karo in a chair, put a Band-Aid on his wound and checked on him every two minutes.
"After a while he fell on the floor and there was blood pouring out of his back,' she said.
St. Clair attempted CPR and woke her fiance to call the police.
Authorities said Karo and Smiling had been drinking. Karo and his daughter later fought when the girl took the telephone to bed to wait for a call from her boyfriend. After he found out about this, authorities said, Karo threw the telephone at his daughter. He then argued with Smiling.
Jasmine Karo spent her life in fear of her father, said Patricia Howard of Gloucester City.
"Two weeks ago, she took home a wrong order for her dad at KFC -- she was hysterical,' said Howard, whose 23-year-old son Mallory has dated Jasmine for five or six months. "The kid never had a chance. She is a sweet child. She doesn't deserve to be in jail for first-degree murder.'
Jasmine Karo has been 18 since October. Police chief James said she had never been arrested.
Smiling said both she and Jasmine have spoken with attorneys, many of whom said they would take the case for free.
No hearing has been scheduled.
Local residents are trying to help raise the $200,000 needed for Jasmine Karo's bail.
Smiling said she taught her daughters to be strong.
"She was trying to stand up to him,' she said as the family's Rottweiler -- Jersey -- looked on.
Smiling said Jersey would have protected her daughter if she'd been in the house when the fight began. Neighbors said Karo used to punch the dog as well.
Both St. Clair and neighbor Flo Brophy said Smiling can't be blamed for not standing up to her husband. "You don't understand -- you're made to feel this big,' said St. Clair, squeezing her fingers.
Brophy said Smiling has an alcohol problem and has "failed herself' on many occasions. She also saw this as an opportunity for Smiling to turn it all around.
"She's free,' said Brophy, standing on the step of her Koehler Avenue home.
Smiling has family in the Fayetteville, N.C., area, but said Karo was adopted and she didn't know if he had family. The couple moved to Gloucester shortly after meeting, simply because he knew people in the area.
"He wanted to see snow. He never really saw snow before,' she said.
Standing in her dark, cozy home, Smiling looked around at her daughter's softball trophies and snapshots of the family.
One showed Jasmine as a little girl, smiling next to her father, who sat on a motorcycle.
For a moment, a small smile crept onto Margie's face and then disappeared.
"We used to go on picnics and go fishing,' she said, trembling ever so slightly.
"We've been happy.'
Mercedes stolen from club in A.C. recovered in Vineland
- By JAMES P. QUARANTA
- Staff Writer
VINELAND --- Police charged a Millville man with receiving stolen property after he was stopped Sunday night driving a luxury car reported stolen from the Atlantic City nightclub where his brother works as a bouncer.
Colton Seldon, 20, of the 1100 block of Holly Berry Court was taken to the Cumberlan County jail after the 2005 Mercedes Benz he was driving was stopped at Delsea Drive and Park Avenue.
Police also charged Seldon with possession of marijuana and issued him a summons for driving while his privilege is suspended and served an unrelated warrant for failure to appear in Millville Municipal Court.
Officer Eduardo Ocasio Jr. was on patrol around 9:20 p.m. on Park Avenue near the Boulevard when he saw the white Mercedes going west. A computer check of the license plate revealed the car's owner Robert A. Nark reported it stolen at 10:30 a.m. from Déjà Vu nightclub in Atlantic City.
Seldon told police his brother, Jackie Mullins of Atlantic City, came to him around 1 p.m. and asked him to keep the car for him. Seldon said he asked Mullins if the car was stolen but he said it was not. Seldon said he thought the car might have belonged to Mullins' girlfriend who has a good paying job.
He also indicated that he decided to drive the Mercedes around 6 p.m. even though his license is suspended.
Seldon said he picked up two friends and headed for the Franklinville Skating Rink. The passengers were released without charges.
Nark told police he let his daughter use the car and she told him she left the keys on the bar at Déjà Vu while she went to a restroom Sunday morning. When she returned the keys and the car were gone.
Seldon, who was waiting to be transported to the county jail, overheard the conversation between Ocasio and the victim.
"Did you say Déjà Vu nightclub in Atlantic City, that's where my brother works," Seldon is quoted as saying in a police report.
Atlantic City detectives were informed of his statement.
Cape May Lighthouse, NJ
The mosquitos are ravenous here. Proceed with caution in the pursuit of the perfect picture. I was itching for days, but I believe in the end, despite the pain and adversity, it was worth it. I've had a few people say they liked this.
Yes it is possible to lose weight this year
Every New Year, there's a stampede of chunky, heavy-breathing folks with brand new shoes jamming their big butts into local gyms. And one by one by one, they disappear, as their McDonald's-loving ways or life's many demands suck them back in.
I'm no good at math, but it's pretty simple -- if you work 50 hours a week, go to school part-time, and try to maintain a social life, you're not going to be able to wedge in a full-tilt, 5-day-a-week workout schedule.
Linus Bolden, a personal trainer out of Philadelphia Sports Club in Cherry Hill, said you need to figure out some things before you sign up.
"You've got to ask yourself, "What was preventing me from coming to the gym before this," he said.
"I ask people what they do for a living and what their everyday life is like."
If motivation is your only problem, Bolden can whip you into shape. If your band is playing 'til 3 a.m. or your boss is going to need you to come in on Saturday, you've got to make adjustments.
"A lot of times, things will come up and people will just say, "That's life.' They'll say this is life, and they'll throw the gym out the window," he said.
Fitness, Bolden said, isn't just working out in a gym either.
"Fitness is an entire lifestyle," he said.
Here's a tips for getting fit, or least getting started.
1. Be realistic, says Bolden. "You didn't gain all this weight in one year. You've got weight on them that you've gained over a lifetime. It's going to take a little while to get it off."
2. Don't micro-manage your weight-loss. Impulse editor Margarita Venegas lost 20 pounds throughout 2005, one thing that helped keep her motivated was weighing herself only monthly -- that way you're not getting disappointed when you don't see a difference in your weight each day.
3. Don't diet, eat better, Bolden said. "You need a balanced diet of protein, carbs and fat in six, small meals throughout the day. You can have some treats on the weekend, but you should be consistent during the week." Margarita adds that even though her schedule was unrealistic for eating six small meals a day, she did bring carrot sticks and healthy snacks to work to keep her appetite at a manageable level throughout the day -- she also made lunches the night before so she wasn't stuck running to McDonald's each afternoon.
4. Be flexible. "If you're getting to the gym three days a week don't be too strict as to what days they are," Bolden said. "Just get there." And, Margarita adds, a little work out goes a long way. When she started working out, she could barely run a half mile and her arms ached for weeks lifting weights. Now, she runs three miles and can lift a whopping 40 pounds.
5. Get help. Margarita used a personal trainer at the YMCA for three months. The prices there were cheaper than trainers at other gyms, she said. If you want to pay Linus to give you more tips, contact him at wickedskillz@comcast.net.
I'm no good at math, but it's pretty simple -- if you work 50 hours a week, go to school part-time, and try to maintain a social life, you're not going to be able to wedge in a full-tilt, 5-day-a-week workout schedule.
Linus Bolden, a personal trainer out of Philadelphia Sports Club in Cherry Hill, said you need to figure out some things before you sign up.
"You've got to ask yourself, "What was preventing me from coming to the gym before this," he said.
"I ask people what they do for a living and what their everyday life is like."
If motivation is your only problem, Bolden can whip you into shape. If your band is playing 'til 3 a.m. or your boss is going to need you to come in on Saturday, you've got to make adjustments.
"A lot of times, things will come up and people will just say, "That's life.' They'll say this is life, and they'll throw the gym out the window," he said.
Fitness, Bolden said, isn't just working out in a gym either.
"Fitness is an entire lifestyle," he said.
Here's a tips for getting fit, or least getting started.
1. Be realistic, says Bolden. "You didn't gain all this weight in one year. You've got weight on them that you've gained over a lifetime. It's going to take a little while to get it off."
2. Don't micro-manage your weight-loss. Impulse editor Margarita Venegas lost 20 pounds throughout 2005, one thing that helped keep her motivated was weighing herself only monthly -- that way you're not getting disappointed when you don't see a difference in your weight each day.
3. Don't diet, eat better, Bolden said. "You need a balanced diet of protein, carbs and fat in six, small meals throughout the day. You can have some treats on the weekend, but you should be consistent during the week." Margarita adds that even though her schedule was unrealistic for eating six small meals a day, she did bring carrot sticks and healthy snacks to work to keep her appetite at a manageable level throughout the day -- she also made lunches the night before so she wasn't stuck running to McDonald's each afternoon.
4. Be flexible. "If you're getting to the gym three days a week don't be too strict as to what days they are," Bolden said. "Just get there." And, Margarita adds, a little work out goes a long way. When she started working out, she could barely run a half mile and her arms ached for weeks lifting weights. Now, she runs three miles and can lift a whopping 40 pounds.
5. Get help. Margarita used a personal trainer at the YMCA for three months. The prices there were cheaper than trainers at other gyms, she said. If you want to pay Linus to give you more tips, contact him at wickedskillz@comcast.net.
Stretch it out
The right way to avoid injury and increase flexibility
Wrong.
If you're throwing your ankle up on a fence to stretch the hamstrings or tucking your leg under your butt and laying back for a quad stretch, you're doing it wrong and asking for an MRI, said David Egan, a certified strength and conditioning specialist at The Firm Fitness Center in Marlton.
Egan uses a technique called Active Isolated Stretching, which calls fo
r short two-second repetitive stretches that isolate one specific muscle group. He says AIS is more effective than static stretches, which are held for 60 seconds.Egan shared with Impulse some stretches for running and jogging, using my rusty bulk as a guinea pig. Don't forget to do these stretches before and after your run.
The Stretches
Glute stretches: For your butt; very important in running. Lay on the floor on your back. Lift your left leg and bend it at a 90-degree angle. Pull the knee toward your right shoulder. Hold for 2 seconds. Do 10 reps and switch to the other leg.
Calf stretches: You'll need a rope, long belt or a long-sleeve shirt. Lying on your back, place the rope around the ball of your foot. Hold rope ends with both hands and lift, while flexing your toes toward you. Hold for 2 seconds. Do 10 reps and switch legs.
Hamstring: Similar to the calf stretch. Place the rope around the arch of your foot and pull your leg straight up until you feel a stretch. Hold for 2 seconds. Do 10 reps and switch legs. Don't put your foot on the trunk of your car ever again.
Psoas stretch (Quad): Kneel on your right knee and place the left leg in front of you, foot flat on the floor, keeping your belly button sucked in and hips tucked under. Now you shift your weight forward, which is easy. It's keeping the belly button and hips in place that's not. Hold the lean for 2 seconds. Do 10 reps, each side.
Quad stretch: The quad stretch worked much better for me. Lying on your right side, grab the inside of your right foot with your right hand; this anchors your body. Now, bend your left leg, grab your left foot with your left hand and push your knee toward you until you feel a stretch. Hold for 2 seconds and repeat 10 times on each side.
Stretch it out
The right way to avoid injury and increase flexibility
Cats and dogs naturally know how to stretch, so being a more advanced life form, you know how to as well, right?
Wrong.
If you're throwing your ankle up on a fence to stretch the hamstrings or tucking your leg under your butt and laying back for a quad stretch, you're doing it wrong and asking for an MRI, said David Egan, a certified strength and conditioning specialist at The Firm Fitness Center in Marlton.
Egan uses a technique called Active Isolated Stretching, which calls for short two-second repetitive stretches that isolate one specific muscle group. He says AIS is more effective than static stretches, which are held for 60 seconds.
Egan shared with Impulse some stretches for running and jogging, using my rusty bulk as a guinea pig. Don't forget to do these stretches before and after your run.
The Stretches
Glute stretches: For your butt; very important in running. Lay on the floor on your back. Lift your left leg and bend it at a 90-degree angle. Pull the knee toward your right shoulder. Hold for 2 seconds. Do 10 reps and switch to the other leg.
Calf stretches: You'll need a rope, long belt or a long-sleeve shirt. Lying on your back, place the rope around the ball of your foot. Hold rope ends with both hands and lift, while flexing your toes toward you. Hold for 2 seconds. Do 10 reps and switch legs.
Hamstring: Similar to the calf stretch. Place the rope around the arch of your foot and pull your leg straight up until you feel a stretch. Hold for 2 seconds. Do 10 reps and switch legs. Don't put your foot on the trunk of your car ever again.
Psoas stretch (Quad): Kneel on your right knee and place the left leg in front of you, foot flat on the floor, keeping your belly button sucked in and hips tucked under. Now you shift your weight forward, which is easy. It's keeping the belly button and hips in place that's not. Hold the lean for 2 seconds. Do 10 reps, each side.
Quad stretch: The quad stretch worked much better for me. Lying on your right side, grab the inside of your right foot with your right hand; this anchors your body. Now, bend your left leg, grab your left foot with your left hand and push your knee toward you until you feel a stretch. Hold for 2 seconds and repeat 10 times on each side.
Winter workouts can still include jogging
Winter is a good excuse not to jog. It's dark, cold, and you could slip on ice and break your little pelvis.
Treadmills serve a purpose, but they get old fast.
You could always walk fast at the Deptford Mall, but breaking into a sprint could get you tagged by the mall security delta force.
So, it seems that it may be time to turn to the handful of local gyms in the area that have indoor tracks.
It might take 12 or so laps to get a mile, but it's not a treadmill and it's not sheet ice.
Even though indoor tracks are used more in winter, they are popular all year, said Eddie Carrington, a spokesman for Bally Total Fitness.
Bally's gyms in Deptford and Voorhees have indoor tracks. The track at the Voorhees location is encircled by windows, so joggers can stare longingly at the folks going into Fuddruckers and the people coming out can look up in shame.
If you're not a student at Rowan University, you can still get a limited membership (restricted access hours) and enjoy their elevated, indoor track, which encircles basketball courts..
Just make sure you're running in the right direction as everyone else or you could wind up with a broken pelvis.
Five gyms with indoor tracks
Rowan University Recreational Center
201 Mullica Hill Road, Glassboro
(856) 256-4900
www.rowan.edu
Bally's Deptford
1901 Deptford Center Road, Deptford
(856) 227-4500
www.ballyfitness.com
Bally's Voorhees
1160 White Horse Road, Voorhees
(856) 346-4700
www.ballyfitness.com
Four Seasons Health Club
626 N. Delsea Drive, Glassboro
(856) 881-9418
www.hugeclub.com
The Betty and Milton Katz Community Center
1301 Springdale Road, Cherry Hill
(856) 424-4444
www.katzjcc.org/index.asp
Treadmills serve a purpose, but they get old fast.
You could always walk fast at the Deptford Mall, but breaking into a sprint could get you tagged by the mall security delta force.
So, it seems that it may be time to turn to the handful of local gyms in the area that have indoor tracks.
It might take 12 or so laps to get a mile, but it's not a treadmill and it's not sheet ice.
Even though indoor tracks are used more in winter, they are popular all year, said Eddie Carrington, a spokesman for Bally Total Fitness.
Bally's gyms in Deptford and Voorhees have indoor tracks. The track at the Voorhees location is encircled by windows, so joggers can stare longingly at the folks going into Fuddruckers and the people coming out can look up in shame.
If you're not a student at Rowan University, you can still get a limited membership (restricted access hours) and enjoy their elevated, indoor track, which encircles basketball courts..
Just make sure you're running in the right direction as everyone else or you could wind up with a broken pelvis.
Five gyms with indoor tracks
Rowan University Recreational Center
201 Mullica Hill Road, Glassboro
(856) 256-4900
www.rowan.edu
Bally's Deptford
1901 Deptford Center Road, Deptford
(856) 227-4500
www.ballyfitness.com
Bally's Voorhees
1160 White Horse Road, Voorhees
(856) 346-4700
www.ballyfitness.com
Four Seasons Health Club
626 N. Delsea Drive, Glassboro
(856) 881-9418
www.hugeclub.com
The Betty and Milton Katz Community Center
1301 Springdale Road, Cherry Hill
(856) 424-4444
www.katzjcc.org/index.asp
Fitness evaluations can help maximize your workout
A motorcycle safety guide once told me to beware of crappy cars because their owners were probably careless slobs.
My Jeep was easily the most disgusting vehicle outside Virtua's William G. Rohrer Center for Health Fitness in Voorhees. I was there for a fitness evaluation and I was among BMWs and Range Rovers.
At Virtua, trainers use the evaluation and a comprehensive health questionnaire to determine a schedule and workout routine for each customer.
"It's really a checkpoint to see where you are and where we can begin your training," said Matt Orange, a 24-year-old fitness specialist.
The questionnaire is similar to one you'd fill out at the doctor's -- it asks whether there's a history of heart disease or high blood pressure, and about major surgical procedures you've had. The American Heart Association touts exercise as a way to thwart heart disease, but you're also likelier to have "a cardiovascular event" during exercise if there's something wrong with your ticker.
If you're going to join a gym, you should get a check-up first, with either the gym's trainers or your doctor.
The physical portion of the evaluation consists of push-ups, crunches, a brisk walk on the treadmill and a metal box that gauges your flexibility by measuring how far you can reach toward your toes.
Even though I smoke cigarettes, drink booze on occasion and get winded when I tie my shoes, I wasn't as beat up as my car indicated. Despite the 34 pounds of fat I'm carrying on my frame, I learned that I have a freakish ability to touch my toes.
There was an immediate burning sensation across my tummy when I went for the maximum crunches in one minute. I also offered valid excuses for my poor performance before I did my push-ups -- you do as many as you can until your body buckles and falls.
On the treadmill, Orange had me walk at various paces, testing how fast my heart recovered from increased intensity. My heart rate peaked at 104 at 2.5 mph and dropped to 90 when he tested me again. My results were average, and I'm OK with that.
And if I were going to join a gym again, I would have to fork out the extra money to get a membership at Virtua. The facility offers an indoor jogging track, three swimming pools, a sauna and steam room and various muscle-building contraptions, including Keiser equipment, which uses air pressure to adjust resistance.
Now if I could only get someone to pimp my ride.
Way-out workouts
Gyms offer alternatives to the same old workout routine
It's great that some health clubs have Internet access or wireless what-not on their treadmills.
But, not all gyms are here to baby you. For some, the point is to be tough. It's an alternative way of thinking -- and an alternative way of working out.
Summit Sports Training Center and Velocity Sports Performance, both in Cherry Hill, are the opposite of the typical health club. You'll get healthy, but it won't feel like an easy walk.
Case in point: the "Green Monster," a super treadmill at Summit. Your only concern will be running as fast as you can -- it reaches speeds up to 28 mph.
"Gyms don't want you to show up, they just want your money," said Jason Edelman, general manager at Summit. "Here, if you don't show up, we'll be calling your house asking where you are."
Both gyms have big free-weight stations, giant wooden boxes for plyometric workouts, and sprinting tracks. They both specialize in tweaking high-performance athletes, but they'll whip your ass into shape too.
If you think you don't need that kind of overhaul, you're wrong, says Richard Sharpnack Jr., owner of Velocity.
"No matter what sport you're doing, or what shape you're trying to get into, you need speed, power and agility. That's what we do here," he said.
Velocity's 21,000-square foot facility has 30-yards of football turf, a multi-lane, 65-yard running track. You can't just go in and start squatting; the workouts are by appointment only and range from $25 to $60 per session. They plan to open a Gloucester County facility soon.
Summit's "Green Monster" is part of the Frappier Acceleration Program. The gym also has a larger, wider Frappier treadmill designed to simulate ice-skating for hockey players. There's also a giant light machine that develops hand-eye coordination -- think of it as the world's biggest Simon game.
"We're really good at what we do here," said Edelman. "You still get that small gym feel, but the end result is entirely different."
If you're not ready for the high-performance treadmills, Summit is about to start a morning fitness program for adults. Like Velocity, Summit charges per session, currently $850 for 24 sessions.
It's great that some health clubs have Internet access or wireless what-not on their treadmills.
But, not all gyms are here to baby you. For some, the point is to be tough. It's an alternative way of thinking -- and an alternative way of working out.
Summit Sports Training Center and Velocity Sports Performance, both in Cherry Hill, are the opposite of the typical health club. You'll get healthy, but it won't feel like an easy walk.
Case in point: the "Green Monster," a super treadmill at Summit. Your only concern will be running as fast as you can -- it reaches speeds up to 28 mph.
"Gyms don't want you to show up, they just want your money," said Jason Edelman, general manager at Summit. "Here, if you don't show up, we'll be calling your house asking where you are."
Both gyms have big free-weight stations, giant wooden boxes for plyometric workouts, and sprinting tracks. They both specialize in tweaking high-performance athletes, but they'll whip your ass into shape too.
If you think you don't need that kind of overhaul, you're wrong, says Richard Sharpnack Jr., owner of Velocity.
"No matter what sport you're doing, or what shape you're trying to get into, you need speed, power and agility. That's what we do here," he said.
Velocity's 21,000-square foot facility has 30-yards of football turf, a multi-lane, 65-yard running track. You can't just go in and start squatting; the workouts are by appointment only and range from $25 to $60 per session. They plan to open a Gloucester County facility soon.
Summit's "Green Monster" is part of the Frappier Acceleration Program. The gym also has a larger, wider Frappier treadmill designed to simulate ice-skating for hockey players. There's also a giant light machine that develops hand-eye coordination -- think of it as the world's biggest Simon game.
"We're really good at what we do here," said Edelman. "You still get that small gym feel, but the end result is entirely different."
If you're not ready for the high-performance treadmills, Summit is about to start a morning fitness program for adults. Like Velocity, Summit charges per session, currently $850 for 24 sessions.
Strength training below the belt
When someone combines Kegels with Pilates it sounds like a great photo opportunity.
But Kegels exercise, which helps strengthen a woman's pelvic area, isn't just about increased sexual stimulation -- that's just a nice side effect.
Dani Merlino-Paris, a trainer at Basic Fitness in Lindenwold, started her Kegels Pilates class to help women, particularly those who had kids, tighten up the "pelvic floor," which is basically what you think it is.
"I do about 50 movements. It involves strength training, breathing properly, and holding this in," said Merlino, with a general motion to the area below her belly button. "What this basically does is tighten up that whole bottom area."
Merlino said she's averaging about two classes per week, with about 15 to 20 women in each session. The results will make your "pelvic floor" firmer and your lower abdominal area, home of the infamous "pouch", a little tighter.
"Most women complain about their lower abdominal area and crunches or sit ups can't really make an impact there," she said.
And there's also that increased sexual stimulation.
The class isn't for men, Merlino says, but a quick Internet search for "kegels for men" and you'll find plenty of info. For men, it's about gaining better control of a muscle that's basically underneath your stuff. The payoff is being able to delay the payload in bed. And best of all, you can practice every time you pee by contracting and cutting off the urine flow.
But Kegels exercise, which helps strengthen a woman's pelvic area, isn't just about increased sexual stimulation -- that's just a nice side effect.
Dani Merlino-Paris, a trainer at Basic Fitness in Lindenwold, started her Kegels Pilates class to help women, particularly those who had kids, tighten up the "pelvic floor," which is basically what you think it is.
"I do about 50 movements. It involves strength training, breathing properly, and holding this in," said Merlino, with a general motion to the area below her belly button. "What this basically does is tighten up that whole bottom area."
Merlino said she's averaging about two classes per week, with about 15 to 20 women in each session. The results will make your "pelvic floor" firmer and your lower abdominal area, home of the infamous "pouch", a little tighter.
"Most women complain about their lower abdominal area and crunches or sit ups can't really make an impact there," she said.
And there's also that increased sexual stimulation.
The class isn't for men, Merlino says, but a quick Internet search for "kegels for men" and you'll find plenty of info. For men, it's about gaining better control of a muscle that's basically underneath your stuff. The payoff is being able to delay the payload in bed. And best of all, you can practice every time you pee by contracting and cutting off the urine flow.
Boxing for pleasure
It happens more often than you'd think. You're about halfway through a Pilates class at the local sweat factory when you have to fight the urge hit Marci, your best friend, with a right cross to the belly as she's trying to touch her toes.
You've got some pent up rage but you still want to get in shape -- it's understandable. But before you give Marci a furious combination, examine the alternative--boxing classes.
Ricky Coward, co-owner of T-Rex Boxing Club in Stratford, has a gym full of equipment that Floyd Mayweather Jr. or Bernard Hopkins could spend days in -- there's speed bags, heavy bags, uppercut bags, and bags that follow you around. But Coward says boxing isn't just for pros.
Boxing helps you get fit
"For fitness, it's second to none," he said."I have some people who come in here and love it. They get to punch stuff."
Coward says the majority of his clients aren't training for boxing careers, they merely want to get in shape while hitting stuff. At T-Rex, you can sign up for classes or private lessons. But you're not just going to be hitting bags, there's a hell of a lot more to boxing than punching, and Coward and crew says the classes routinely have you working abdominals, legs, and using various pieces of equipment, including medicine balls and jump ropes.
"In boxing, conditioning is everything. It's at least three-forths of the sport," he says.
So basically, be prepared to work your lungs and heart over, too.
Boxing isn't just for men
Not surprisingly, Coward says women can pick up boxing a little easier than men.
"A lot of guys think they already know how to fight," he said.
Boxing takes -- and teaches -- skills
If you're sitting in your cubicle thinking about upper-cutting your best friend for no good reason, you'll probably throw it awkwardly and break your knuckle.
Take a breather and some boxing classes. Boxing is as much about form as it is about hitting something.
T-Rex Boxing Club is located in the Laurel Mills Shopping Center, 104 Warwick Road, in Stratford. For more info, visit www.trexboxingclub.org or call (856) 566-5550.
You've got some pent up rage but you still want to get in shape -- it's understandable. But before you give Marci a furious combination, examine the alternative--boxing classes.
Ricky Coward, co-owner of T-Rex Boxing Club in Stratford, has a gym full of equipment that Floyd Mayweather Jr. or Bernard Hopkins could spend days in -- there's speed bags, heavy bags, uppercut bags, and bags that follow you around. But Coward says boxing isn't just for pros.
Boxing helps you get fit
"For fitness, it's second to none," he said."I have some people who come in here and love it. They get to punch stuff."
Coward says the majority of his clients aren't training for boxing careers, they merely want to get in shape while hitting stuff. At T-Rex, you can sign up for classes or private lessons. But you're not just going to be hitting bags, there's a hell of a lot more to boxing than punching, and Coward and crew says the classes routinely have you working abdominals, legs, and using various pieces of equipment, including medicine balls and jump ropes.
"In boxing, conditioning is everything. It's at least three-forths of the sport," he says.
So basically, be prepared to work your lungs and heart over, too.
Boxing isn't just for men
Not surprisingly, Coward says women can pick up boxing a little easier than men.
"A lot of guys think they already know how to fight," he said.
Boxing takes -- and teaches -- skills
If you're sitting in your cubicle thinking about upper-cutting your best friend for no good reason, you'll probably throw it awkwardly and break your knuckle.
Take a breather and some boxing classes. Boxing is as much about form as it is about hitting something.
T-Rex Boxing Club is located in the Laurel Mills Shopping Center, 104 Warwick Road, in Stratford. For more info, visit www.trexboxingclub.org or call (856) 566-5550.
Couples yoga: Twice the fun, twice the benefits
We all know the best exercise a couple can do together.
A good 20 minutes of forearm-burning foreplay followed by 30 minutes of sweaty sex can shed about 400 calories. But if you're looking for slightly intimate couples fitness outside of the bedroom, yoga is your thing.
Kay Longo, who runs Breath Yoga from her Moorestown home, said partnering up in yoga gets you in better shape, faster.
"If you're stretching with the added weight of your partner, you'll get flexible twice as fast," she said. "Partner stretching is so much more fun than doing it alone.
Longo said because yoga can be done at home, it's easy for those with busy schedules.
"This really gives them time together," she said. "It's an opportunity for them to bond."
Laurie Greene, owner of Yoganine Studios in Smithville, said no particular style of yoga stresses partnering, but it can be done with almost all of them.
"Even starting with simple stretching will work," she said. "You could do it for hours."
And if you think yoga isn't intense enough for the both of you, you can always try other, traditional workouts together. Maurice Orlando, fitness director at The Cherry Hill Health and Racquet Club, said couple workouts in the gym usually don't work because men and women have different goals.
"It starts well but it usually ends quickly," he said.
That sounds like another couples exercise, though.
More information
breatheinc.net
www.yoga.com
www.yoganine.com
A good 20 minutes of forearm-burning foreplay followed by 30 minutes of sweaty sex can shed about 400 calories. But if you're looking for slightly intimate couples fitness outside of the bedroom, yoga is your thing.
Kay Longo, who runs Breath Yoga from her Moorestown home, said partnering up in yoga gets you in better shape, faster.
"If you're stretching with the added weight of your partner, you'll get flexible twice as fast," she said. "Partner stretching is so much more fun than doing it alone.
Longo said because yoga can be done at home, it's easy for those with busy schedules.
"This really gives them time together," she said. "It's an opportunity for them to bond."
Laurie Greene, owner of Yoganine Studios in Smithville, said no particular style of yoga stresses partnering, but it can be done with almost all of them.
"Even starting with simple stretching will work," she said. "You could do it for hours."
And if you think yoga isn't intense enough for the both of you, you can always try other, traditional workouts together. Maurice Orlando, fitness director at The Cherry Hill Health and Racquet Club, said couple workouts in the gym usually don't work because men and women have different goals.
"It starts well but it usually ends quickly," he said.
That sounds like another couples exercise, though.
More information
breatheinc.net
www.yoga.com
www.yoganine.com
High heat leads to enlightenment and sticky clothes
(Originally published in Impulse Magazine)
It was so damn hot. A cheesesteak, Entenmann's chocolate chip cookies and a few cigarettes were a bad meal choice before my first Bikram yoga class.
I knew the niche with Bikram Yoga was its sauna-like atmosphere, but my ears were sweating. About halfway through the class, as I contemplated removing my soaked T-shirt, a woman leaned over to me.
"At least they don't have the heat on tonight," she said, sensing my discomfort.
Maybe I heard her wrong. After all, my ears were full of sweat.
"Are you serious?" I asked.
She said the heat was "off" because we were in a workshop, not a full-fledged class. She was right, when I checked the thermometer in the room, it was a pleasant 98 degrees. My instructor, Joel Pier, said the ominous silver heater perched in the corner usually ratchets things up to about 110.
That's good, 'cause I started getting sticky when I walked up the three flights to Bikram Yoga of Philadelphia on Sansom Street.
My first yoga experience was a baptism by fire. I had filed it in my head as glorified stretching with some philosophy sprinkled in.
Not quite.
I was asking my body do things it hadn't done since I was on a wrestling mat in 1996. I've gained about 40 pounds since then and acquired two bum shoulders from a beer-fueled weight-lifting accident.
Bikram (pronounced bik-rum) Yoga was developed by Bikram Choudhury, a former All-India Yoga Champion who now runs a school in Los Angeles. It consists of 26 poses (asanas) done in a particular order. Pier said it's all designed to get the blood moving around the body. The inferno atmosphere is supposed to thin the blood, detoxify your system and make the muscles more limber. Increased muscle tone and flexibility are added bonuses.
During the two-hour workshop, the class practiced about half the asanas, all under the firm but gentle tutelage of Pier. I tried them all and cursed my wobbly feet and cobweb-addled hamstrings. Pier often made me, and others, pose alone in order to point out how we could improve. One asana, called the Awkward Pose, called for squatting slowly while on your toes. I sort of got that one.
I felt a sharp, popping pain in my stomach when Pier asked us to suck it in and breath with our chest. I look skinny but have an ample spare tire that doesn't like being messed with.
When I tried the Locust Pose, my shoulders gave me a brief flashback of dual surgery and six-weeks of immobilization.
Yoga isn't as low-impact as I imagined, which was a good thing. Given time, lots of time, Pier said my body would return to its limber ways. Pier thinks yoga is a refreshing alternative to throwing weights around in a gym or cranking out mind-numbing miles on a treadmill. I have to agree, because I've done both -- before iPods were invented.
With Bikram's heat added in, it would be hard not to lose weight if you went a few times a week.
I would be remiss if I didn't mention how sexy yoga is, too. I'm sure it's not what Bikram intended, but asana definitely put the female form in thought-provoking poses.
The men looked good too, I guess. I'm married, so I only took note of this for our Impulse readers.
I wouldn't suggest hitting on either gender though, at least not until after class.
It was so damn hot. A cheesesteak, Entenmann's chocolate chip cookies and a few cigarettes were a bad meal choice before my first Bikram yoga class.
I knew the niche with Bikram Yoga was its sauna-like atmosphere, but my ears were sweating. About halfway through the class, as I contemplated removing my soaked T-shirt, a woman leaned over to me.
"At least they don't have the heat on tonight," she said, sensing my discomfort.
Maybe I heard her wrong. After all, my ears were full of sweat.
"Are you serious?" I asked.
She said the heat was "off" because we were in a workshop, not a full-fledged class. She was right, when I checked the thermometer in the room, it was a pleasant 98 degrees. My instructor, Joel Pier, said the ominous silver heater perched in the corner usually ratchets things up to about 110.
That's good, 'cause I started getting sticky when I walked up the three flights to Bikram Yoga of Philadelphia on Sansom Street.
My first yoga experience was a baptism by fire. I had filed it in my head as glorified stretching with some philosophy sprinkled in.
Not quite.
I was asking my body do things it hadn't done since I was on a wrestling mat in 1996. I've gained about 40 pounds since then and acquired two bum shoulders from a beer-fueled weight-lifting accident.
Bikram (pronounced bik-rum) Yoga was developed by Bikram Choudhury, a former All-India Yoga Champion who now runs a school in Los Angeles. It consists of 26 poses (asanas) done in a particular order. Pier said it's all designed to get the blood moving around the body. The inferno atmosphere is supposed to thin the blood, detoxify your system and make the muscles more limber. Increased muscle tone and flexibility are added bonuses.
During the two-hour workshop, the class practiced about half the asanas, all under the firm but gentle tutelage of Pier. I tried them all and cursed my wobbly feet and cobweb-addled hamstrings. Pier often made me, and others, pose alone in order to point out how we could improve. One asana, called the Awkward Pose, called for squatting slowly while on your toes. I sort of got that one.
I felt a sharp, popping pain in my stomach when Pier asked us to suck it in and breath with our chest. I look skinny but have an ample spare tire that doesn't like being messed with.
When I tried the Locust Pose, my shoulders gave me a brief flashback of dual surgery and six-weeks of immobilization.
Yoga isn't as low-impact as I imagined, which was a good thing. Given time, lots of time, Pier said my body would return to its limber ways. Pier thinks yoga is a refreshing alternative to throwing weights around in a gym or cranking out mind-numbing miles on a treadmill. I have to agree, because I've done both -- before iPods were invented.
With Bikram's heat added in, it would be hard not to lose weight if you went a few times a week.
I would be remiss if I didn't mention how sexy yoga is, too. I'm sure it's not what Bikram intended, but asana definitely put the female form in thought-provoking poses.
The men looked good too, I guess. I'm married, so I only took note of this for our Impulse readers.
I wouldn't suggest hitting on either gender though, at least not until after class.
Wiffle ball hits the big time
Back yards will never be the same
(Originally published in the Courier Post)
The sounds of summer are distinctive -- lawn mowers in the morning,crickets chirping into the night and the soft whistle of a Wiffleball whizzing through the air.
Wiffle ball, the sport of choice for barbecues across the nation,has been creating backyard Babe Ruths and Nolan Ryans since theMullany family of Fairfield, Conn., began producing the yellowbats and white perforated balls in 1953.
Summer hasn't been the same since.
Wiffle ball has been going through some changes though, movingfrom the back yards and streets to the big leagues.
James Santora Jr. is the founder of the Wiffle ball Web site www.wbranks.comand is also a member of Rock-n-Roll Express -- a local team out of Pittsgrovethat competes in Wiffle ball tournaments throughout the area.
According to Santora, the average barbecue player would bequite surprised if he attended a Wiffle ball tournament.
"New teams are absolutely amazed at how complex and talentedthe teams can be. These guys play with strategy," said Santora.
Paul Shadinger was on one of those new teams and, yes, he was amazed.
"In the back yard the whole object is just to hit the ball andhave fun," said the 32-year-old Vineland resident. "But theseexperienced teams really know how to work the ball."
Shadinger and his team -- Major Petroleum -- learned quickly thathitting the ball was not going to be easy.
"We didn't get a hit in the first game until the fifth inning,"he said.
"These guys are intense," said Shadinger's teammate JoeO'Rourke. "They obviously play a lot."
They play as often as they can, wherever they can.
Rock-n-Roll Express is one of many teams who drive over 2-1/2 hoursto get to compete in Wiffle ball tournaments up and down the EastCoast.
The Big Sticks, a fully uniformed squad out of Lititz, Pa., andthe Golden Domers out of Bloomfield are regulars on the Wiffle ballscene.
"We'll go as far as three hours away," said Sal Nesto of the Golden Domers.
Nesto, who has been playing competitively for 10 years, sees the tournaments as recruiting grounds for future Wiffle ball addicts.
"People see an ad in the paper and they get curious at first," said Nesto. "Then they come to a tournament and that's it -- they're hooked."
The transition from a lazy-day hobby to a serious sport has created a growing community of teams and advocates like like Nesto and Santora -- which is evident on one of the sport's largest Web sites: http://www.wiffleball.net/.
"The Internet has been a huge tool to spread the word," said Santora.
On the site you'll find the official rules for the sport, whichhave changed quite a bit from your trusty lawn-chair strike zoneand telephone-wire home run mark.
The laundry list of rules, which cover everything from the properparameters of the field to wild pitches, was created by the USPPBA-- the United States Perforated Plastic Association.
Santora admits the rule book may be overkill, and says a beginnerin tournament play would have no trouble following the rules.
"It's nice to have the rule book in place in case we ever haveto go back to it, but we rarely ever have a problem," he said.
Whether or not a beginner is successful is another matter.
If you thought your uncle threw a wicked Wiffle curveball, Santorasays the tournament pitchers are in another class all to themselves.
Instead of a plastic chair for a strike zone, Santora's tournamentsuse a rectangular piece of plywood propped above the ground.
"There's guys that can consistently hit that wooden boardthrough three or four games," he said. "If you're on a team witha good pitcher, you well do very well."
Along with good pitching, one thing you will notice about a Wiffleball tournament is the absence of that familiar yellow bat.
Yes, even Wiffle ball has embraced technology.
The Ledge Sledge, manufactured by the JTL Bat Company is oneof the many aluminum bats you might see at a game.
The bat weighs in at 13 ounces and retails for $34.95 -- a far cryfrom its inexpensive plastic yellow ancestor.
"Very few teams use the yellow bat anymore and if they do, they'lleventually switch," says Santora. "The aluminum bat bringsout the distance you can hit the ball."
With new technology, unhittable pitching and team strategies,the step up to tournament Wiffle ball, according to Santora, canbe overwhelming.
"I don't want to discourage anyone, but the competition istough," he said.
But after competing in their first tournament, the membersof Major Petroleum, who beat Rock-n-Roll Express in one game, didn'tseem all that discouraged.
For Shadinger, the tournament came down to having fun.
"I play in a lot of softball tournaments and everybody's outfor blood," he said. "These Wiffle ball guys still want to win,but they have fun doing it"
Some of the USPPBA Rules of Wiffle ball
The ball may be scuffed between innings, but no foreign substancescan be applied to its surface. A clean catch (an out) occurs whena fielder catches a batted ball without bobbling or deflectingthe ball. Bunting is illegal. A fielder may leap over the fenceto catch a fly ball, but he must make the catch before any part of hisbody touches the ground beyond the fence. The outfield fence shouldbe no less than 4 feet in height. All runners shall be imaginary,and at no time during game play is the batter required to physicallyrun to or occupy a base. All games should be six innings unless called. No errors shall ever be recorded in the official record. The batter'sbox shall measure 4 feet wide by 6 feet long. Any ball with a crackgreater than -1/4-inch, shall be, upon appeal, deemed illegal andbe immediately removed from the game. The distance from the backpoint of home plate to the center field fence shall be no less than90 feet, nor greater than 110 feet.
Now playing: Haddon Heights crew discovers niche in films
(Originally published in the Courier Post)
Hands buried in the pockets of his baggy jeans and eyes barelyvisible beneath a wool cap, Tommy Avallone lights up when he talksabout movies.
Not as polished as Martin Scorsese, of course, or as crypticas David Lynch, Avallone, 20, resembles his idol, New Jersey filmmakerKevin Smith, minus 100 pounds or so.
Avallone, along with friend Jordan McSorley, also 20, is a reluctantleader of the Station (Avenue) Crew, a dozen or so young students,skaters, musicians and groupies who have collaborated to maketwo films.
`He's a cult hero around here,' said Haddon Heights High Schoolphysical education teacher George Maier.
The Crew's second film, Small Kid Tank Top, recently sold outthree straight nights at the Cinemark 16 in Somerdale, sellingmore than 500 tickets in all.
After Avallone, McSorley and crew member Alex Wildman graduatedfrom Haddon Heights High School in 2001, they faced big decisions.
"We all came together and decided that we didn't really wantto have a real job," said Avallone, now a student at Camden CountyCollege.
During their years at Heights, Avallone, McSorley, and severalcrew members made small skits and hand-held films such as Diaryof a Fat Man and The Hairpiece Project.
`He marched to the beat of his own drum to say the least,' saidMaier of Avallone.
While phys ed was not one of Avallone's favorite classes, Maiersaid, the former student-council president was too funny to get mad at.
`I used to give him a hard time. He would come to gym class wearingHalloween costumes or 75-cent T-shirts that he bought from a thriftshop,' said Maier. `He would think the shirts were the best things in the world when it looked like a moth attacked them. He was creativethough.'
Upon graduation, many of the guys took jobs at Cinemark while Avallone worked at Watchdog Video in Audubon and the AMC movie theater in Deptford. Both jobs, he confesses, are simply a way to watch moremovies.
While films such as Smith's Clerks and Richard Linklater'sDazed and Confused are some of their favorites, the Station Crew'sfilmmaking inspiration came from sitting in parks and parking lots in Haddon Heights and being misunderstood by police, parentsand adults in general.
But adults may be writing them off too soon.
They're not wearing suits, but between running Web sites, playingin bands, going to school and promoting films, the crew has littletime to sit around anymore.
"My life has to be constantly moving," said 20-year-old Alex Wildman of Haddon Heights, a co-writer and director on Small KidTank Top and the group's first film, Wasted Apples.
Besides collaborating with Avallone, Wildman is a student at Camden County College, a bike technician at Dick's SportingGoods in Deptford and a member of the band Lucky Star.
Wildman said their movies' success with peers stems from reality,something he said is missing from most Hollywood teen films.
"Most of the stuff that happens in those movies would neverhappen in real life," said Wildman, a 2001 Haddon Heights graduatewho wants to be a business sales representative for a skateboardclothing manufacturer. "In our movies there's not always happyendings and the guy doesn't always get the girl."
Avallone knows from experience.
"Trust me, I've wanted plenty of girls in my life, but they didn'twant me. It doesn't always happen," he said.
Frank Weckerly, Avallone's high school guidance counselor,said Tommy has an honesty that draws other teenagers in.
`He has a pulse on what young people are like. He addresses thestereotype of what most people have of teenagers. People thinkthey're slackers but they have a lot going on,' Weckerly said.
Weckerly even stood in line to see Small Kid Tank Top in Decemberto witness how far the crew has come. He also wanted to see his big-screendebut.
`He and his buddies showed up at school one day with a camera andsaid, `Do you have a minute?' I was in for about five seconds,' Weckerlysaid.
In his first film, Wasted Apples, Avallone and the group roamaround their various South Jersey haunts, which include movietheaters, cars, friends' houses and, of course, empty parkinglots.
They talk of the future, of adult perceptions of them, and timetravel -- all while goofing on one another in classic, raunchy slapstick.
While it's not rated, the language could melt a censor buttonand Wasted Apples revolves around things teenagers find hilariousbut their parents don't.
One character, Booch, aka Brian Hagan, is the target of severaljokes, but sacrificing humility and health, he may have a careerbrewing or at least an audition on MTV's Jackass.
"In the movie I usually get beat up or made fun of. I would definitelylike to do it as a career," said the 18-year-old Haddon Heights graduate.
Mike Pallante, a crew member from Haddonfield, claims to havegreater talents and aspirations than being able to take a beating.
"I tell Tommy all the time that the movies aren't that good,"said the 20-year-old music major at Rutgers-Camden.
When not filled with the sounds of Lucky Star and other localbands, Avallone's films are scored, quite effectively, with Pallante'shigh-tech equipment.
"I've been playing and recording since I was a little kid,"said Pallante, adorned in a black-shag trench coat. "The firstmovie I had about two or three weeks to fill in some electronic andhip-hop -- this time I only had 18 hours.'
Pallante, who would like to teach music, is a little cynical about Avallone's movie-making abilities, but acknowledges afew of his talents.
"I'll give him this: He can organize a lot of people who don'tlike being organized. He is really trying to make this work, andI think together we all make it come off pretty decent," the HaddonfieldHigh School graduate said.
Avallone says he and the group have spent upwards of $10,000to make the first two films, which includes posters, stickers,fliers, T-shirts and, just recently, VHS tapes of Wasted Applesfor distribution. After learning the ins and outs of the equipmentduring the first film, the group upgraded for the second installmentof their trilogy.
"It actually got a little harder because we had to learn allthis new technology," said 19-year-old Tim "White Chocolate"Dean, a co-writer, actor, and 2002 Heights graduate.
"The first time we had the microphones plugged right in to the camera and itdidn't sound too good.' Tommy and the crew invested most of the profitfrom Wasted Apples and their own personal savings into purchasingdigital cameras and audio-recording equipment.
`All of our profits basically just pay our debts or buy new stuff,'said Avallone.
Besides film, Tommy and several others in the crew have begunbranching out into other areas of the entertainment industry withtheir company, www.tri-flux.com. From drumming up press and creatingT-shirts to constructing Web pages for local bands, they claim to `Rock hard -- so you don't have to.'
Albert DiGiacomo, 19, of Audubon, said the crew might not resembleseasoned professionals, but they don't pay attention to that.
"My parents never expected anything serious to come out ofa band or a movie. Now they are starting to say, `Wow, this kid hassome ambition.' It's ambition in a different way, but it is ambition,"said DiGiacomo, who also plays in Lucky Star and attends Rowan University.
"I just don't want to live a normal, boring life with a job thatI hate,' the Paul VI High School graduate added.
Avallone's been trying his best to avoid an ordinary life -- hesent his tapes to Kevin Smith and plans to attend film school in NewYork City. If he makes it, he said, he's bringing the gang along forthe ride.
But first there's the final piece to the trilogy -- Here's to Yesterday-- which he'll begin writing soon and hopes to show in December.
"Each one is a learning process," he said.
"Hopefully one day I'll make a good movie and let my friends sponge off me."
Hands buried in the pockets of his baggy jeans and eyes barelyvisible beneath a wool cap, Tommy Avallone lights up when he talksabout movies.
Not as polished as Martin Scorsese, of course, or as crypticas David Lynch, Avallone, 20, resembles his idol, New Jersey filmmakerKevin Smith, minus 100 pounds or so.
Avallone, along with friend Jordan McSorley, also 20, is a reluctantleader of the Station (Avenue) Crew, a dozen or so young students,skaters, musicians and groupies who have collaborated to maketwo films.
`He's a cult hero around here,' said Haddon Heights High Schoolphysical education teacher George Maier.
The Crew's second film, Small Kid Tank Top, recently sold outthree straight nights at the Cinemark 16 in Somerdale, sellingmore than 500 tickets in all.
After Avallone, McSorley and crew member Alex Wildman graduatedfrom Haddon Heights High School in 2001, they faced big decisions.
"We all came together and decided that we didn't really wantto have a real job," said Avallone, now a student at Camden CountyCollege.
During their years at Heights, Avallone, McSorley, and severalcrew members made small skits and hand-held films such as Diaryof a Fat Man and The Hairpiece Project.
`He marched to the beat of his own drum to say the least,' saidMaier of Avallone.
While phys ed was not one of Avallone's favorite classes, Maiersaid, the former student-council president was too funny to get mad at.
`I used to give him a hard time. He would come to gym class wearingHalloween costumes or 75-cent T-shirts that he bought from a thriftshop,' said Maier. `He would think the shirts were the best things in the world when it looked like a moth attacked them. He was creativethough.'
Upon graduation, many of the guys took jobs at Cinemark while Avallone worked at Watchdog Video in Audubon and the AMC movie theater in Deptford. Both jobs, he confesses, are simply a way to watch moremovies.
While films such as Smith's Clerks and Richard Linklater'sDazed and Confused are some of their favorites, the Station Crew'sfilmmaking inspiration came from sitting in parks and parking lots in Haddon Heights and being misunderstood by police, parentsand adults in general.
But adults may be writing them off too soon.
They're not wearing suits, but between running Web sites, playingin bands, going to school and promoting films, the crew has littletime to sit around anymore.
"My life has to be constantly moving," said 20-year-old Alex Wildman of Haddon Heights, a co-writer and director on Small KidTank Top and the group's first film, Wasted Apples.
Besides collaborating with Avallone, Wildman is a student at Camden County College, a bike technician at Dick's SportingGoods in Deptford and a member of the band Lucky Star.
Wildman said their movies' success with peers stems from reality,something he said is missing from most Hollywood teen films.
"Most of the stuff that happens in those movies would neverhappen in real life," said Wildman, a 2001 Haddon Heights graduatewho wants to be a business sales representative for a skateboardclothing manufacturer. "In our movies there's not always happyendings and the guy doesn't always get the girl."
Avallone knows from experience.
"Trust me, I've wanted plenty of girls in my life, but they didn'twant me. It doesn't always happen," he said.
Frank Weckerly, Avallone's high school guidance counselor,said Tommy has an honesty that draws other teenagers in.
`He has a pulse on what young people are like. He addresses thestereotype of what most people have of teenagers. People thinkthey're slackers but they have a lot going on,' Weckerly said.
Weckerly even stood in line to see Small Kid Tank Top in Decemberto witness how far the crew has come. He also wanted to see his big-screendebut.
`He and his buddies showed up at school one day with a camera andsaid, `Do you have a minute?' I was in for about five seconds,' Weckerlysaid.
In his first film, Wasted Apples, Avallone and the group roamaround their various South Jersey haunts, which include movietheaters, cars, friends' houses and, of course, empty parkinglots.
They talk of the future, of adult perceptions of them, and timetravel -- all while goofing on one another in classic, raunchy slapstick.
While it's not rated, the language could melt a censor buttonand Wasted Apples revolves around things teenagers find hilariousbut their parents don't.
One character, Booch, aka Brian Hagan, is the target of severaljokes, but sacrificing humility and health, he may have a careerbrewing or at least an audition on MTV's Jackass.
"In the movie I usually get beat up or made fun of. I would definitelylike to do it as a career," said the 18-year-old Haddon Heights graduate.
Mike Pallante, a crew member from Haddonfield, claims to havegreater talents and aspirations than being able to take a beating.
"I tell Tommy all the time that the movies aren't that good,"said the 20-year-old music major at Rutgers-Camden.
When not filled with the sounds of Lucky Star and other localbands, Avallone's films are scored, quite effectively, with Pallante'shigh-tech equipment.
"I've been playing and recording since I was a little kid,"said Pallante, adorned in a black-shag trench coat. "The firstmovie I had about two or three weeks to fill in some electronic andhip-hop -- this time I only had 18 hours.'
Pallante, who would like to teach music, is a little cynical about Avallone's movie-making abilities, but acknowledges afew of his talents.
"I'll give him this: He can organize a lot of people who don'tlike being organized. He is really trying to make this work, andI think together we all make it come off pretty decent," the HaddonfieldHigh School graduate said.
Avallone says he and the group have spent upwards of $10,000to make the first two films, which includes posters, stickers,fliers, T-shirts and, just recently, VHS tapes of Wasted Applesfor distribution. After learning the ins and outs of the equipmentduring the first film, the group upgraded for the second installmentof their trilogy.
"It actually got a little harder because we had to learn allthis new technology," said 19-year-old Tim "White Chocolate"Dean, a co-writer, actor, and 2002 Heights graduate.
"The first time we had the microphones plugged right in to the camera and itdidn't sound too good.' Tommy and the crew invested most of the profitfrom Wasted Apples and their own personal savings into purchasingdigital cameras and audio-recording equipment.
`All of our profits basically just pay our debts or buy new stuff,'said Avallone.
Besides film, Tommy and several others in the crew have begunbranching out into other areas of the entertainment industry withtheir company, www.tri-flux.com. From drumming up press and creatingT-shirts to constructing Web pages for local bands, they claim to `Rock hard -- so you don't have to.'
Albert DiGiacomo, 19, of Audubon, said the crew might not resembleseasoned professionals, but they don't pay attention to that.
"My parents never expected anything serious to come out ofa band or a movie. Now they are starting to say, `Wow, this kid hassome ambition.' It's ambition in a different way, but it is ambition,"said DiGiacomo, who also plays in Lucky Star and attends Rowan University.
"I just don't want to live a normal, boring life with a job thatI hate,' the Paul VI High School graduate added.
Avallone's been trying his best to avoid an ordinary life -- hesent his tapes to Kevin Smith and plans to attend film school in NewYork City. If he makes it, he said, he's bringing the gang along forthe ride.
But first there's the final piece to the trilogy -- Here's to Yesterday-- which he'll begin writing soon and hopes to show in December.
"Each one is a learning process," he said.
"Hopefully one day I'll make a good movie and let my friends sponge off me."
For this fan, Cobain left him the soundtrack of his youth
It was Christmas of 1991 when I bought the single of Nirvana's "Smells Like Teen Spirit.'
My cousin Kevin and I sat down on my water bed, put the cassette in and listened as our ears were hurled into a raging torrent of fuzzy power chords, booming drums, and the singer's uncultivated howl.
My father, a guitar player, said the music was simple and he couldn't understand what the singer was saying.
I loved it.
Kurt Cobain, the skinny, gravel-throated singer, was melding punk, heavy metal and rock n' roll into a music described as "grunge.' Their first major-label debut, Nevermind, was the first compact disc I ever owned.
Cobain, drummer Dave Grohl, and bassist Krist Novoselic didn't wear makeup, leather pants, or use hair spray -- I'm not even sure they washed their hair. They wore whatever jeans and T-shirts were closest to them when they rolled out of bed. In one surreal video, filled with riotous cheerleaders, moshing teens, and one unsanitary janitor, the band seemingly squashed the fluffy, lipstick rock that dominated the 80s.
"Here we are now, entertain us,' Cobain sang to millions of teens ready to be entertained.
I think Cobain probably would have hated everything I've said so far.
It's clear from reading his published journals (which I feel guilty for doing) that he just wanted to earn a living by making music. One entry details a cleaning business he envisioned in order to fund the band.
He just wasn't celebrity material -- most people aren't. He didn't have the magnetism inherent in Madonna, the mysticism of Jim Morrison, or even the social consciousness of one of his contemporaries -- Eddie Vedder of Pearl Jam.
Cobain, who often seemed asocial with a sarcastic sense of humor, was unable to handle what the world demanded from him, and heroin and pills became his sanctuary.
I was 16 years old when Cobain raised a Remington shotgun to his face and pulled the trigger.
And to be honest, part of me admired him for it. He didn't sell out, I thought.
Now I have a son and another child on the way -- I no longer admire him for checking out so early. He was partly selfish for abandoning his talents and millions of fans, but even more so for leaving an equally troubled wife and young daughter. Unlike so many, he had the money to get the treatment he really needed.
What Cobain ultimately left for me is the soundtrack of my youth -- Nirvana in my headphones while I jogged or cruised the streets in my 1986 Buick Grand National; Pearl Jam at a party beneath the summer stars; Soundgarden while I scrubbed swimming pools with muriatic acid; Alice in Chains beside a campfire at Lake Wallenpaupack in the Poconos.
Every time I hear their songs, I'm pulled back into those wonderful memories -- July of 1998 stands out in particular.
I plopped a few quarters into a jukebox at a local bar and played my favorite Nirvana song, a cover of Leadbelly's "Where Did You Sleep Last Night?' from the Unplugged in New York album.
As Cobain wailed on about heartache and deceit, I got a tap on the shoulder from a girl I had met at the bookstore where I worked. She commended me on my choice in music, we started talking, and I married her five years later.
Maybe Kurt Cobain was a rock god, a revolutionary who changed the face of music. Personally, I think he was an extremely talented, fragile man, who struggled with drug problems but loved to make music.
And that's why he means so much to me.
My cousin Kevin and I sat down on my water bed, put the cassette in and listened as our ears were hurled into a raging torrent of fuzzy power chords, booming drums, and the singer's uncultivated howl.
My father, a guitar player, said the music was simple and he couldn't understand what the singer was saying.
I loved it.
Kurt Cobain, the skinny, gravel-throated singer, was melding punk, heavy metal and rock n' roll into a music described as "grunge.' Their first major-label debut, Nevermind, was the first compact disc I ever owned.
Cobain, drummer Dave Grohl, and bassist Krist Novoselic didn't wear makeup, leather pants, or use hair spray -- I'm not even sure they washed their hair. They wore whatever jeans and T-shirts were closest to them when they rolled out of bed. In one surreal video, filled with riotous cheerleaders, moshing teens, and one unsanitary janitor, the band seemingly squashed the fluffy, lipstick rock that dominated the 80s.
"Here we are now, entertain us,' Cobain sang to millions of teens ready to be entertained.
I think Cobain probably would have hated everything I've said so far.
It's clear from reading his published journals (which I feel guilty for doing) that he just wanted to earn a living by making music. One entry details a cleaning business he envisioned in order to fund the band.
He just wasn't celebrity material -- most people aren't. He didn't have the magnetism inherent in Madonna, the mysticism of Jim Morrison, or even the social consciousness of one of his contemporaries -- Eddie Vedder of Pearl Jam.
Cobain, who often seemed asocial with a sarcastic sense of humor, was unable to handle what the world demanded from him, and heroin and pills became his sanctuary.
I was 16 years old when Cobain raised a Remington shotgun to his face and pulled the trigger.
And to be honest, part of me admired him for it. He didn't sell out, I thought.
Now I have a son and another child on the way -- I no longer admire him for checking out so early. He was partly selfish for abandoning his talents and millions of fans, but even more so for leaving an equally troubled wife and young daughter. Unlike so many, he had the money to get the treatment he really needed.
What Cobain ultimately left for me is the soundtrack of my youth -- Nirvana in my headphones while I jogged or cruised the streets in my 1986 Buick Grand National; Pearl Jam at a party beneath the summer stars; Soundgarden while I scrubbed swimming pools with muriatic acid; Alice in Chains beside a campfire at Lake Wallenpaupack in the Poconos.
Every time I hear their songs, I'm pulled back into those wonderful memories -- July of 1998 stands out in particular.
I plopped a few quarters into a jukebox at a local bar and played my favorite Nirvana song, a cover of Leadbelly's "Where Did You Sleep Last Night?' from the Unplugged in New York album.
As Cobain wailed on about heartache and deceit, I got a tap on the shoulder from a girl I had met at the bookstore where I worked. She commended me on my choice in music, we started talking, and I married her five years later.
Maybe Kurt Cobain was a rock god, a revolutionary who changed the face of music. Personally, I think he was an extremely talented, fragile man, who struggled with drug problems but loved to make music.
And that's why he means so much to me.
Slain dad leaves void on court, at home
Ronald Akins Jr. mourned as "one of the good guys'
(Originally published in the Courier Post)
Ronald Akins III said he came to the city's YMCA Sunday morning just to watch some basketball.
The sound of sneakers squeaking against the polished hardwood, the odor of muscle ointment, and the low buzz of overhead lights were all familiar to the 16-year-old Williamstown resident.
He had been there a lot, watching his father, Ronald Akins Jr., make quick cuts to the basket or sink a fadeaway jumper as a member of the Men's Over 35 league.
Sunday was the first time the teenager had been back to the gymnasium since his father, a 38-year-old West Deptford resident, was shot and killed on May 2 in Camden, allegedly over a broken window.
The suspected shooter, Dawayne Lindsey, 23, is charged with murder and is being sought by authorities.
Many of Akins Jr.'s teammates and friends said violence stole a man who was larger than life, an entrepreneur and a family man who never forgot where he came from.
Akins III, wearing an airbrushed T-shirt with his father's picture on it, just misses his friend.
"He was the best dad a dad could be. He was a good guy who helped a lot of people," said Akins, keeping his eyes fixed on the game. "It's kind of difficult for me to talk about it."
Akins Jr. probably didn't need to sell sneakers out of his Plymouth minivan near 8th and Morgan in Camden. The former Marine was a successful business owner, and the basketball team, AAA, that he sponsored in the league was named after the transportation company he started and operated out of Sicklerville.
He owned a spacious house in an upscale development in West Deptford, where he lived with LaTina, his wife of five years, their 1 1/2-year-old twins, Ronya and Ronnaisa, and two of Akins' sons, Rondi, 12, and Ronnell, 7.
While the home was far from Camden, LaTina said she and her husband both had family and friends there and didn't turn their backs on their roots.
"This was his dream house," said LaTina, 38. "This is something he wanted for his family. But we weren't going to avoid Camden either."
Akins grew up in Williamstown, moved to Camden as a youth, and he and LaTina both graduated from Camden High School in 1984.
LaTina Akins said her husband sold sneakers, and probably gave some away, just to get a few extra dollars and give the family luxuries, like a garage full of ATVs they rode on the weekends.
"He never had any problems out there. Everyone knew him as the sneaker guy," said LaTina.
"He did pretty good out there."
Back at the gymnasium, four banners hang along the far wall: Honesty, Responsibility, Caring and Respect.
Friends and teammates of Akins said Responsibility and Respect stand out when mentioning him. A few days before Akins was shot, LaTina said a little girl accidentally broke a window in her husband's minivan with a rock. Rather than call the police, Akins went to the girl's home to let her mother know it was their responsibility to fix the window.
"I remember he wasn't mad about it," LaTina Akins said.
LaTina Akins said Dawayne Lindsey, whom she said was the girl's stepfather, approached Akins Jr. around 3 p.m. May 2. The two exchanged words and Lindsey opened fire, striking Akins Jr. several times, said Bill Shralow, spokesman for the Camden County Prosecutor's Office.
Akins was taken to Cooper University Hospital by a passer-by but was dead before family and friends arrived.
The news hit everyone hard, including the tight-knit basketball league where Akins Jr. spent his Sunday mornings.
"He was one of the good guys," said Kenneth Young. "He was somebody these kids could look up to."
Young said Akins did break league rules by joining up years before his 35th birthday, but he was such a nice guy, no one made a big deal out of it.
"He wanted to play with the old-timers," said Young, a retired corrections officer. "And he was good, too. He made the all-star team every year."
Keith Stewart, 39, said he was crushed when he heard his best friend had been gunned down.
"Everyone is probably saying how good of a guy he was but you really can't describe it," said Stewart, a Camden resident. "He just had a really big heart."
Stewart said he is hoping to host a fundraiser next month to help LaTina. "He would do the same for me."
Stewart said Akins would be the first player to arrive every Sunday morning and the last to leave. His kids were usually with him. As the games wore on Sunday, many men left their spot on the bleachers to shake the hands of Ronald Akins III. Few words were exchanged, and the teen usually just smiled and nodded his head in gratitude, then continued to focus on the game.
(Originally published in the Courier Post)
Ronald Akins III said he came to the city's YMCA Sunday morning just to watch some basketball.
The sound of sneakers squeaking against the polished hardwood, the odor of muscle ointment, and the low buzz of overhead lights were all familiar to the 16-year-old Williamstown resident.
He had been there a lot, watching his father, Ronald Akins Jr., make quick cuts to the basket or sink a fadeaway jumper as a member of the Men's Over 35 league.
Sunday was the first time the teenager had been back to the gymnasium since his father, a 38-year-old West Deptford resident, was shot and killed on May 2 in Camden, allegedly over a broken window.
The suspected shooter, Dawayne Lindsey, 23, is charged with murder and is being sought by authorities.
Many of Akins Jr.'s teammates and friends said violence stole a man who was larger than life, an entrepreneur and a family man who never forgot where he came from.
Akins III, wearing an airbrushed T-shirt with his father's picture on it, just misses his friend.
"He was the best dad a dad could be. He was a good guy who helped a lot of people," said Akins, keeping his eyes fixed on the game. "It's kind of difficult for me to talk about it."
Akins Jr. probably didn't need to sell sneakers out of his Plymouth minivan near 8th and Morgan in Camden. The former Marine was a successful business owner, and the basketball team, AAA, that he sponsored in the league was named after the transportation company he started and operated out of Sicklerville.
He owned a spacious house in an upscale development in West Deptford, where he lived with LaTina, his wife of five years, their 1 1/2-year-old twins, Ronya and Ronnaisa, and two of Akins' sons, Rondi, 12, and Ronnell, 7.
While the home was far from Camden, LaTina said she and her husband both had family and friends there and didn't turn their backs on their roots.
"This was his dream house," said LaTina, 38. "This is something he wanted for his family. But we weren't going to avoid Camden either."
Akins grew up in Williamstown, moved to Camden as a youth, and he and LaTina both graduated from Camden High School in 1984.
LaTina Akins said her husband sold sneakers, and probably gave some away, just to get a few extra dollars and give the family luxuries, like a garage full of ATVs they rode on the weekends.
"He never had any problems out there. Everyone knew him as the sneaker guy," said LaTina.
"He did pretty good out there."
Back at the gymnasium, four banners hang along the far wall: Honesty, Responsibility, Caring and Respect.
Friends and teammates of Akins said Responsibility and Respect stand out when mentioning him. A few days before Akins was shot, LaTina said a little girl accidentally broke a window in her husband's minivan with a rock. Rather than call the police, Akins went to the girl's home to let her mother know it was their responsibility to fix the window.
"I remember he wasn't mad about it," LaTina Akins said.
LaTina Akins said Dawayne Lindsey, whom she said was the girl's stepfather, approached Akins Jr. around 3 p.m. May 2. The two exchanged words and Lindsey opened fire, striking Akins Jr. several times, said Bill Shralow, spokesman for the Camden County Prosecutor's Office.
Akins was taken to Cooper University Hospital by a passer-by but was dead before family and friends arrived.
The news hit everyone hard, including the tight-knit basketball league where Akins Jr. spent his Sunday mornings.
"He was one of the good guys," said Kenneth Young. "He was somebody these kids could look up to."
Young said Akins did break league rules by joining up years before his 35th birthday, but he was such a nice guy, no one made a big deal out of it.
"He wanted to play with the old-timers," said Young, a retired corrections officer. "And he was good, too. He made the all-star team every year."
Keith Stewart, 39, said he was crushed when he heard his best friend had been gunned down.
"Everyone is probably saying how good of a guy he was but you really can't describe it," said Stewart, a Camden resident. "He just had a really big heart."
Stewart said he is hoping to host a fundraiser next month to help LaTina. "He would do the same for me."
Stewart said Akins would be the first player to arrive every Sunday morning and the last to leave. His kids were usually with him. As the games wore on Sunday, many men left their spot on the bleachers to shake the hands of Ronald Akins III. Few words were exchanged, and the teen usually just smiled and nodded his head in gratitude, then continued to focus on the game.
Polka festival a step in time for enthusiasts
"Happy-go-lucky' dance has suffered from stereotypes
(Originally published in the Courier Post)
Wanda Jakimowski has found the fountain of youth and she calls it the polka.
Jakimowski, 86, suffers from arthritis but made a bus trip from Baltimore to attend the 30th Annual Polka Spree By the Sea at the Wildwoods Convention Center last weekend.-
She didn't just come to listen though. Holding two maracas made out of toilet-bowl floats, Jakimowski shook every thing she had in front of the stage for hours.
(Originally published in the Courier Post)
Wanda Jakimowski has found the fountain of youth and she calls it the polka.
Jakimowski, 86, suffers from arthritis but made a bus trip from Baltimore to attend the 30th Annual Polka Spree By the Sea at the Wildwoods Convention Center last weekend.-
She didn't just come to listen though. Holding two maracas made out of toilet-bowl floats, Jakimowski shook every thing she had in front of the stage for hours.
"Oh my doctor doesn't know about the polka," said Jakimowski, brushing aside any medical concerns. "I'll keep coming and I'll keep dancing if I can only blink my eyelids."
The polka, a music that originated in Bohemia, has become forever associated with Poland, particularly the Polish immigrants who made the Northeast and Midwest their home. The music, filled with accordions, clarinets and horns, sounds quirky at first to a novice listener but for devoted fans, there's no sweeter sound in the world than the 2/4 time of the polka.
"It's happy-go-lucky music," said Polka Spree organizer Bernie Goydish of Princeton.
Tony Bernatowicz, 71, sat at one of the hundreds of tables at the convention center, dressed in red and white with a Polish eagle bolo tie.
"It blows your brains it's so exciting," said Bernatowicz of Bethel, Conn.
Lenny Gomulka, bandleader of the 11-time Grammy nominated Chicago Push, said polka has long suffered from stigmas and stereotypes.
"People usually think of a tuba player with a pitcher of beer and a feather in his cap," said Gomulka, a Massachusetts native and trumpet player. "It's looked at as more of a novelty, kind of like Jimmy Buffett is to rock 'n' roll."
Gomulka says polka isn't about recycling old standards -- he claims there are many different styles and new, progressive artists constantly change the music. Ironically, polka is not popular in Poland, Gomulka said.
Frank Proszowski, who sold polka CDs and tapes at the festival, said some generations, particularly baby boomers, rebelled against the music that was popular with their parents and grandparents.
"We lost a whole generation because of misconceptions," said Proszowski of Philadelphia. "I say don't knock it until you try it."
Joe Rupnik grew up in South Camden's Whitman Park, a former Polish stronghold centered at St. Joseph's Roman Catholic Church at 10th and Mechanic streets. Rupnik, who hosts a polka radio show every Saturday on WSNJ out of Bridgeton, said polka is infectious for people of all ethnic backgrounds.
"As soon as you hear the beat and instrumentation, you get excited," said Rupnik, 66, of Cherry Hill."
Polka music, Rupnik said, was a staple at all events in South Camden, from weddings to summer barbecues.
Walt Piatek, another former South Camden resident, said he didn't make it to the Wildwood festival because of a knee replacement but will attend a similar event in Rehoboth Beach, Del., in September.
"The music is always the draw. But there's also the food, the drinks and, naturally, the people. You meet people year to year, from Chicago or Milwaukee and everyone dances with one another," said Piatek, 76, of Berlin Borough.
"It's just a good feeling."
Ready to rock
"We're firing on all burners,' says official
(Originally publisjed in the Courier Post)
The city is officially buzzing.
Hundreds of people gathered Friday on the Benjamin Franklin Parkway as the last-minute details of Live 8 were ironed out on a muggy, overcast day.
Many came to listen to sound checks by artists such as Sarah McLachlan and New Jersey's own Jon Bon Jovi. Meanwhile, workers rushed back and forth in tractor-trailers, forklifts and golf carts, dropping off portable restrooms and barrier fences, and assembling vending booths for the 1 million people expected to descend upon the city this morning.
"We're firing on all burners," said Philadelphia Commerce Department spokesman Tom McNally, as McLachlan boomed in the background.
"We feel extremely comfortable with the planning we've put in place."
On Thursday, three artists were added to the Philadelphia lineup: Grammy-winning hip-hop artist Kanye West and reggae artists Rita and Stephen Marley, Bob Marley's wife and son, according to Elizabeth Freund Public Relations.
Russell Simmons, founder of Def Jam records and one of today's producers, has said in published reports that his dream lineup for the show's finale would include Michael Jackson, Usher and Prince. None had committed as of Friday afternoon, but Wade Smith, of Elizabeth Freund, said the lineup is fluid and new names could be added at any time.
"We don't anticipate any additions. If that happens, we won't know until (this) morning," Smith said Friday.
McNally said the nature of the event makes musicians and other celebrities want to be a part of it, even if it's at the last minute.
"Any surprises will just add an exclamation point to a day that will go down in history," he said.
Lori Lancaster, 42, of Oreland, Pa., said she didn't care if any other artists were added today.
"That would be nice but it's going to be great with who they have," said Lancaster, while singing along to Bon Jovi. "The sound looks good, the stage looks good. I love it."
Many, like Lancaster, went to the parkway on Friday to take pictures and get a layout of the stage and amenities. Most were happy with what they saw and heard.
"It looks great. I'm going to have a good time," said Samson Rotu, 45.
Rotu, who brought his three young sons with him Friday, didn't believe Jon Bon Jovi actually was on stage, going through several renditions of "Livin' on a Prayer."
"They're too young to know who he is anyway," said Rotu, a Philadelphia native.
Dave Carocci and Chad Burkins, both 33, of Philadelphia were sitting in lawn chairs drinking bottled water about 200 yards from the stage. Both said they were concerned with a lack of visibility, noting that two towers and the George Washington monument blocked views of the stage.
"Still, it seems like the city's pretty committed," said Carocci. "There's definitely not enough bathrooms, though."
Deputy Police Commissioner Patricia Giorgio-Fox said security plans are final and she already was thinking about Fourth of July events elsewhere during the rest of the weekend.
"We're done," she said.
Jessica Poole was far from done Friday afternoon as she scrambled to supply a vending trailer.
"It's pretty hectic," said Poole, stacking paper cups.
"We'll be up all night, but I hope we can get this done by late afternoon so I can get some sleep."
A hundred yards away, a worker was busy assembling a tent filled with 100,000 Trojan condoms.
Kate Riccardi held her 1-year-old son, Gabriel, on her shoulders beneath one of the parkway's massive trees. Riccardi, who lives just a few blocks from the parkway, wasn't sure if she would brave the crowds today.
"This is sort of like a miniconcert for us," she said. "It's going to be great publicity for Philadelphia."
(Originally publisjed in the Courier Post)
The city is officially buzzing.
Hundreds of people gathered Friday on the Benjamin Franklin Parkway as the last-minute details of Live 8 were ironed out on a muggy, overcast day.
Many came to listen to sound checks by artists such as Sarah McLachlan and New Jersey's own Jon Bon Jovi. Meanwhile, workers rushed back and forth in tractor-trailers, forklifts and golf carts, dropping off portable restrooms and barrier fences, and assembling vending booths for the 1 million people expected to descend upon the city this morning.
"We're firing on all burners," said Philadelphia Commerce Department spokesman Tom McNally, as McLachlan boomed in the background.
"We feel extremely comfortable with the planning we've put in place."
On Thursday, three artists were added to the Philadelphia lineup: Grammy-winning hip-hop artist Kanye West and reggae artists Rita and Stephen Marley, Bob Marley's wife and son, according to Elizabeth Freund Public Relations.
Russell Simmons, founder of Def Jam records and one of today's producers, has said in published reports that his dream lineup for the show's finale would include Michael Jackson, Usher and Prince. None had committed as of Friday afternoon, but Wade Smith, of Elizabeth Freund, said the lineup is fluid and new names could be added at any time.
"We don't anticipate any additions. If that happens, we won't know until (this) morning," Smith said Friday.
McNally said the nature of the event makes musicians and other celebrities want to be a part of it, even if it's at the last minute.
"Any surprises will just add an exclamation point to a day that will go down in history," he said.
Lori Lancaster, 42, of Oreland, Pa., said she didn't care if any other artists were added today.
"That would be nice but it's going to be great with who they have," said Lancaster, while singing along to Bon Jovi. "The sound looks good, the stage looks good. I love it."
Many, like Lancaster, went to the parkway on Friday to take pictures and get a layout of the stage and amenities. Most were happy with what they saw and heard.
"It looks great. I'm going to have a good time," said Samson Rotu, 45.
Rotu, who brought his three young sons with him Friday, didn't believe Jon Bon Jovi actually was on stage, going through several renditions of "Livin' on a Prayer."
"They're too young to know who he is anyway," said Rotu, a Philadelphia native.
Dave Carocci and Chad Burkins, both 33, of Philadelphia were sitting in lawn chairs drinking bottled water about 200 yards from the stage. Both said they were concerned with a lack of visibility, noting that two towers and the George Washington monument blocked views of the stage.
"Still, it seems like the city's pretty committed," said Carocci. "There's definitely not enough bathrooms, though."
Deputy Police Commissioner Patricia Giorgio-Fox said security plans are final and she already was thinking about Fourth of July events elsewhere during the rest of the weekend.
"We're done," she said.
Jessica Poole was far from done Friday afternoon as she scrambled to supply a vending trailer.
"It's pretty hectic," said Poole, stacking paper cups.
"We'll be up all night, but I hope we can get this done by late afternoon so I can get some sleep."
A hundred yards away, a worker was busy assembling a tent filled with 100,000 Trojan condoms.
Kate Riccardi held her 1-year-old son, Gabriel, on her shoulders beneath one of the parkway's massive trees. Riccardi, who lives just a few blocks from the parkway, wasn't sure if she would brave the crowds today.
"This is sort of like a miniconcert for us," she said. "It's going to be great publicity for Philadelphia."
Civilian-to-soldier transition is difficult on several levels
(Originally published in the Courier Post)
There's a moment, maybe when he puts on his uniform or drives away from his house, when Kyle Rowand transforms from an 18-year-old electrician from Gloucester City to an infantryman in the New Jersey Army National Guard.
"They're two different people because it's two different worlds," said Rowand, who recently returned from two weeks training in Mississippi. "You just change your bearing. You change your frame of mind."
When Rowand is deployed to Iraq this summer with the 50th Infantry Brigade, he will leave the civilian life for a year. Wiring receptacles will take a back seat to a higher cause. His girlfriend Laurel says she will wait for him and by law, so will his employer, Diversified Electric in Washington Township.
Rowand will be one of about 3,000 New Jersey National Guard soldiers (589 in the tri-county area) leaving for Iraq this summer -- the state's largest deployment of National Guardsmen since World War II. While the deployment will put a strain on local employers losing workers, more than 800 companies and organizations in New Jersey have signed statements of support for the Guard and Reserve.
In an effort to better understand what employees in the National Guard experience in the months and weeks before they deploy, dozens of bosses and supervisors attended a unique all-day event at the Lawrenceville National Guard Armory and the Fort Dix Joint Readiness Center hosted by the Employer Support of The Guard and Reserve.
"The day is designed to help employers understand what the soldiers are doing when they're taking off work," said Hank Pierre, executive assistant of New Jersey's ESGR committee.
One thing was immediately clear to all the employers -- soldiers don't just show up on the day of deployment with a duffel bag and hop on a plane. There's myriad tasks and assignments the troops go through, whether it's filling out reams of paperwork or training on an eerie re-creation of an Iraqi street, with burned out cars sitting beneath a blanket of artificial stars.
The soldiers sit for dental exams and have to figure out who is going to shovel snow at their house while they're gone. They get dog tags, medication if needed and pose for front and side digital photographs, a seemingly mundane task that could prove to be profound.
"If they get captured, we need a good picture of them," Pierre said.
Paul Rivell, one of Rowand's bosses at Diversified Electric, rode in a UH-60 Blackhawk helicopter from Lawrenceville to Fort Dix with other employers. Rivell said it's difficult losing any employee for an extended period of time.
Rowand is one of 14 employees at Diversified Electric and it likely won't hire anyone to replace him while he's gone.
"He has to do his duty," Rivell said.
Col. Carmen Venticinque, the state chairman of New Jersey's ESGR committee, said his volunteer agency was created in 1972 as a way to support the employers who lose personnel during deployments. They're also available to help mediate between the two if problems arise when they come home. Those are rare, he said.
"New Jersey's employers have been supportive, overall, of their guardsmen and reservists," he said.
Federal law requires that soldiers on active duty with the National Guard and Reserve units be given their jobs and health benefits back almost immediately upon their return. Their seniority and job status cannot change, and if their peers got promotions or raises while they were gone, they do as well.
If a member of the National Guard is a lawyer or a surgeon in civilian life, they'll be taking a pay cut when they serve unless their employer offers differential pay. Basic military pay is determined by the length of time in the service and rank, but there are nontaxable allowances for food and housing, which fluctuate based on family size.
All state, county and municipal employees in the National Guard get 90 paid military leave days per year, Venticinque said. Members of other reserve branches get 30 days. State employees on active duty get differential pay, but that is optional for county and municipal employees.
Small business owners in the National Guard have more acute problems, Venticinque said. They may not have anyone to run the business while they're gone and if it were a main source of income, financial issues could be significant.
"I've had some good stories and some horror stories. It's a problem and it will likely continue to be one," Venticinque said of small business owners.
Right now, all small business owners can do is apply for assistance through organizations such as the U.S. Small Business Administration or The New Jersey State Family Readiness Council, Venticinque said.
All of the paperwork and financial concerns can weigh on a soldier with a family to support. Rowand may not have those responsibilities, but that doesn't mean he isn't stressed.
"It's hard to be a civilian and work every day and find out you're leaving for a full year to go to a war zone," he said. "It's hard to concentrate on working and having that in the back of your mind."
Throughout the ESGR orientation day at Fort Dix, employers were given ample reminders of how serious life in a war zone could be. Some were subtle, like a wall clock that displayed Iraqi time. Others, like the booming explosions of an improvised explosive device on an interactive computer training program, were jarring.
But one reminder, the last of the day, will likely stay with all of them long after their employees travel to Fort Bliss, Texas, and later Iraq. It consisted of four "battlefield crosses," a symbolic grave marker made up of an M-16, stuck barrel-first into a sandbag, with a helmet perched on the gun's butt and dog tags hanging from its grip. A pair of boots sat in front of each sandbag. These four memorials sat in the Hall of Remembrance in Fort Dix in honor of four New Jersey National Guard members killed in Iraq in 2004.
For Tracy Outlaw, a safety manager at Waste Management in Camden and an Army veteran, the display made it clear -- the soldiers, not employers, are making the sacrifice.
"This is real life. They're putting their lives on the line for us," she said.
ON THE WEB
For more information about employer/employee guidelines, visit www.esgr.org or www.dol.gov/dol/vets.
There's a moment, maybe when he puts on his uniform or drives away from his house, when Kyle Rowand transforms from an 18-year-old electrician from Gloucester City to an infantryman in the New Jersey Army National Guard.
"They're two different people because it's two different worlds," said Rowand, who recently returned from two weeks training in Mississippi. "You just change your bearing. You change your frame of mind."
When Rowand is deployed to Iraq this summer with the 50th Infantry Brigade, he will leave the civilian life for a year. Wiring receptacles will take a back seat to a higher cause. His girlfriend Laurel says she will wait for him and by law, so will his employer, Diversified Electric in Washington Township.
Rowand will be one of about 3,000 New Jersey National Guard soldiers (589 in the tri-county area) leaving for Iraq this summer -- the state's largest deployment of National Guardsmen since World War II. While the deployment will put a strain on local employers losing workers, more than 800 companies and organizations in New Jersey have signed statements of support for the Guard and Reserve.
In an effort to better understand what employees in the National Guard experience in the months and weeks before they deploy, dozens of bosses and supervisors attended a unique all-day event at the Lawrenceville National Guard Armory and the Fort Dix Joint Readiness Center hosted by the Employer Support of The Guard and Reserve.
"The day is designed to help employers understand what the soldiers are doing when they're taking off work," said Hank Pierre, executive assistant of New Jersey's ESGR committee.
One thing was immediately clear to all the employers -- soldiers don't just show up on the day of deployment with a duffel bag and hop on a plane. There's myriad tasks and assignments the troops go through, whether it's filling out reams of paperwork or training on an eerie re-creation of an Iraqi street, with burned out cars sitting beneath a blanket of artificial stars.
The soldiers sit for dental exams and have to figure out who is going to shovel snow at their house while they're gone. They get dog tags, medication if needed and pose for front and side digital photographs, a seemingly mundane task that could prove to be profound.
"If they get captured, we need a good picture of them," Pierre said.
Paul Rivell, one of Rowand's bosses at Diversified Electric, rode in a UH-60 Blackhawk helicopter from Lawrenceville to Fort Dix with other employers. Rivell said it's difficult losing any employee for an extended period of time.
Rowand is one of 14 employees at Diversified Electric and it likely won't hire anyone to replace him while he's gone.
"He has to do his duty," Rivell said.
Col. Carmen Venticinque, the state chairman of New Jersey's ESGR committee, said his volunteer agency was created in 1972 as a way to support the employers who lose personnel during deployments. They're also available to help mediate between the two if problems arise when they come home. Those are rare, he said.
"New Jersey's employers have been supportive, overall, of their guardsmen and reservists," he said.
Federal law requires that soldiers on active duty with the National Guard and Reserve units be given their jobs and health benefits back almost immediately upon their return. Their seniority and job status cannot change, and if their peers got promotions or raises while they were gone, they do as well.
If a member of the National Guard is a lawyer or a surgeon in civilian life, they'll be taking a pay cut when they serve unless their employer offers differential pay. Basic military pay is determined by the length of time in the service and rank, but there are nontaxable allowances for food and housing, which fluctuate based on family size.
All state, county and municipal employees in the National Guard get 90 paid military leave days per year, Venticinque said. Members of other reserve branches get 30 days. State employees on active duty get differential pay, but that is optional for county and municipal employees.
Small business owners in the National Guard have more acute problems, Venticinque said. They may not have anyone to run the business while they're gone and if it were a main source of income, financial issues could be significant.
"I've had some good stories and some horror stories. It's a problem and it will likely continue to be one," Venticinque said of small business owners.
Right now, all small business owners can do is apply for assistance through organizations such as the U.S. Small Business Administration or The New Jersey State Family Readiness Council, Venticinque said.
All of the paperwork and financial concerns can weigh on a soldier with a family to support. Rowand may not have those responsibilities, but that doesn't mean he isn't stressed.
"It's hard to be a civilian and work every day and find out you're leaving for a full year to go to a war zone," he said. "It's hard to concentrate on working and having that in the back of your mind."
Throughout the ESGR orientation day at Fort Dix, employers were given ample reminders of how serious life in a war zone could be. Some were subtle, like a wall clock that displayed Iraqi time. Others, like the booming explosions of an improvised explosive device on an interactive computer training program, were jarring.
But one reminder, the last of the day, will likely stay with all of them long after their employees travel to Fort Bliss, Texas, and later Iraq. It consisted of four "battlefield crosses," a symbolic grave marker made up of an M-16, stuck barrel-first into a sandbag, with a helmet perched on the gun's butt and dog tags hanging from its grip. A pair of boots sat in front of each sandbag. These four memorials sat in the Hall of Remembrance in Fort Dix in honor of four New Jersey National Guard members killed in Iraq in 2004.
For Tracy Outlaw, a safety manager at Waste Management in Camden and an Army veteran, the display made it clear -- the soldiers, not employers, are making the sacrifice.
"This is real life. They're putting their lives on the line for us," she said.
ON THE WEB
For more information about employer/employee guidelines, visit www.esgr.org or www.dol.gov/dol/vets.
Matisyahu tour brings area guitarist home for sold-out show
If Aaron Dugan hasn't had his surreal moment yet, it should hit him Sunday night at the Electric Factory.
Dugan, who grew up in Northeast Philadelphia and later Willow Grove, plays guitar for Matisyahu, the Hasidic reggae singer who has exploded on the scene recently with an album in the Billboard Top 50, and a hit single on the radio and MTV. Matisyahu and the band will headline a sold-out Electric Factory Sunday in support of their third album, Youth, which hit the shelves on March 7.
Dugan, 28, said he had an epiphany of sorts at the famous Northern Liberties concert venue in 1997 when Radiohead played there in support of their highly acclaimed album, OK Computer.
"That was the concert that got me back into rock music," said Dugan, during a recent interview from Los Angeles. "It changed the whole way I approached guitar."
Dugan played at the Theater of the Living Arts with Matisyahu in December, but said the Electric Factory will be a bigger experience.
"I have a lot of Philly pride. I still can't believe we're playing there. I remember when they booked this gig, I was very excited."
Dugan had his first guitar epiphany right before his 14th birthday when his family moved from the Northeast to the suburbs of Willow Grove.
"Ninth grade was probably the most important year for me," he said.
Dugan said he'll have a veritable army of family and friends in attendance at the sold-out show.
Dugan met Matthew Miller, now known as Matisyahu, while he was attending the New School for Jazz in New York City during the late 1990s. The two didn't begin playing together regularly for another couple of years when Miller had fully embraced Lubavitch Hasidic lifestyle.
"He called me one day after we both graduated and asked me if I wanted to play a Hanukkah Menorah lighting in Union Square Park," said Dugan.
According to his biography, Matisyahu was born in West Chester, Pa., and was nearly kicked out of Hebrew School in White Plains, N.Y. He spent his teenage years traveling across the country, following the Grateful Dead, going through a spiritual revelation on a campi
ng trip to Colorado, and re-connecting with his faith after a trip to Israel.
He describes the music as a mix of "Bob Marley and Shlomo Carlebach," and his intelligent, spiritual lyrics often are peppered with a little Yiddish.
Dugan said he doesn't mind it when people ask if the band is a novelty, something akin to Weird Al Yankovic doing reggae. They often change their mind after listening.
"I think it's kind of funny. There's several ways to look at it," said Dugan. "We keep getting calls for gigs and I want to play every day."
That seems feasible too, as Matisyahu has been selling out nearly every venue on this tour.
"We just did K-Rock (92.3 FM, New York City), Conan (O'Brien Show) and the Jimmy Kimmel Show," he said. "And we're still alive."
Dugan, who grew up in Northeast Philadelphia and later Willow Grove, plays guitar for Matisyahu, the Hasidic reggae singer who has exploded on the scene recently with an album in the Billboard Top 50, and a hit single on the radio and MTV. Matisyahu and the band will headline a sold-out Electric Factory Sunday in support of their third album, Youth, which hit the shelves on March 7.
Dugan, 28, said he had an epiphany of sorts at the famous Northern Liberties concert venue in 1997 when Radiohead played there in support of their highly acclaimed album, OK Computer.
"That was the concert that got me back into rock music," said Dugan, during a recent interview from Los Angeles. "It changed the whole way I approached guitar."
Dugan played at the Theater of the Living Arts with Matisyahu in December, but said the Electric Factory will be a bigger experience.
"I have a lot of Philly pride. I still can't believe we're playing there. I remember when they booked this gig, I was very excited."
Dugan had his first guitar epiphany right before his 14th birthday when his family moved from the Northeast to the suburbs of Willow Grove.
"Ninth grade was probably the most important year for me," he said.
Dugan said he'll have a veritable army of family and friends in attendance at the sold-out show.
Dugan met Matthew Miller, now known as Matisyahu, while he was attending the New School for Jazz in New York City during the late 1990s. The two didn't begin playing together regularly for another couple of years when Miller had fully embraced Lubavitch Hasidic lifestyle.
"He called me one day after we both graduated and asked me if I wanted to play a Hanukkah Menorah lighting in Union Square Park," said Dugan.
According to his biography, Matisyahu was born in West Chester, Pa., and was nearly kicked out of Hebrew School in White Plains, N.Y. He spent his teenage years traveling across the country, following the Grateful Dead, going through a spiritual revelation on a campi
ng trip to Colorado, and re-connecting with his faith after a trip to Israel.He describes the music as a mix of "Bob Marley and Shlomo Carlebach," and his intelligent, spiritual lyrics often are peppered with a little Yiddish.
Dugan said he doesn't mind it when people ask if the band is a novelty, something akin to Weird Al Yankovic doing reggae. They often change their mind after listening.
"I think it's kind of funny. There's several ways to look at it," said Dugan. "We keep getting calls for gigs and I want to play every day."
That seems feasible too, as Matisyahu has been selling out nearly every venue on this tour.
"We just did K-Rock (92.3 FM, New York City), Conan (O'Brien Show) and the Jimmy Kimmel Show," he said. "And we're still alive."
Summer concert leaves lasting memories -- or not
I was 16, dumb, and ready to pitch some forks.
It was June 2004. I had kicked off the Summer Concert Tour of '94 a week or so earlier with Pink Floyd at the Vet and now I was fueling up for Metallica, Danzig and Suicidal Tendencies at the Mann Music Center.
Unfortunately, when a middle-aged, undercover cop asked me for one of my Rolling Rock ponies in the parking lot, well, I even opened it for him. Again, I was dumb.
I started mouthing off when the bass from Suicidal Tendencies was rattling the windows of the small Philadelphia Police trailer that had been propped up to bust hardened criminals such as myself. I eventually got out and my skinny ass moshed to Danzig and Metallica for hours with a summons in my back pocket.
Lollapalooza at FDR Park made me wonder why they hold festivals in the summer. I wandered around aimlessly for hours, broiling. I recall hearing the Breeders and L7 and trying on these new-fangled virtual reality glasses in the misting tent, but I didn't see or hear the Beastie Boys or Smashing Pumpkins even though I tell people they were great.
The tour ended with Woodstock, which ranged from a pain in the ass to life-threatening. The crew I went with, all a few years older than myself, adhered to the rules and decided not to bring alcohol or a tent. The other 500,000 people did.
This is what I remember about the show.
-Cypress Hill smoked a lot of weed.
-It started raining when Henry Rollins came on.
-The mud hole that looked like so much fun on TV sucked.
-Someone announced in the middle of the night that the Rolling Stones were coming on -- except -it was the Violent Femmes. Real funny, you dick.
-I heard Aerosmith while I was sleeping under a tarp and wished they would stop.
-Any naked people I saw were hideous and I yelled if they got too close.
-On the last night, I slept in the back of a pick-up truck. The next morning, I sliced my foot open while pushing that truck out of the stupid mud. I returned with a pair of shorts, underwear, and my empty wallet but I have since convinced myself that it was fun.
I've asked a few friends if we saw any other shows that summer -- I have vague memories of the Rollins Band, Helmet and Primus, but frankly no one can remember, so that's it.
It could have been 1995.
It was June 2004. I had kicked off the Summer Concert Tour of '94 a week or so earlier with Pink Floyd at the Vet and now I was fueling up for Metallica, Danzig and Suicidal Tendencies at the Mann Music Center.
Unfortunately, when a middle-aged, undercover cop asked me for one of my Rolling Rock ponies in the parking lot, well, I even opened it for him. Again, I was dumb.
I started mouthing off when the bass from Suicidal Tendencies was rattling the windows of the small Philadelphia Police trailer that had been propped up to bust hardened criminals such as myself. I eventually got out and my skinny ass moshed to Danzig and Metallica for hours with a summons in my back pocket.
Lollapalooza at FDR Park made me wonder why they hold festivals in the summer. I wandered around aimlessly for hours, broiling. I recall hearing the Breeders and L7 and trying on these new-fangled virtual reality glasses in the misting tent, but I didn't see or hear the Beastie Boys or Smashing Pumpkins even though I tell people they were great.
The tour ended with Woodstock, which ranged from a pain in the ass to life-threatening. The crew I went with, all a few years older than myself, adhered to the rules and decided not to bring alcohol or a tent. The other 500,000 people did.
This is what I remember about the show.
-Cypress Hill smoked a lot of weed.
-It started raining when Henry Rollins came on.
-The mud hole that looked like so much fun on TV sucked.
-Someone announced in the middle of the night that the Rolling Stones were coming on -- except -it was the Violent Femmes. Real funny, you dick.
-I heard Aerosmith while I was sleeping under a tarp and wished they would stop.
-Any naked people I saw were hideous and I yelled if they got too close.
-On the last night, I slept in the back of a pick-up truck. The next morning, I sliced my foot open while pushing that truck out of the stupid mud. I returned with a pair of shorts, underwear, and my empty wallet but I have since convinced myself that it was fun.
I've asked a few friends if we saw any other shows that summer -- I have vague memories of the Rollins Band, Helmet and Primus, but frankly no one can remember, so that's it.
It could have been 1995.
Nark Tested: 5 pieces of outdoor gear.
Press-Bot Coffee Press -- I went into this thing with a bad attitude. Since I never camp too far from a store, it's always easier for me to drive for coffee. I suspended reality though, and pictured myself on the Appalachian Trail, perhaps in New Hampshire, fiending for coffee. To use the Press-Bot, you need a Nalgene bottle, coffee grounds, and hot water. Amazingly, I found half and half and sugar packets lodged in a crevice on the trail too. I don't know the difference between table and tea spoons, so I sort of guessed my way through the measuring grounds part. The coffee was weak cause of my lame math and I had grounds floating all over the place-- my cup looked like Cocoa Pebbles. I wouldn't buy this things, but 'll say this-- it's pretty simple to use and technically, it makes coffee. Retails for $20.
Travel Chair portable mesh armchair -- There's really not much to test here--it's a chair. It's got two important features for men-- it's made of mesh and it has a "beverage" holder." Mesh is good if you've had a lot of hot dogs and the "beverage" holder is one less task you have to deal with. I like my camping chairs to have the additional footrest, which I usually hang over the bonfire and light on fire-- the Travel Chair didn't have one. Margarita and Dan both said it needs two drink holders-- perhaps there's an alcohol problem there. "Theres something nice about the seat, it's more comfortable for those of us with larger bottoms," she said. Comfy, but way too much money at $25.
REI Runoff HF Hydration Pack -- Turkey buzzards circled overhead as I wiped sweat from my sunburned brow. The heat was stifling and I was miles from the nearest human. Luckily, I could bite down on the drinking tube of the REI Runoff HF Hydration Pack and gulp down the cool water hanging off my back. I'm just kidding, I was walking my dog behind Camden County College, but the hydration pack, with it's 70-ounce water bladder, is pretty damn cool. It definitely beats carrying a 50-ounce bottle of Poland Spring or having your Nalgene bang against your leg while you hike. The bladder fits inside a simple backpack with plenty of pockets and reflective piping. Retails for $69.
REI Hobitat four-person tent -- When tents say they can fit four people, it usually means you and three pygmies or you and three pictures of adults. REI's Hobitat is not only roomy enough to sleep four, you can also stand up if that's really important to you. It has windows galore for plenty of ventilation and a rain fly. Retails for $259.
Camper's Dream Ice Cream Ball -- Compass -- check. Water bottle -- check. Ice cream maker -- check. If you just hike out into the wilderness without your ice cream maker, you're a damn fool. Load ice, rock salt, and ice-cream ingredients and roll the ball around for 20 minutes and you've got instant survival food. You could also throw it a bear if it comes too close, but it will most likely just anger the beast. Retails for $29.95.
Travel Chair portable mesh armchair -- There's really not much to test here--it's a chair. It's got two important features for men-- it's made of mesh and it has a "beverage" holder." Mesh is good if you've had a lot of hot dogs and the "beverage" holder is one less task you have to deal with. I like my camping chairs to have the additional footrest, which I usually hang over the bonfire and light on fire-- the Travel Chair didn't have one. Margarita and Dan both said it needs two drink holders-- perhaps there's an alcohol problem there. "Theres something nice about the seat, it's more comfortable for those of us with larger bottoms," she said. Comfy, but way too much money at $25.
REI Runoff HF Hydration Pack -- Turkey buzzards circled overhead as I wiped sweat from my sunburned brow. The heat was stifling and I was miles from the nearest human. Luckily, I could bite down on the drinking tube of the REI Runoff HF Hydration Pack and gulp down the cool water hanging off my back. I'm just kidding, I was walking my dog behind Camden County College, but the hydration pack, with it's 70-ounce water bladder, is pretty damn cool. It definitely beats carrying a 50-ounce bottle of Poland Spring or having your Nalgene bang against your leg while you hike. The bladder fits inside a simple backpack with plenty of pockets and reflective piping. Retails for $69.
REI Hobitat four-person tent -- When tents say they can fit four people, it usually means you and three pygmies or you and three pictures of adults. REI's Hobitat is not only roomy enough to sleep four, you can also stand up if that's really important to you. It has windows galore for plenty of ventilation and a rain fly. Retails for $259.
Camper's Dream Ice Cream Ball -- Compass -- check. Water bottle -- check. Ice cream maker -- check. If you just hike out into the wilderness without your ice cream maker, you're a damn fool. Load ice, rock salt, and ice-cream ingredients and roll the ball around for 20 minutes and you've got instant survival food. You could also throw it a bear if it comes too close, but it will most likely just anger the beast. Retails for $29.95.
ROCK CLIMBING: Not for the weak
JASON NARK
(Originally published in Impulse Magazine)
I was about 30 feet above the ground, dangling, with my face pressed against a wall. Sweat was stinging my eyeballs, my forearms were boiling, and every time I tried to swing my right leg higher, my back side would cramp up.
Words of encouragement echoed up to me, but I was lost in painful concentration, trying to talk my body out of bonking and calculating what grips would get me to the top.
I begged my body to fight through the pain. I eventually slapped the top of the wall, and floated down to the floor, collapsing like a bag of hammers on the squishy mat.
Rock climbing is deceiving. When someone experienced climbs, it looks like some magical feat. When you're an amateur, relatively flabby and overconfident, like myself, you learn that it's mostly sweaty grunts and searing muscle spasms.
"It's just as physical as ditch digging," said Kathleen "Caffeine" Walker, school director at Go Vertical, a cavernous rock-wall gym in Philadelphia.
Considering I don't work out per say and had about 12 hours of sleep the whole weekend, I was not "professional grade" when I strolled into the gym on a recent Monday night. I plunked down $65 for a two-hour beginner class with Walker, who's been climbing for 12 years and had the physique and movements of an Olympic gymnast.
After putting on shorts and an incredibly tight pair of ballerina-like climbing shoes, I met Walker on the squishy gym floor and stepped into a harness.
Climbing usually takes two people -- one to climb and the other to "belay" on the ground. Belaying is a fancy word for making sure the climber doesn't fall and crack his or her melon open. Basically, the rope hangs from a pulley on the ceiling -- one end connects to the climber's harness and the other to a braking device on the belayer's harness. My classmate, 22-year-old Nick Pizzo of Willamstown, went first, and quickly scooted up the wall as I struggled to recall Walker's instructions for "belaying." Walker then told Pizzo to jump off the wall. I thought it would send me into the ceiling, but the brake worked and I lowered him down pretty easily.
My forearms swelled immediately after the first wall and it only got worse from there. The second wall called for climbing about 15 feet, then sort of upside down for 5 feet, before reaching up for another 25 feet or so of wall. Pizzo made it, and I made it too, much to my surprise. My heart was booming by now and my shirt was soaked.
For a few feet we "bouldered" -- climbing horizontally just inches off the ground. I almost gave up on the last wall as my forearms started to wave the white flag. The final wall, which called for a lot more legs than my chicken sticks had, is the one that scorched my buns.
Walker said rock climbing trains just about every muscle and she's right. I had a hard time sitting afterward.
It was the meditative aspect of climbing that really surprised me and it's probably what will bring me back. I used to cycle and jog back in the day and think about money, relationships, term papers, or work the whole time.
Your mind doesn't have room for that when you're hanging from three fingers and your foot is next to your ear.
MORE INFORMATION
Go Vertical offers two-hour beginner classes on weeknights and several times on the weekend for $65. It is at 950 N. Penn St., Philadelphia, behind Chrome Beach Club on Delaware Avenue. For more information, call (215) 928-1800 or visit www.govertical.com/philly/ index.html.
You can also climb at Vertical Reality, a smaller rock-wall gym at 67 Old Kings Highway, Maple Shade. Call (856) 273-1370.
CLIMBING TIPS
A few rock climbing tips from Kathleen Walker at Go Vertical in Philadelphia:
Don't use your thumbs when you grab for rocks.
Always look at your route. It's important to plan it out.
Keep your arms straight when you hang or reach.
Shift your weight before you make a move.
(Originally published in Impulse Magazine)
I was about 30 feet above the ground, dangling, with my face pressed against a wall. Sweat was stinging my eyeballs, my forearms were boiling, and every time I tried to swing my right leg higher, my back side would cramp up.
Words of encouragement echoed up to me, but I was lost in painful concentration, trying to talk my body out of bonking and calculating what grips would get me to the top.
I begged my body to fight through the pain. I eventually slapped the top of the wall, and floated down to the floor, collapsing like a bag of hammers on the squishy mat.
Rock climbing is deceiving. When someone experienced climbs, it looks like some magical feat. When you're an amateur, relatively flabby and overconfident, like myself, you learn that it's mostly sweaty grunts and searing muscle spasms.
"It's just as physical as ditch digging," said Kathleen "Caffeine" Walker, school director at Go Vertical, a cavernous rock-wall gym in Philadelphia.
Considering I don't work out per say and had about 12 hours of sleep the whole weekend, I was not "professional grade" when I strolled into the gym on a recent Monday night. I plunked down $65 for a two-hour beginner class with Walker, who's been climbing for 12 years and had the physique and movements of an Olympic gymnast.
After putting on shorts and an incredibly tight pair of ballerina-like climbing shoes, I met Walker on the squishy gym floor and stepped into a harness.
Climbing usually takes two people -- one to climb and the other to "belay" on the ground. Belaying is a fancy word for making sure the climber doesn't fall and crack his or her melon open. Basically, the rope hangs from a pulley on the ceiling -- one end connects to the climber's harness and the other to a braking device on the belayer's harness. My classmate, 22-year-old Nick Pizzo of Willamstown, went first, and quickly scooted up the wall as I struggled to recall Walker's instructions for "belaying." Walker then told Pizzo to jump off the wall. I thought it would send me into the ceiling, but the brake worked and I lowered him down pretty easily.
My forearms swelled immediately after the first wall and it only got worse from there. The second wall called for climbing about 15 feet, then sort of upside down for 5 feet, before reaching up for another 25 feet or so of wall. Pizzo made it, and I made it too, much to my surprise. My heart was booming by now and my shirt was soaked.
For a few feet we "bouldered" -- climbing horizontally just inches off the ground. I almost gave up on the last wall as my forearms started to wave the white flag. The final wall, which called for a lot more legs than my chicken sticks had, is the one that scorched my buns.
Walker said rock climbing trains just about every muscle and she's right. I had a hard time sitting afterward.
It was the meditative aspect of climbing that really surprised me and it's probably what will bring me back. I used to cycle and jog back in the day and think about money, relationships, term papers, or work the whole time.
Your mind doesn't have room for that when you're hanging from three fingers and your foot is next to your ear.
MORE INFORMATION
Go Vertical offers two-hour beginner classes on weeknights and several times on the weekend for $65. It is at 950 N. Penn St., Philadelphia, behind Chrome Beach Club on Delaware Avenue. For more information, call (215) 928-1800 or visit www.govertical.com/philly/ index.html.
You can also climb at Vertical Reality, a smaller rock-wall gym at 67 Old Kings Highway, Maple Shade. Call (856) 273-1370.
CLIMBING TIPS
A few rock climbing tips from Kathleen Walker at Go Vertical in Philadelphia:
Don't use your thumbs when you grab for rocks.
Always look at your route. It's important to plan it out.
Keep your arms straight when you hang or reach.
Shift your weight before you make a move.
Band hopes to shoot to stardom
Bamboo Shoots' Asian-rock sound set them apart
JASON NARK
(Originally published in the Courier Post)
"One good thing about music, when it hits you, you feel no pain." Bob Marley sang those lines once, but he never mentioned anything about going to the doctor.
So with that in mind, the medical field will have to do without 26-year-old Avir Mitra, for a little while at least, so he can keep on making great music.
Mitra, a Voorhees native, and his longtime friend Karl Sukhia, of Cherry Hill, stepped firmly into the limelight Monday when their New York-based band, Bamboo Shoots, played its catchy, synth-driven song "Hey Girl" live on NBC's "Late Night with Conan O'Brien."
"I'm going to think about this week for the rest of my life," Mitra said from his home in Brooklyn Tuesday morning. "Every day has felt like the day before Christmas."
The Conan O'Brien gig was one slice of the grand prize for winning the mtvU and Epic Records "Best Music On Campus Artist of the Year" contest, a competition started in November with approximately 1,300 college-age bands from across the country. Those bands were whittled down to five through listener votes and judging by mtvU and Epic Records employees. In addition to the "Late Night" appearance, the band receives a promotion, video and record deal worth up to $1.5 million. Their experience also will be documented in an original mtvU series premiering in the fall.
Stephen Friedman, general manager of mtvU.com, said Bamboo Shoots' sound immediately set them apart.
"They infuse South Asian music with a very different take on rock and it's not something you hear a million times," he said. "It's something new and credible. They really have their own take on rock."
The win gives both South Jersey natives ample ammo to thwart a 9-to-5 life.
Mitra graduated from Brown University in 2002 with a degree in biology and has been accepted to Temple University's School of Medicine. Sukhia, who was born in England, graduated from the University of Maryland in 2003 with law school on the horizon.
"I can't put two feet into two different careers," Sukhia, 26, said on the prospects of becoming an attorney. "I had to go with music."
All through college the childhood friends met up in South Jersey on weekends to hone their music and play local gigs.
"I think, you know, that Avir and I always really knew what we wanted to do. I mean, I put 70,000 miles on my car the last two or three years at school from driving to South Jersey to work on music with him," Sukhia, a 1998 Cherry Hill East graduate, said.
After college, they embarked on a two-month journey through India, which brought them closer to their heritage and their lifelong dream.
"It was such a significant place for us. It helped us galvanize our wills," Sukhia said.
Formed in 2003, the band consists of Mitra on guitar and vocals, Sukhia on bass, Shiv Puri on drums, Ankur Patel on percussion and Ahmed Mahmoud on guitar. Four of the five band members have Indian heritage, Sukhia said, but they don't tout themselves as an Indian-American rock band.
"We've always just been musicians who write music and we hope people take it as that," he said. "We never tried to shoehorn the Indian part of ourselves in. It's just our culture seeping through."
Sukhia said it would have been "very significant" for him to turn on the television as a teen and see a group comprised of mainly Indian-Americans performing on a national television show.
"It would have been like nothing I had ever seen before," he said.
Alan Dodd, a singer with the South Jersey band Little Light and longtime friend of the group, traveled to New York to watch the taping of the show. He said Bamboo Shoots breaks barriers by its appearance, but it's their music, which Sukhia described as "raw, percussive, dancy, rock sounds," that makes them memorable.
"They're not so far original that they totally separate themselves from the mainstream, but they could play in front of a dance crowd and get people dancing. They cross genres," Dodd, 31, of Williamstown, said.
After finishing up the show at 6:30 p.m. Monday, Mitra and his mother had a brush with stardom on the street.
"We were walking and these girls said, "We just saw you on Conan.' So, my mom said, "Let's take a picture.' My mom was way more into it than they were. She promised to e-mail them the picture," he said.
Mitra and Sukhia say the band is going to "let the dust settle," continue writing and sit down with a lawyer to decipher the fine print in the grand prize's "official rules" section.
"They keep shouting out the words "$1.5 million,' but it's essentially a standard record deal with Epic Records," Mitra said. "It's not a joke deal though. We wouldn't have done it if it were. It's not like we're the Rolling Stones, but it's a huge deal."
The band receives a $50,000 advance, but Mitra said no one's quitting their day jobs yet. For now, those day jobs include interning at a local radio station, tutoring and providing financial assistance at a pension fund.
Conan and the record deal could change all that. But at the very least, there's going to be at least one doctor and one lawyer out there who are really good musicians.
ON THE WEB
To hear the single "Hey Girl,' visit myspace.com/bambooshoots. For more information about the band, visit bambooshoots.com. mtvU is predominantly an online-only channel, but it is available on some college campuses. Visit mtvU.com or bestmusiconcampus.com.
To hear the single "Hey Girl,' visit myspace.com/bambooshoots. For more information about the band, visit bambooshoots.com. mtvU is predominantly an online-only channel, but it is available on some college campuses. Visit mtvU.com or bestmusiconcampus.com.
Iron Smash Dog Head
On Saturday, I drove to my mom's house with two of my kids after spending a few hours along Big Timber Creek in Runnemede.
My dog was in the front seat of the car.
My mom walked out of the door, onto the porch, with my sister's dog Marley following behind her. She's a toy poodle or something small like that.
Bindi, my South African Boerboel, starts freaking out in the car. She puts her paws on the dashboard and starts growling and then lunges at my windshield.
Her head smashed the glass.
Not all the way through, mind you, but there's a large spiderweb across the passenger side of the windshield.
I hate you, Phillips.
My first trip to Wal-Mart on Friday was about 10:45 p.m. The second one was Saturday morning at about 12:45 a.m. You never notice when tonight becomes tomorrow unless you've got a flute of champagne in your hand or a lover out late. I didn't notice it either, but I knew if my eyes saw 3:15 a.m., I would have been officially up for 24 hours -sober.
The problem that led me to Wal Mart began many years ago with an adequate hand-me-down television. It was big (32?) but had no sound. Mr. Electrode managed to wire sound through the cable box into a Technics receiver I've had since 8th grade, with the sound coming out 2 large speakers. It worked. It gave sound to the images we saw on the screen. Eventually, only one speaker worked.
But things went wrong and so did our sounds. If you slapped the top of the receiver hard the sound would come back and you could sit back down on the couch. Ronan, at 2-years-old learned how to do this. It wasn't until Remi learned, in our new house, that my wife began really pushing for me to fix the problem rather than smacking it.
So I got back in there, jiggling and splicing wires and adding new speakers. No sound at least not all the time. And a few weeks ago, my infant, not yet 1, smacked the receiver when I asked someone to fix the tv. That's when I knew it was time. Passing this skill down to my third child was a mirror into my laziness.
So Friday night, I went to Wal-Mart to look for cheap sound late at night. There was cheap with no dvd and little less cheap with one. It was Philips and they deserve the plug because it's hard for one brand to suck so much in such a small amount of time.
Wal Mart was full of people and it was a vibrant, intoxicating way to spend a Friday night in
Back home, I grunted and labored and used all of my muscle mass to move the armoire. I needed enough space to get behind and channel Mr. Electrode and it made me curse quite a bit and say "My arms aren't %&^*ing skinny enough''. The instructions were sweet and after a good 30 minutes, I had everything up. My wife even made me a PBJ because she was proud to see me in action. I opened the DVD player, inserted Blade II, and hit close. It made this grinding noise and smelled like burning plastic.
With Zenon's party the next day, I tightened down my brain and decided there would be ample sound before I went to bed. I called Wal-mart, assured that plain common sense is a language all humans can at least learn. I'll just bring back the receiver/dvd instead of the whole bus so I wouldn't have to disassemble the speakers and what not, I told her. I was not persuasive. My wife saw that I was squirrely and didn't try to talk me out of going back. It would have been futile.
It was as if I never left Wal-Mart-the nod, the pajamas, the babies and their bad parents. This time I upgraded to a more outstanding Phillips dvd/surround sound system that consisted of fewer speakers. It was more but I would be rewarded tenfold back in my living room.
It worked. Blade II played. Sounds boomed from my television like never before. I fell asleep on the couch in my Superman underwear, Penn sweatshirt and Smokey the Bear hat. My legs were cold I remember and I forgot to brush my teeth.
After a refreshing 5 hours sleep, I awoke for Saturday morning duties eager to show off my accomplishment. Like a parent prepping the drum set on Christmas morning, I firedup the dvd to shock my wife with a symphony of gunshots and violence. But as the dvd began to spin, a loud, motoring noise howled out from the unit. Not quite a coffee grinder or paper shredder but the things that make a dvd spin inside a player were now making a noise when before they were silent.
I made the motion of pulling my hair out but I don't have any and that too got me angry. I punched it a few times and looked across the room at my old receiver. It made no sound but laughed like only a vengeful stereo receiver could.
My options are to mail it to
I love movies in the mail.
So I recently signed up for the Blockbuster rent online thing and have been filling my post-work, post-dinner, post-giving kids bath and reading them books time by filling up my queue with horror and sci-fi in English, Japanese, and Spanish. Maybe one or two in Polish. Hopefully there's subtitles.
Shockingly, they have a copy of the The Magus, a 1968 flick based on a novel of the same name by John Fowles. It was my favorite piece of fiction for about a decade but the movie was out of print. According to my calculations, it should be here while I'm in Minnesota at the Eagles game.
I've also picked out quite a few kids flicks and have developed an unhealthy fascination with making sure there's a perfect ratio of kids movies to watch on out Friday movie night vs. Japanese hardcore gore. I wouldn't want Time of the Wolf, Deathproof, and The Eye to arrive all at the same time. The kids would have nightmares and my sleeping needs would likely warrant a full week to get all three in. When the kids are watching Ferngully or Disney Princess Enchanted Christmas I'm there with them but I'm in a waking sleep. Why lie, I'm out after I press play.
I've found some good kids flicks--The Last Unicorn, Dot and the Kangaroo, Bedknobs and Broomsticks. But no luck with The Phantom Tollbooth. Haven't looked for The Wiz yet. They need to know what life was like before Pixar, or animated films. They were cartoons and I must find one to wedge between Deliver us from Evil and Suspiria.
Shockingly, they have a copy of the The Magus, a 1968 flick based on a novel of the same name by John Fowles. It was my favorite piece of fiction for about a decade but the movie was out of print. According to my calculations, it should be here while I'm in Minnesota at the Eagles game.
I've also picked out quite a few kids flicks and have developed an unhealthy fascination with making sure there's a perfect ratio of kids movies to watch on out Friday movie night vs. Japanese hardcore gore. I wouldn't want Time of the Wolf, Deathproof, and The Eye to arrive all at the same time. The kids would have nightmares and my sleeping needs would likely warrant a full week to get all three in. When the kids are watching Ferngully or Disney Princess Enchanted Christmas I'm there with them but I'm in a waking sleep. Why lie, I'm out after I press play.
I've found some good kids flicks--The Last Unicorn, Dot and the Kangaroo, Bedknobs and Broomsticks. But no luck with The Phantom Tollbooth. Haven't looked for The Wiz yet. They need to know what life was like before Pixar, or animated films. They were cartoons and I must find one to wedge between Deliver us from Evil and Suspiria.
Services held for combat engineer
Hundreds mourn JASON NARK
(Originally printed in the Courier Post)
Love, sacrifice, and faith were some of the lessons mentioned Monday as hundreds gathered inside
"He has changed me," said Russell Mahlenbrock. "He is the teacher now and I am the student."
Mahlenbrock's love for his wife, Melissa, and daughter, Kadence, however, was stronger than anything else in his life, said Pastor Carl Joecks.
"His heart was her own," said Joecks of the high-school sweethearts.
Mahlenbrock met his daughter for the first time while home on leave in October. In that short amount of time, he tried to cram in a lifetime's worth of memories and experiences with her, including going to the zoo and making DVDs of himself reading stories, Joecks said.
"It was almost as if he had a sense," said Joecks as many in the church sobbed.
"He couldn't stop holding her."
Just a block from the heart of downtown
"His life speaks more clearly than any sermon," said Joecks.
Senator Jon Corzine, D-New Jersey, was one of many lawmakers at Mahlenbrock's funeral.
"He is a true hero to all of you," Corzine told the mourners. "He is a true American hero."
"I know what could happen. I won't hesitate," said the eldest Mahlenbrock, standing outside the church.
Another brother, Andrew Mahlenbrock, 16, also plans to enlist in the Army.
As a blustery wind carried the sound of bagpipes outside, a single tear dropped down the weathered face of Owen Vandvelt.
Vandvelt, a pallbearer and World War II veteran, was saddened by the loss of such a young life.
"We thought we were fighting then to prevent more wars in the future," said Vandvelt, 80. "It really makes you wonder if anyone really wants peace in this world."
Mahlenbrock will be buried at
Being green's easier than Kermit let on.
Jason Nark
Sometimes things become popular because their alternatives are disgusting or expensive. Think of toothpaste or deodorant, or even condoms.
You could say the same for hybrid cars.
They're not all that much to look at. In fact, some of them are pretty hideous. But if you're honestly contemplating buying a Hummer H2, you might as well run over helpless animals on your way home and throw their bodies in a bonfire built with Styrofoam coolers.
Now that the big car companies are concerned about the environment -- ah man, that was funny -- OK, now that SUV sales are falling, car manufacturers are pumping out more and more hybrids, and some don't look like they fell off Space Mountain.
Blair Campbell, guest relations manager at Toyota of Turnersville, said hybrids are in high demand.
"We can't keep them in," he said.
On a recent trip to the dealership, we tried out a Toyota Highlander hybrid, which has a combined city/highway mileage estimate of 30 miles per gallon. It's not the thriftiest as far as hybrids go, but with room for seven, it's an alternative to bulky SUVs. With four-wheel drive, the Highlander Hybrid retails for about $34,000.
The only noticeable difference that photographer Douglass Bovitt and myself noticed with the Highlander is that it doesn't make a sound when you start it. That's because the car's electric engine is the first to come on, and the gas kicks in at higher speeds. But after that, it was basically just a car. We drove around
The hitch with hybrids is generally a sticker price that's $2,000 to $4,000 more than the same car with a standard gas engine. Recent tax incentives can help you out, though, with rebates ranging from $250 for a GMC Sierra hybrid to a little over $3,000 for a Prius.
So it's a win-win. You'll eventually save a few bucks, and maybe a few baby caribou in
Buy these and you'll help ward off impending doom.
Windstream Power Bike Power Combo: Even though you're not Lance Armstrong, you can still pedal enough juice to store about five hours of battery power in the Windstream's toolbox-looking battery pack. Just pedal and plug in any 120-volt device. Retails for $850. For more information, visit www.windstreampower.com
Solio Solar iPod charger: Your iPod craves power, and here's a mildly green way to satisfy its appetite. You can use the suction cup and plop it on the window of your hybrid car. It charges about as fast as your regular charger. It comes in four different colors and retails for $99.95 on www.solio.com
Water-powered clock: Technically, you'll be using up one of Earth's most important resources by using up some water, but it's better than replacing acid-filled batteries every couple of months. Retails for $12.99 at www.thinkgeek.com
GE Energy Star Light Bulbs: They'll cost you a few bucks more than a standard light bulb on the front end, but they last 16 times longer. You will eventually save a few pennies. Available at most major retailers. For more information visit www.gelighting.com
Best gas mileage
Honda Insight -- city: 61, highway: 68
Honda Civic -- city: 50, highway: 50
Honda Accord -- city: 30, highway: 37
For more information, log on to www.hybridcars.com
IPod not so odd in this classroom
At first glance, there's nothing radical about Jennifer Miller's fourth-grade classroom in the
It's filled with little desks in groups of four, a banner of cursive letters, posters about pronouns and student renderings of glowing lava bursting from volcanoes.
There's a television, which isn't out of the ordinary, but there's also a 30-gigabyte iPod video sitting beneath it. It's not something Miller confiscated from one of her students. A local nonprofit educational organization bought it for her to use in the classroom. And, if that's not radical, it's certainly cutting-edge.
"I'm going to show you a video on the iPod of something we have talked about before — electricity and magnetism," Miller told her class on a recent Friday morning.
Students gathering around a television to watch video podcasts or listen to audio books is becoming a familiar scene in Shamong after a nonprofit spent more than $10,000 to secure 23 iPods for the 85 teachers there. District Superintendent Thomas Christensen first approached the Shamong Foundation for Educational Excellence with the idea last year after watching iPod educational demonstrations at a conference in
"It was really intriguing," said Christensen.
At first, the Shamong Foundation was a little hesitant to drop so much money on what was initially just the world's most popular digital music player.
"I would say I had to convince them of the educational value," said Christensen.
The Moorestown Friends school was a little more radical when it implemented iPods into the classroom in 2005 when music was still the gizmo's preeminent trait. The school currently uses about 45 of them in different subjects, said Julie-Ann Morris, the school's academic technology coordinator.
"Our specialty is iPods in foreign language. We keep a digital portfolio of all the students' work so we can hear the difference in students' language skills," Morris said.
Morris says iPods work easily in the classroom because the students are comfortable with them.
"This has become such a permanent part of people's lives," she said. "They're not afraid to use them."
Moorestown Friends hosted Apple's iPods in Education forum in February 2006.
The devices have also been used in schools in
Blinded by bullet, he thrives
Martial arts shape former S.J. resident's outlook
JASON NARK
(Originally published in the Courier Post)
Robert J. Ott was permanently blinded by a bullet to the head 15 years ago; despite the loss of his vision, his sense of perspective has never been clearer.
On Oct. 6, 1990, Ott stepped in to protect a dancer from an overzealous admirer attending a bachelor party at the Admiral Lounge, a former go-go club on
After the two scuffled, another member of the bachelor party went out to his car, returned with a .38-caliber handgun, and shot Ott in the back of the head. He lost an eye and left
At the sentencing of the shooter May 1, 1992, Ott, a longtime martial artist who owned his own studio in Somerdale, told the court about his plight.
"I can't travel. I can't teach. I don't have the freedom I used to have," Ott said that day.
But these days, Ott, 39, doesn't say the words "can't" or "don't" much.
After enrolling in a business education program with the New Jersey Council of the Blind shortly after the accident, he began to crawl his way out of the darkness.
"I had to take a step back and learn how to be blind and this was an opportunity to get back on my feet," said Ott last week during a visit back to
Moving to
After running the Modern Day Cafe at the NOAA for 10 years, Ott secured a lucrative contract to supply all food services for
Ott also gives motivational talks for foundations for the blind and helps teach occupational training for other blind people.
Married with a daughter, Ott lives in
He said martial arts is a lifestyle that gave him the foundation to overcome his injuries.
"It's enabled me to see things I couldn't see when I could see," he said. "That shot took my eyesight but that was all I was going to let it take."
The shooter, Robert Moore, of
"I turned what he did around and utilized it," Ott said. "I certainly don't thank him for doing it - it's more than that."
Ken MacKenzie, owner of several martial arts studios in
"We both just had the biggest dreams and Bobby just had an unusual passion," said MacKenzie, a ninth-degree black belt. "He had always been a warrior."
Ott's mere presence at a seminar is a powerful experience for MacKenzie's students.
"People can no longer have excuses around Bobby," said Mackenzie, 40. "People are always saying why they can't do something. He came from the bottom up and that's powerful."
Ott, who is writing an autobiography with a ghost writer, said he can still connect his foot with someone's jaw if needed, but agreed that moves and weapons are not the most important aspect of his seminar and his lifestyle.
"I'm a regular guy who went through hell and back and got back on my feet," he said. "I want people to know that they can do it, too."
Contraption found in pants before test
Device with bags of yellow fluid was found on man about to undergo urine test
JASON NARK
(Originally published in the Courier Post)
Authorities here arrested a Voorhees man after discovering an apparatus in his pants before a mandatory drug test.
Adam J. Aronson, 18, of the 3000 block of Avalon Court, was arrested after a probation officer, acting on a tip from the Cherry Hill Police Department, ordered the suspect to remove his pants and discovered the apparatus, a heating unit and bags of yellow fluid, Camden County Sheriff Michael W. McLaughlin said.
"The lengths that some people will go to subvert the long arm of the law never ceases to amaze me even after my 32 years of law enforcement experience," McLaughlin said.
"There's all types of scams out there, but this is the first I've ever heard of this device."
McLaughlin said the apparatus, which is made to look like a penis, is available on the Internet for $200.
Aronson was arrested at the county probation office in the Parkade building, taken to Camden County Jail, and charged with defrauding a drug test and possessing paraphernalia to defraud the drug test.
He was released on his own recognizance, McLaughlin said.
Cherry Hill police alerted the sheriff's department, McLaughlin said, after they discovered the apparatus during a routine traffic stop. At the time, Aronson was on his way to undergo a mandatory drug test.
Tract to be left as is, Moorestown expects
By JASON NARK
(Originally published in the Courier Post)
Township officials say there are no immediate plans for a recently acquired parcel of open space here.
"This purchase meets both of these goals."
The township has also applied for up to 50 percent of the cost from the state Green Acres program.
Statues add spice to local landscape
Originally published in the Courier Post
It makes sense for a statue of a black horse to sit outside Del Buono's Bakery on the Black Horse Pike in
It's the Pinocchio, two giant gorillas and a statue of Woodrow Wilson that seem a little odd.
"There's nothing here that belongs in a bakery," admits owner Nino Del Buono.
Del Buono's dozen or so statues are relics of an era when drive-in movie theaters, miniature golf courses and custard stands ruled the roadside. Many were actually donated by defunct miniature golf courses who wanted their fiberglass molds to live on, he said.
"I've never been able to say "no'," said Del Buono.
Link to the past
Such statues have made a resurgence in the last decade as Americans look to reconnect with their past, according to Doug Kirby, founder of the Web site RoadsideAmerica.com.
"People are looking for something that isn't a cookie-cutter experience," said Kirby, a
That would explain why people pull over to take pictures of Miss Uniroyal at
Modeled after Jacqueline Kennedy, Miss Uniroyal stands 18 feet tall and smiles at customers in her lime-green mini-skirt and teal top.
"It's our landmark," said owner Ed Werbany Jr. "All the kids recognize her."
Werbany said his father purchased the "big lady," a former promotional item for Uniroyal tires, in 1965 for $300. She gets a new paint job about every five years.
Over the past 40 years, including 40 humid
Werbany said it's there beneath her removable clothes but that she won't be getting tan lines anytime soon.
"I wouldn't do that," he said, of the scandalous swimwear.
Muffler Man
A few years ago, Werbany purchased a 20-foot Muffler Man for $10,000 from another tire dealer and had planned to place him with Miss Uniroyal. When that plan fell apart, Werbany installed the square-jawed statue at his other store, on the White Horse Pike in Magnolia.
Werbany said the Muffler Man, based on a Paul Bunyan statue created by a
"If that's true, that makes him kind of rare," said Werbany Jr., 45.
Despite their growing age, muffler men can be found all over the country, said Kirby. Their whereabouts are tracked on his Web site.
"There was an original mold made to hold an ax, golf clubs, tires or even mufflers," said Kirby. "There's a few in
Initial acquisition
Del Buono's first acquisition came after a bout of paranoia in Atco about 20 years ago.
"My car ran out of gas on a back road and I had to walk to the Black Horse Pike," said Del Buono.
"During the walk, I had the feeling someone was looking at me. It kept looking and looking."
That someone was the Woodrow Wilson statue, which was in someone's yard along the road.
Del Buono wound up purchasing him along with a Statue of Liberty and two World War I soldiers, all sculpted by a local resident.
After visiting the Neon Graveyard in
His concrete and fiberglass collection includes lampposts from the
Del Buono said the attractions keep his customers company when lines stretch outdoors on holidays
South Jersey meteorologists know what's up
By JASON NARK
(Originally published in the Courier Post)
People often bring up "the weather" to stuff life's silent spaces with meaningless chatter. It's a subject for waiting rooms, train stations and the seconds that pass before your credit card transaction is approved.
If you offered up a nonchalant "How about this weather?" to a meteorologist, however, you're liable to get a 15-minute answer and a whole new appreciation of the elements.
"It affects every one of us, every day. It's that simple," said Jim Poirier, a meteorologist at the National Weather Service Weather Forecast Office in Westampton.
If meteorologists like Poirier weren't on duty in Westampton -- thinking, breathing and even manipulating the weather 24 hours a day, 365 days a year -- things would get pretty chaotic in the Delaware Valley, real fast.
"Excuse me, were you modifying today's maximum temperatures?" Poirier asked colleague Joe Miketta, just moments after Miketta dropped the temperature in Allentown, Pa., as a demonstration.
"Yes, I was. I'm going to get out of it now," Miketta replied. "You see . . . everything here is interconnected."
"Here" doesn't just mean Westampton and the five meteorologists staring at multicolored blotches expanding and contracting across 29 computer monitors.
Miketta's talking about the entire National Weather Service, all 123 weather forecast offices in the United States.
The Westampton office's Doppler radar system sits atop its metal perch in Brendan Byrne State Forest, like a giant golf ball, scanning the area for clouds, rain or anything else aside from sunny skies. To form a complete picture of what the weather looks like, and more importantly, what it might look like in coming days, the images from Westampton's radar are constantly connecting to images from other radars to form a complete picture.
Large territory
Getting it right in Westampton, Miketta said, is critical given the geography and population of the office's territory -- 34 counties in four states. All in all, there's about 11 million people in Westampton's coverage area. Only the New York station is responsible for more.
"Our forecasters are fully aware of the impact the weather has on this area," Miketta said. "We have a lot of power at our fingertips."
It's not just the roads either. The office's aviation forecasts are developed for eight major airports and their maritime program is responsible for coastal waters from Sandy Hook to Fenwick Island, Delaware, along with the Delaware Bay. At any given time, a boat captain can tune to the office's maritime radio and hear the gentle, computer-generated voice of a woman offering up wave heights and wind direction.
"Studies have shown that people hear the woman's voice the best," Miketta said.
Latest technology
Weather forecasting in 2007 is as good as its latest technology, like the Doppler system, the radio and the National Weather Service's expansive Web site. They use a variety of computer-based programs to come up with a weather model and when those models agree, they're closer to a forecast, Poirier said.
The forecasts get infinitely more difficult once they look past seven days, Poirier added. Sometimes, even the most sure-bet winter storms veer one way or another at the last moment, leaving folks with weeks worth of bread and milk or shiny, new snowblowers.
"The problem is, nothing's perfect. What we see on the screen is always a representation of the weather," Poirier said. "Each storm is an individual. It's remarkable, but people have become accustomed to good forecasts."
Forecasting weather isn't all computer programs and radars. Some of it actually involves going outdoors. The National Weather Service has a surprisingly deep history of volunteerism that started when Thomas Jefferson began calling for weather data for agricultural purposes.
There are many "backyard meteorologists" who observe and collect weather data to report back to their local office.
Miketta said the 13-inch deluge that unleashed devastating flood waters across Burlington County in July 2004 was recorded by a volunteer with a rain gauge. On the radar, the so-called "thousand-year storm" appeared as a small, crimson dot in a patch of lighter rainfall.
References
Away from the collective hum of technology in the forecasting room, you'll find a library with dozens of maps and books, including a few dog-eared and voluminous, leatherbound textbooks. The hallway is adorned with blown-up pictures of spectacular weather events. One black-and-white photo shows an icy pile of power lines and telephone poles. The caption beneath reads: "Frozen power lines in Sussex County from 1951."
Miketta and Poirier once pored over maps and textbooks, tracing trajectories by hand. Thinking back that far takes them both to the time when they first decided they wanted to study weather.
For Miketta, who grew up on a farm in Pennsylvania, the interest sprang from a bad weather forecast and unexpected frost that ruined his father's tomato crop when he was a child.
Poirier said he was sitting on his front porch as a child when a bolt of lightning struck just 50 yards from his home.
"I was scared to death and completely amazed," he said.
Storm watching
On this particular weekday morning, the office was in the clutches of a winter storm that couldn't decide whether it wanted to be snow, rain or the countless forms between them.
Phones were ringing nonstop as reporters and county officials checked in for updates. Voices crackled over intercoms from faraway weather stations and at any moment, if the weather turned dangerous enough, Miketta could grab the "bat phone" near Poirier's desk and have every emergency management official on the line in seconds.
On a day like this, everything is focused on the present weather. The long-term forecast takes a back seat.
"Uh, there's a man in Chester County reporting a quarter-inch of ice on a railing," meteorologist Tony Gigi announced as he gazes at the picture on his computer screen.
Just about everyone's head pops up. A quarter-inch of ice, it turns out, is enough to warrant a winter storm warning.
"Is that a current picture?" Poirier asked. "I think we need a warning."
And so it went, for several hours. No one wore an iPod, browsed celebrity gossip on the Internet, or even mentioned the Philadelphia Eagles. They talked about the weather.
"I'm going to Dunkin Donuts," meteorologist Natasa Skific asked. "Anyone want something?"
"Yeah," Gigi replied, "a sunny day."
Great indoors beckons
Net, video games keep kids inside
JASON NARK
(Originally published in the Courier Post newspaper)
A child's summer once meant pumping air in bicycle tires, grabbing a fishing rod or baseball bat, and cruising the neighborhood until the sky resembled rainbow sherbet.
Nowadays, national studies say kids are spending more time indoors, playing video games, watching television or perusing the Internet. When kids do venture outdoors, it's usually under the watchful eye of adults at structured sporting events.
At Chuck Fasola Park in Deptford, basketball and volleyball courts and soccer and baseball fields sat empty Monday afternoon.
Except for the giggles of 5-year-old Jon DiPippo and his 2-year-old sister, Justina, scrambling up playground equipment, the 50-plus acre park was devoid of the children it was built to attract.
"This is what it's like every day," said their father, Jon DiPippo, 32. "No one's ever here."
DiPippo said he makes it a point to get his children outdoors, but it's not always easy.
"Of course, they like television, but they also like the pool and the park," he said.
In a typical week, 27 percent of children ages 9 to 13 play organized baseball, but only 6 percent play on their own, a survey by the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention found.
In Gloucester City on Monday, recreational areas were empty as well, though the sounds of Wiffle ball could be heard in a field between a Wawa and a pond.
"Not everyone is inside," said Mike Billingham, 16, of Gloucester City. "We play Wiffle ball every day."
Billingham said he goes online at night but doesn't spend hours watching television or playing video games.
John F. Kennedy once said that "nothing compares to the simple pleasure of a bike ride," but according to surveys by the CDC and the Kaiser Family Foundation, a child is six times more likely to play a video game on a typical day than ride a bike.
The sales of children's bikes fell from 12.4 million in 2000 to 9.8 million in 2004, according to Bicycle Industry and Retailer News, an industry magazine.
Chris Hinski, owner of the Erlton Bicycle Shop in Cherry Hill, said she's seen the decline firsthand.
She said kids don't seem to have time to ride bikes.
"They are absolutely scheduled," Hinski said. "They have a week in this camp and then a week in this camp."
While structured activity might cramp a child's free time, physicians say it's better than a sedentary life of watching screens.
"We have seen an epidemic of obesity and adolescents becoming physically deconditioned," said Dr. Lori Feldman-Winter, division head of adolescent medicine at Cooper University Hospital in Camden.
In the 1960s, 4 percent of children were obese. Today, 16 percent are overweight, according to the CDC.
Feldman-Winter said the relationship among television, diet and exercise are all linked to obesity.
LaShawn Davis said her 11-year-old daughter, Elegance, has a computer in her room but no Internet access.
"She has math and reading disks -- it's not all about playing games," said Davis, 28, who was sitting with her two daughters in Camden's Farnham Park.
Davis said it's important for parents to get their kids involved in outdoor activities.
"Just get them out into the neighborhood, take them to a zoo or a park. When I was kid, you went outside and you weren't allowed to come back in until it got dark," said Davis, as she held her 7-month-old daughter in her lap. "I don't know if they're neglecting them or being overprotective, but some parents just let the TV baby-sit."
TIPS FOR PARENTS
Children should be limited to two hours of screen time -- television, computer or video games -- per day.
Do not put televisions or computers in the child's room.
Be a role model. Limit your own time with television and the computer.
Encourage physical activity and outdoor play.
Encourage other types of indoor activities, such as reading, games or hobbies.
TIPS FOR PARENTS
Children should be limited to two hours of screen time -- television, computer or video games -- per day.
Do not put televisions or computers in the child's room.
Be a role model. Limit your own time with television and the computer.
Encourage physical activity and outdoor play.
Encourage other types of indoor activities, such as reading, games or hobbies.
ON THE WEB
American Academy of Pediatrics: www.aap.org
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