All jacked up to meet Jill and David

Every once in a while, I am fortunate enough to get a peek behind the curtain. Such was the case last weekend when I got to meet two of my favorite Hollywood types. Jill Hennessy, star of television hits like “Law & Order” and “Crossing Jordan,” was at World Café Live in Philadelphia to promote her debut CD and David Strathairn, who was nominated for an Academy Award as best actor for his portrayal of Edward R. Murrow in the George Clooney-directed film “Good Night, and Good Luck” in 2005, is currently starring in the lead role of “Nathan The Wise” at People’ Light and Theatre in Malvern through Oct. 11. I had interviewed both for separate preview stories and was fortunate enough to attend both performances and meet the stars on consecutive evenings last weekend. First let me say that both World Café Live and People’s Light are two extraordinary entertainment venues to have in our area and we who live around here should take full advantage of what each has to offer. The Blonde Accountant and I got to spend some time chatting with Ms. Hennessy and her husband Paolo Mastropietro before the show at World Café Live. Ms. Hennessy was pleasant and gracious and was very approachable to her fans. And not many know this, but she started her career as a singer/songwriter before going into television and movies. Her voice is quite pleasing and her songs are thought-provoking. Mr. Strathairn is a serious actor. The play itself was fabulous and the entire cast, led by Mr. Strathairn, was highly skilled and professional. You should get out to see the play at People’s Light before the end of the run. The Blonde Accountant and I got to meet Mr. Strathairn after the show. He lives in New York now, but said he was enjoying his time in the Philadelphia area. He, too, was gracious and accommodating and we appreciated that he took the time to visit with us for a bit. Two nights, two stars, two different experiences. There is a reason these two Hollywood types don’t show up on the pages of the tabloids. They both stuck me as class personified. It was a pleasure to meet them and witness their work up close.

The 'dork-o-meter' works in Ocean City

My daughter thinks I’m a dork. This is not an entirely new concept for fathers of teenagers. In fact, it’s likely a pretty safe bet that most, if not all, teenagers think their parents are dorks.
But it seems like it’s only we dads who get saddled with the moniker. Has anybody, including a teenager, ever called a mom dorky?
I think not. Moms do not do dorky. That character trait appears exclusively reserved for dads. And never was it more on display last weekend during a trip down the shore with Younger Daughter.
Except, I didn’t know it. It appears my definition of what is dorky is different from that of a teenager who shares the same last name.
Walking along the boardwalk in Ocean City on a beautiful cloudless blue-sky day, the last official weekend of summer, the families were out in force. There were lots of dads with lots of potential for dorkiness.
As we walked along, we both spotted the scene of a young boy, maybe three years old, standing on a bench with his back to the ocean. The dad was standing behind the child while the mom was taking a picture of the two.
We hesitated and altered our route as to not walk between the picture taker and her intended target, just long enough to see the dad throw up two fingers behind the youngster’s head, giving him the rabbit ears for the picture.
After all, boys will be boys.
As Younger Daughter and I continued down the boardwalk, my eyes met the eyes of the other dad, and we smiled at each other, him with the satisfying grin of having just pulled one over on his kid without the kid knowing about and me with an approving nod acknowledging that given the same opportunity, I would have done the same thing. Not because it was dorky, but because it was a moment between father and son.
“Well done,” I said to the other dad as we walked by.
“Daaaaaddddd. You’re such a dork,” said Younger Daughter.
“What’s dorky about that?” I asked.
“Talking to people on the boardwalk you don’t know,” she said. “Especially when he was being goofy.”
Goofy I know. I appreciate goofy. What I appreciate more is being a dad.
But if that’s dorky as defined by Younger Daughter, I’m OK with that. I’ll be as big a dork as she thinks I am if it allows me endless opportunities to walk along the boardwalk with her at my side. And for just a moment, not a care in the world, with the ocean in my ear whispering, “Well done.”

The stuff dreamsicles are made of

Mondauk Common in Ambler is a beautiful park. I am a walker, averaging anywhere from 18 to 26 miles per week, weather and schedule permitting, and Mondauk is my park of choice in which to exercise. Plus, it’s only a mile from my office, which makes it quite convenient.
Oftentimes when I walk, I am deep in thought, reflecting on any number of things — the events of the day, the challenges of everyday life, my next column.
And then I hear the “Pop Goes the Weasel” tune. It’s the ice cream man, and that song triggers a Pavlovian response in me that stimulates an incredible urge to have a dreamsicle. (Ice cream inside a Popsicle. You folks out here call them creamsicles, but where I come from they were called dreamsicles.)
Back in the day in my rural Illinois neighborhood, the ice cream man used to ride a bicycle-like contraption with what appeared to be a mini-freezer attached to the front of the bike. We lived a few miles outside of town, and as a kid, I could never figure out if the ice cream man had ridden that freezer bike all the way out to the sticks from town — which would have been quite a bit of exercise — or if he trucked it out in a bigger vehicle, then rolled it out for shorter jaunts around the block.
Nevertheless, the neighborhoods kids would flock around the freezer bike and give up their quarters to the ice cream man in exchange for the tasty treats.
I understand why nowadays the ice creak truck hangs out at places like Mondauk Common. It’s where all the people congregate. And even though it takes more than a quarter these days to get a dreamsicle, today’s ice cream man elicits virtually the same response.
And even when I’m walking, when I hear “Pop Goes the Weasel,” I walk a little faster toward the sound of that song to see if I can catch up with a dreamsicle.

A routine that's Phanatic worthy?

My wife thinks I would make a good Phillie Phanatic.
Personally, I’d like more of a corporate job: Vice President in Charge of Napping, Chief Tomfoolery Officer, Director of Nincompoopery. Something along those lines.
“Hey, you could do that,” said The Blonde Accountant at a recent Phillies game as the Phanatic shot out of the right field corner on his four-wheeler.
He stopped and faced those of us in the right field bleachers, stood on the seat of his four-wheeler, gyrated and danced, shook his behind, lifted up his shirt like it was Mardi Gras, stuck out his tongue (such as it is for the Phanatic) gave us the “ta-da!” sign with both hands and then sat back down and sped off toward the left field corner.
“Whaddaya mean, I could that?” I said.
“That’s your routine. You can shake your booty, lift up your shirt and act like a big goof,” said The Blonde Accountant.
For the record, I do not shake my booty, lift up my shirt and act like a big goof. Well, not all at the same time. If I could, I’d surely put that on my resume.
When I posted my wife’ suggestion on my Facebook page, one of my wiseguy pals wrote back, “Can you fit into the suit?”
Can I fit into the suit? Two people can fit into the Phanatic’s suit. I’m not that big anymore.
Then again, I apparently have a similar routine. I wonder how one goes about applying for a job as the Phanatic?