Back to work

Life is getting back to normal. The problem is getting things back to normal. In my absence things at work managed to implode, and I am trying to deal with unforeseen problems. I have spent the past couple of days setting up meetings with a rather diverse group of people in order to deal with this mess, and running a diplomatic mission getting everyone calmed down. One of the lessons I learned in retail is that dealing with people who are upset involves mostly letting them explain why they are so upset. As long a people feel they have been listened to, then when you explain to them why you can not immediately address their problems, and give them some assurance that you are doing everything you can to try and make things better for them, they tend to calm down. It helps if you can inject a little humor into the situation.

One of the crisis that I am trying to deal with is that one of our offices was flooded when a pipe in the HVAC system burst a pipe. We are now going to have to have the room recarpeted, repainted and refurnished. I called in the house designer and we met with the affected co-workers. In a side conversation, one of the inhabitants of the affected office mentioned that 2 of our higher ups who have a "VERY IMPORTANT VISITOR" were in a tizzy because, due to a certain lack of planning on their part, things were not in place for this visit. Consequently, they were running around like a couple of teenage girls on prom night who couldn't find their shoes in what my grandmother would have referred to as, a state. Because the computer system was down, the job took a little longer and was further impaired by the presence of the hand wringers. One co-worker mentioned this to me, and was speculating about their uncharacteristic need to please.

I looked at her and just said, "Oh girlfriend, they were in my office earlier. They were spreading like a couple of 2 dollar whores for this guy."

She gave me a slightly critical look and said, "I knew there was a reason I like you."

So it goes. Currently, we are in crisis mode. In the way of all things, the state of affairs we are experiencing will become the norm and people will get on with business, with the occasional hump in the road that will be bitched about and overcome.

In my personal life, I am working at getting that back on track as well. Monday and Tuesday I was back in the gym, getting back into my routine. I was doing back, shoulders and triceps, all of which are now sore. Thursday and Friday will involve chest, biceps and legs, so by Saturday I should have the full matching set. I am hoping that I will be able to do something about the 3 pounds that I put on sitting around the house stuffing my face and feeling sorry for myself. While I feel like I am on the high road to turning back into an ambulatory pear, I ran into the trainer, who asked me if I had lost weight. So I guess it's not that bad.

I also got an email from FB who has been missing in action for a few weeks. It would seem that he has also been having health and personal problems, but is now ready to catch up on things with me. I am unreasonably happy about hearing from FB. I have made a concerted effort over the past 17 years to keep any type of romantic involvements as non-committal as possible. I have no one to blame but myself, this is what I get for keeping company with someone who is actually a nice guy. Whatever. We are suppose to get together next week, when hopefully the gross patch of scabby ugliness I am currently sporting on my mid section will have cleared up. I hope FB is ready. This is gonna take at least a couple of hours, and we may have to rinse and repeat. It's been a while.

Back in the saddle

I must have had a good workout this morning. I feel like my arms are going to fall off. That's all.

Stardust

Sometimes I wonder why I spend
The lonely night dreaming of a song
The melody haunts my reverie
And I am once again with you
When our love was new
And each kiss an inspiration
But that was long ago
Now my consolation
Is in the stardust of a song

Stardust

Hoagy Carmichael: music

Mitchell Parish: lyrics

This morning I was awakened by the clock radio to the sounds of Nat King Cole singing "This Must Be Love". It was a Cole orgy going on, and as I worked my way through coffee, feeding the cat and getting ready to head out the door I was serenaded by the soundtrack of my childhood. In the 45 minutes I had before I left for the gym and work I heard a lot of songs than harkened back to the early 60's when I was a small child. Among the selections was Stardust which is for me even more of a signature song for Cole than even Mona Lisa or My Sweet Lorraine. Since I am dragging you down Memory Lane with me, I figure I might as well give you an idea of what I looked like at any earlier time in my life. This is me when I was about 35, still had hair, and wasn't grey. Not the prettiest girl in the class, but not that bad.

Happy Feet

I met Wahz this morning on one of my first real forays out into the world after about a week of sitting home, nursing my rather sore person. The fact that we met up at the much detested Starbuck's was of no importance to me, the fact that it was not my apartment was more than compensation. The music being piped in was swing era music. At one point a song came on and I asked W. "Is this a very young Ella Fitzgerald singing?" W. didn't know and I by that point had become distracted anyway. Over near the creamer station was a middle aged couple. The man was getting his groove down. Brown tweed sports jacket, chinos and those half shoe, half boots that used to be called Wallabee's when I was a youngster.

His wife was ignoring him as he danced. Yes danced, grinning moving back and forth, then around his wife. She continued to address the deficiencies of the coffees with cream and sugar, not even glancing around. He, for his part, seemed equally unmoved by his wife's indifference as his feet shuffled around in precise steps. Really, he was pretty good. Then, his wife finished her ministrations to her morning brew and turned to go. Just as abruptly, he stopped and still grinning opened the door and they headed out without a word.

It's moments like these that make living in the city worthwhile. Some Waspy looking businessman, dressed in a way that couldn't be more dowdy, breaking out as Fred Astaire on a Saturday morning, in a place that couldn't be more dully uniform than Starbuck's. It's times like this that make me happy I'm alive, and as though I really did fall down the rabbit hole when I moved to the city.

the missing meme

I was on my daily blog crawl yesterday when I pulled up Alexander Chee's page. He posted about participating in a meme. It is a list of scene's for a movie about your life, you create the soundtrack by pulling up iTunes and setting it on random play to create the soundtrack for the movie. For the hell of it, I tried it out, writing my songs down on the back of a grocery receipt. (I stop myself from ranting about the cost of living) and included a few of the more amusing or strange ones in my comments.

Unfortunately, Alexander has created a link so that people could see this list on my blog. The list is currently in the trash somewhere. I would have tried to retrieve it but I cleaned the cat box. 'Nuff said. Therefore in the interest of promoting silliness, I have decided to recreate this experiment, though I have to say I am really hoping I will get "It Should Have Been Me" again for Wedding. Okay folks, here goes nuthin'.

Opening credits: Country Down to My Soul, Lee Roy Parnell

Waking up: The Tiki Bar Is Open, John Hiatt

First day at school: Laudate Dominum, Rachmaninov, Vespers, Op. 37

First Love: Noche De Farra, Celia Cruz Y La Sonora,

First Couple Song: Fallin’ Apart, The Tractors

Breakup: Ferma briccone, dove ten vai! Don Giovanni

Prom: Overture, Don Giovanni

Driving: Goodbye, Emmy Lou Harris

Flashback: You Are Everything, Patty Loveless

Coming out: If Teardrops Were Diamonds, Dwight Yoakam, Willie Nelson

Leaving Home: Walkin’ After Midnight, Patsy Cline

New Love: Hope You Like The New Me, Richard Thompson

Wedding: We’ll Get Over, The Staple Singers

Birth Scene: Op. 102 No. 5 (The Joyous Peasant) Mendelssohn

Final Battle: I Got to Let You Know, Los Lobos

Death Scene: Rose Marie, Don Walser

Funeral Song: Do’ve Lucia, Lucia di Lammermoor

Final Credits: Wicked Rain, Los Lobos

I am still trying to tease out what the plot would be on this one. Though I love the idea of showing up at the prom and having something as threatening as the Overture for Don Giovanni going through my head, considering what all high school social occasions were like. Hope You Like The New Me, for new love? What does that conjure? Frankly, anything from Lucia di Lammermoor for funeral music suggests I probably will come to a bad end at my own hand, driven mad by lost love. What I am getting largely is that my musical taste is all over the map, and quite possibly that I need professional help.

I will accept any and all plot lines for this one, for my part all I can say is that this is what comes of having 9.4 days worth of music in your iTunes files.

Mommy, I'm booorrrredddd

I have about exhausted the possibilities of sitting around the house. I have been reading, writing, web surfing and watching movies. I have also been bitching to myself and fending off Alice, who is delighted that she has me all to herself, and pissed off because she keeps getting shooed off my lap. 14 pounds of moggie jumping into your lap when you have active shingles is not something to look forward to, though it has led to a certain amount of excitement for all. Happily for Alice I still can't move too fast, so she has escaped death, and can give me reproachful looks from a safe distance.

I know you are all just dying for me to give a detailed description of the afflicted area. Too bad. I don't even like to look at it. The good news is that the inflammation is going down and I am hoping that I'll be able to button up my pants before the weekend is over. Ordinarily, the Ganome is looking for an excuse to unbutton his pants, but this is just not as much fun. Until this nastiness clears up, the Ganome intends to keep his pants up, at least in public. Umm. I mean in company. While I am sure there are a lot of people we'd like to see in a state of undress regardless of the location, the Ganome is not one of them.

Anyway, thanks everybody for your concern. I also want to say thanks to C., Wahz, Buttermonkey and Fuzzbelly for keeping tabs on me, keeping me company and making sure I am not going to starve or die of boredom.

Shingles

I have refrained from posting about my current state of well-being, or rather the lack thereof. I am currently suffering with a case of shingles. Initially, this was a distressing state of affairs, but after a consult with the doctor, his best guess is that it has been brought on by a combination of a lingering cold, and work related stress. This did not stop him from ordering labs and taking about a gallon of blood, but while the jury is still out, the early judgment is that there is nothing to worry about. Simply a rather unpleasant condition to be sat through until it goes away.

The upshot of this situation is that I can't button my pants without sounding like I am suffering from Tourette's syndrome, and as a consequence I have missed a lot of work, which at this point is much more worrying.

My friends have been checking in and making sure things are okay with me, which led to this conversation with C. last night.

"Just don't put any alcohol on it."

me: Gaaaaagh! It hurts just to think about that! Ow!


C. proceeded to tell me that he had been told a story by a mutual friend about someone who thought that an alcohol bath on the afflicted area would be soothing! She wound up in the emergency room. I can not even begin to imagine.... okay, so I can, but.... Gaaaaagh!!!

While I am not the sharpest knife in the drawer, even I wouldn't do that.

I repeat, Gaaaaaaghhhhhh!!!!!!!

mini critique

Fellow blogger Square Jawed Action Hero got what my pal Buttermonkey and I have taken to referring to as the JoeMyNod today, when one of his sketches got posted on Joe My God. I was chatting with Monkey online tonight and this is my 3 line review.

Monkey: he does some really nice stuff.

me: yeah he really does, and this is Mr. Former Professional Art Fag talking. He really does have a lot of talent and I like the playful nature of his stuff. Sort of a bear loving Schiaparelli.

Monkey: grin!

I can't think of any part of that statement I don't love.

If you haven't checked out the artwork, then you oughta', it really is pretty great.

I cried

I was checking out my usual round of blogs this morning. I am not ashamed to say that this made me cry.

Planning Ahead

I mentioned my happy purchases at Ocean State Job Lot. Here's what I picked up for annuals. Plus, the Niece sent me this lovely gift certificate for one of my favorite high end nurseries. (Thanks again, sweetie!) I know I've got a month and half before I can even think of starting to work in the garden again, but it keeps me going. Just think, I'll be boring you all to tears in no time with pictures of my garden! Won't that be exciting? Too bad, you have to see them. I'm just hoping that the squirrels haven't eaten all of my tulips. I need more hawks, since they won't let me discharge a shotgun in city limits. I mean, what's the big deal?

Now if you'll excuse me, I have to agonize over the White Flower Farm catalog.

Hot soup

I think I may have a new favorite soup. (Thanks for the photo B.)

Good Will Shopping

Sunday morning Mike called up to verify that we were indeed getting together to catch up on events and stuff our faces, so after a certain amount of figuring out logistics, I trotted on my merry way to the gym. I virtuously spent my proscribed 45 minutes on the aerobic machines, took a shower and headed out the door to meet up with Mike.

I called Mike and after agreeing on a meeting place, I sallied off to Davis Square in search of brunch. Mike had suggested a place, Mr. Crepe. The idea of crepes quickly supplanted Eggs Benedict, since I honestly cannot remember the last time I had crepes. Mike went for the sundried tomato and pesto number and I had one that featured goat cheese, mango chutney and chicken. We were both equally pleased and the coffee was quite good. (Not to mention the busboy, who looked like he'd be pretty tasty too) We managed to get a fair amount of catching up and gossiping in over lunch. Mike caught me up on his new life in Somerville after living for a year in Dorchester in a not particularly nice neighborhood. The change seems to have been really good for him and he seems happier and more focused than he has ever since to move out of JP and into Dot.

Good as the food was, Mr. Crepe was not really conducive to lingering and Sunday brunch time anywhere isn't really the best time to have a leisurely meal anyway. However we haven't seen each other for a while, so more visiting seemed in order. Mike suggested heading off to Goodwill. Once again, an experience I have not indulged in, in quite some time. So off we trotted down the street to Goodwill. I really have to hit thrift stores more often. I had pretty much forgotten that you really can come upon just about anything in second hand stores. Even if you don't buy anything it is just a visual feast. Strange things from your past will peek out at you, books that you have never heard of and probably wouldn't even glance at ordinarily while perusing the shelves in a bookstore, clothes you wouldn't be caught dead in and yet are so much fun to look at. Second hand stores have a narrative effect that you don't get in regular retail stores. These things were once part of someone else's life and can convey stories. Bad gifts? Beloved treasures? How and why did these objects land in Goodwill finally, where they would begin a whole new life and perhaps wind up back in Goodwill someday. It reminds me of a Neil Gaiman short story, where an elderly lady buys a bowl at an Oxfam shop, that turns out to be the Holy Grail. Mike wound up with a snazzy new/old blue plaid wool jacket and I walked out with a long sleeve t-shirt and a new aloha shirt. (The Ganome has an extensive collection and is weak in the presence of cut rate loud shirts, though this one was rather staid, it was none the less irresistable)

Then it was off to see Mike's new digs. The place is a cooperative living arrangement and reminded me of my own funky Cambridge days. If it is shabby and falling apart it is in a way that I found sort of comforting in that it brought back a lot of fun memories for me. It seems to suit Mike fine, and we had a very comfortable time sitting in the kitchen, comparing notes on life, weighing in with our opinions of men in general as well as a couple of particulars, murmuring vaguely about our plans for our neighboring gardens this summer and just chatting about nothing in particular. I had a great time and I hope Mike did as well. It reminded me of some of the many reasons why I enjoy his friendship and makes me look forward to the summer all the more, since it means we will probably see more of each other, just by virtue of spending time in the garden. Finally, it was time for me to move along home and Mike to meet up with one of his lucky dating contestants. He walked me to Davis Square station, and we said our good byes with the rather optimistic hope that we would see each other before the gardening season really began. All in all a nice way to while away a lazy Sunday. What more could you ask for?

Off the wagon

I am suppose to be on this diet.

weight training days 165 grams of carbs daily no more than 35 per meal,,,,,, x4 = 140 calories every three hours

non weight training days / or cardio only 125 grams daily same principle

protein sources at this point,,,, meat, egg whites or whey, fish only / no yogurt! too high in carbs and too low in protein

protein 165-200 grams daily no more than 45 per meal every 3 hours

FAT PEANUT BUTTER MINIMALLY AS NEEDED FOR SOME ENERGY AND TO KILL HUNGER!

eat as many green veggies, no oil! as you want plain

water 1 gallon daily!!!!!!!!!!!!

Mulit 2x daily

b complex 1-2 daily

1000 mgs c daily

This is the diet I got in my email from Le Soigneur.

However, I went out for some low rent retail with C yesterday. We went to Ocean State Job Lot, an outlet store which, in the words of C, carries everything from the ridiculous to the sublime. Yesterday alone I saw some very slick stainless steel German bathroom scales and some fake silk artificial flowers. I am still wondering at the strangeness of something that is artificially artificial. Sort of the decorative equivalent of a knock off of a Hostess Twinkie. There is something wonderfully cheesy about the place and there is a smoke damaged odor to it that brings up memories of the Army Navy stores I haunted when I was a teenager. After buying seeds for the garden, zinnias for some reason are going to feature large in this years annual beds, and some extremely cheap sweatshirts, once again for gardening purposes we headed back to town. C suggested picking up lunch from Canto 6, a great little bakery/sandwich shop in JP. So, rather than having skinless chicken breast and brown rice, I had roast beef on ciabatta, with blue cheese, mayo and arugula, and pistachio shortbread for dessert. To further complicate, I am meeting Mike for brunch, (provided he remembers) and I seriously doubt I am going to be seeking out the lo-cal option. I seem to have had a delayed reaction to being allowed to eat anything I wanted earlier in the week and not really wanting to, and now living the high life this weekend. Maybe it is delayed reaction to a tough work week. I don't feel particularly rebellious, or discouraged about the way things are going in my workout/diet life. Maybe it was just timing. My schedule for a needed R&R and my life's schedule not coinciding. At any rate, I doubt I will do all that much damage, and come tomorrow I will be ready to face some rather dull fare for the next few weeks.

I deserve a break. I have been putting up with a fair amount of crazy at work, and last night had to put up with a certain amount of crazy from the maternal unit over the phone. It is Sunday morning the sun is shining, the birds are singing and there is hope that things will turn another corner and life will start marching down a quieter street. In the meantime, I'm thinking Eggs Benedict.

Last gasp

This is what it looked like as I was on my way into work yesterday. Winter is mounting one last, half hearted attack. But it can't last. As I was crossing the Charles I saw, 2 Pairs of Common Mergansers, a small flock of Hooded Mergansers and a small flock of Ruddy Ducks swimming around in one of the melt pools. These guys are just stopping on their way north, so good-bye winter. Besides Puxatony Phil said we're getting an early spring and if you can't trust some giant rodent, who can you trust? I have to get some binoculars and a camera with a good zoom.

I learned a new expression

I wound up dealing with one of the faculty members this morning, who was having a crisis. What constitutes a crisis we won't even talk about. Finally, his assistant came in and I gave him the low down so he could deal with the situation.

Assistant: Man, I totally owe you an ice cream!

Me: Don't even mention ice cream I'm on a diet.

Assis: No dude, Ben & Jerry's

Me: I can't eat.. Huh?

Assistant now looking at me, with an SEG that conveys my density. "Think about the initials."

Me: Oh. Oooooh!

I think I'm going to go out later and see if I can get some ice cream.

Train Wreck

I got home from work last night with all of the best of intentions as far as writing an entry. However, once I got home, it was night of the living dead all over. My brain had left work for the day and by 8:30 it was bed time. My head hit the pillow and I was out like a light.

Good huh? Not quite. While I can no longer recall the content I was woken up at 1:00 by weird dreams and I mean awake. It was one of those rare instances for me of going from dead sleep to wide awake. Ordinarily, first thing in the morning I am a danger to myself and others until I've poured a couple of cups of coffee down my throat. So I just rolled over and started to weigh the choices of trying to go back to sleep or just getting up. Since I was suppose to go in and do a leg workout this morning, I decided to opt for at least trying to sleep some more. I rolled over and started to go through the late night/early morning involuntary inventory of every problem that I am currently trying to get myself out of. Finally I rolled over and looked at the clock and it was 2:30. Shit! I decided, fuck it, I'd just get up, leaned back and closed my eyes. When I opened them again, it was 5:30. Great. Just the time I am usually heading out the door. I ran around the house, trying to put up lunch, brush teeth, remember pants go over underwear, ON YOUR LEGS STUPID, NOT YOUR ARMS, YOUR LEGS! At some point I just said to hell with it. I will do one of my least favorite things, go to the gym after work.

This morning I guess it was brought to home to me that I am taking everything all too seriously. Not in a good way. Sure, I need to take work and my work out seriously, or I will set myself up for failure, but if you don't have some fun, you're doing it wrong. So it seems like my workout is a good place to start, since, let's face it good pecs are lots of fun, though for me usually, someone elses are more fun. So, first step, remind myself that my workout is actually fun.

Step 2: Try and make work fun again. This may require tranquilizers, some duct tape and a cattle prod. I said fun, I didn't say nice.

Real Girl Scouts?

I was on a work related errand when I was mugged by Girl Scouts selling their hellish cookies in the lobby of one of our buildings. I know they are crappy box cookies that are made entirely out of artificial ingredients but for some reason I can't help myself. Ordinarily I am immune to the begging of various do-gooding groups that are hawking their wares in the common areas, but there is something about the siren call of girl scout cookies, they managed to short circuit my blinders and the next thing I knew I was having my pocket picked by these female con artists who are even shorter than I am.

As I walked away, in a haze of anticipated sugar and hydrogenated fats, I realized I could have saved myself if only I had remembered the line from "The Addams Family".

"Is your lemonade made with real lemons?"

"Yes. Are your cookies made with real Girl Scouts?"

I am desperately trying to foist these off on anyone foolish enough to walk into my office. These so can not come home with me.

The answer to my dilemma was ease itself, foist as many as possible onto grad students and give the rest to Monkey who is a push over for sugar. In all I only ate about 5 cookies. Hey it's my waistline or theirs and in the battle of the bulge, there are gonna be casualties. I don't plan on being one.

Liberty Station Day 2

I am sitting in Peet's. Ordinarily by now, I would be finishing up my shower and getting ready to head off to work. I am on my way to work but without seeing the inside of my gym for the first time in weeks. It is a strange feeling and I have to wonder how it will affect the rhythm of my day. I am if nothing else a creature of habit. Wake up, start the coffee, feed the cat, off to the gym, off to work. It has up until recently given my day a fairly satisfying shape.

I go back tomorrow and work some more with the trainer, Friday I work on my legs and then I have the entire weekend of completely resting. After that I am not sure what my workout schedule will look like, though it has been hinted that more cardio is in my future.

All in all, a change will be good. Work is making me cranky , and I am not sure whether it is actually the job or if it is just the time of the year. Neither fish nor fowl. It doesn't feel like it is still really winter, but it isn't spring either. I am dull and want something indefinable. A new apartment, a new job, a reliable boyfriend? Has spring fever struck early? I still have all of March and at least half of April to go before I can get out in my garden, an always therapeutic activity. I have all weekend to do pretty much as I please with. I should spend some time with C. who I have seen far too little of recently, and I could get on my buddy Mike's ass for some quality time, since I have seen him not at all in months.

Crab, crab, crab! Here it is a warm day for February and all I can do is gripe. I think I just need to kick myself in the ass. I have to think of something to do to cheer myself up. What can I do to aggravate my ex? I haven't done that in years! Nah! Too much work. I'll think of something.

Liberty Station

The diet is dead. Long live the diet. But not for 3 days. I had a session with the trainer today. I am going to be switching over to a low carb diet to loose some of the fat I put on during this bulk phase of my workout. But not until Friday. For the next 3 days I get to eat anything I want, and only in human quantities if I so choose.

I have to admit I am a little freaked out. I now weigh 160, which for a man the same height as Mickey Rooney is some serious tonnage. The thing is my pants still fit. I am having one of my unreasonable panics where I am convinced that I am too fat, and yet too skinny. I know. I never said my self image made any sense.

Regardless of where I am with things, it is a relief to not have to think about eating every waking moment. I had a cherry danish after the gym. It was good, but honestly it has been so long since I have indulged in crap in any meaningful way, it wasn't as big of a thrill as I would have hoped. I will have to see if I can cram some chocolate in there before the new diet starts.

I'm not sure exactly what I will and won't be able to eat, but I know I will be seriously cutting back on carbs so I better get as much bread in as I can over the next couple of days. Any and all food sin suggestions will be taken under consideration. I've only got a couple of days so you'd better hurry. 'Cause after that it will be back to the grind.

I'd better look human this year in a bathing suit or there's gonna be trouble.

In a Stew

It has been a somewhat productive weekend. I did the gym and laundry and grocery shopping (Trader Joe's and the hated Shaw's) and caught up on some email Saturday. Sunday more laundry, coffee with Wahz, gym, picked up a couple of things I forgot at Trader Joe's then home and much cooking. I made beef stew.

I pretty much gave up eating meat, not out of moral convictions or health concerns but it seemed like one of the foods that was not letting the pounds drop off. Now that I am in the bulk training phase of things my trainer has me eating beef at least once a week. I went over the list of foods that I should avoid and foods I should eat and came up with beef stew. This is fine with me. I might have a number of gripes with my mother, but one thing I will say for her is that she was a really good cook. Food was a very important factor in our lives as a kid. As a first generation American I have not been able to help but notice that the average American's definition of good food is lots. And bland. It wasn't until I was an adult that I found out that onions and garlic figured in my life a lot more than it did in the life of the rest of the country. (I never had a homemade cheese burger that didn't have garlic worked into the meat until I moved out of the house) Beef stew was always one of those special meals. Each one was a challenge. While the basic ingredients were always about the same it always was an adventure in subtleties. What was the difference in the balance of the herbs? Red wine or beer to give it a little body? Tomato paste or roux for a thickening agent? It is like making soup from scratch or any other peasant meal. Using whatever is at hand and making the most of simple ingredients.

Today is the perfect day for this type of meal. It is 19 degrees and with the wind chill it is in the minuses. I wish I had had the forsight to get some yeast and make bread, though the whole grain bread from TJ's is very good. I have to admit I will miss having the bread slathered with artery clogging amounts of butter, but it's a small sacrifice. The other small sacrifice was to let the pot sit overnight. Like certain other dishes, stew is better after it has rested overnight giving all the flavors that chance to meld.

Today was yet more gym time. Serious shoulder workout and triceps. More laundry (okay I admit it I'd let Mt Laundry get way out of control) the rest of the day I am trying to dedicate as much as possible to sloth. It is a holiday weekend, this is a get out jail free card, and I am hoping that I will be able to get myself into a properly lazy state of mind to enjoy the rest of my day. I plan on capping it off with a big bowl of stew. I will eat with my elbows on the table and a book propped up in front of me. I will listen to some music, Hank Williams (Sr. not that fat right wing asshole Jr.) or Le Nozze di Figaro or Dire Straits or whatever takes my fancy. Tomorrow it will be back to the grind. I will be starting off with the trainer and then dragging off to my job, so I can spend the day taking care of people and listening to what they want. But today, I have one extra day that if I listen I can hear what I want and in some small way take care of myself. Comfort in a bowl.

Quick nothing

I heard Brittany Spears shaved her head. If we are to trust the internet the carpet and drapes now match.

Paris Hilton pelted with garbage? Bringing coals to Newcastle?

Did I say that out loud?

Ming the Merciless

Once again, I have proven that a little boredom is a dangerous thing. I was getting a little bored with the Santa Claus, cum Walt Whitman look and I had some time on my hands before the gym opened. A little too much time. I hasten to point out that I was not drinking at the time.

I think I had been trying for Mephistopheles, however what I got was having one of the guys from IT ask me, "What are you suppose to be? A Klingon?" You know you are in trouble when a geek is telling you, you look geeky.

Hey, it's just hair. It grows back.

Full Deck

I was fairly successful in avoiding my birthday today. I am not upset by birthdays, I just don't get why people get so excited about them. At any rate those birthday greetings that I did receive were sincere and welcome. Monkey, Quebecer and Boyflex all wished me happy returns of the day. Monkey gave me a gift certificate for iTunes and Quebecer a very nice and I must say touching card. Boyflex, when he heard that I had turned 52 told me that I am now playing with a full deck. This will come as news to many.

Too Wise to Woo in Peace

I spent an expensive day at the dentist yesterday. I don't mind too much. He's a nice guy a good dentist and he's cute. He's also got great taste in receptionists. Jimmy is a very tall, very handsome, very built black man, who I am sure is popular where ever he goes. So yesterday I was surprised to see a new, yet equally good looking young man behind the reception desk. He is the new receptionist, and a pleasant view to survey while waiting. After 2 hours in the chair I went up to the desk with my doctor because the receptionist had left for a late lunch. I complimented my dentist on his taste in receptionists and told him I thought the new receptionist was adorable. He said, "I think so too, we're getting married in July."

Ooops. Still, I can't be faulted for telling the man that his fiance is attractive, and I wish them all of the best. It did however get me thinking about my own feelings about love and marriage. Or rather my lack of hope for one and complete disinterest in the other.

Bad sex is one thing. It makes for good cocktail conversation and is generally funny. At least afterwards. Such as the really hot number that my friends and I were all cruising that I managed to score, only to get him home and discover he was just the teensiest bit plastered and he proceeded to pass out and then piss the bed. Then there was the guy who I was dating, who I discovered was sleeping with all of my friends when he gave us all the clap. The list goes on and on.

But I am thinking not about tricks but about the long term disaster, commonly refered to as the relationship. I'll come clean 2 out of 3 were unmitigated disasters. I started off fine. My first attempt, with Jon lasted about a year and a half. When we broke up, we squabbled for about 6 months and then settled into a life long friendship that consisted mostly of squabbling, but in the way that you can only bicker with good friends. I remember once we were going at it about english lit., or gardening or perhaps some of the finer points of cooking. A mutual friend who was there finally said, "I wish you two would stop arguing!" Jon turned a genuinely hurt face to her and said "We aren't fighting, we're having a discussion." It in general was good natured, and we knew when the chips were down we could always count on each other.

The next 2 however have proven to me that my complete lack of good judgement makes remaining single a much more attractive prospect.

Contestant number 2 was fine while it was happening. If it was not the most inspired romance I've ever had, it lacked any upsetting conflict. I imagine that to a certain extent it reflected a certain amount of laziness on my part. It was like having an easy job, that if not terribly rewarding emotionally, had the virtue of ease and lack of demand. I should have known something was wrong with that picture. After about 18 months of this, Number 2 as I like to think of him, out of the blue announced that it was all over because his old lover was moving back to town. It was at that point that I discovered that his old lover was also, short, dark, had curly hair (yes, I once had a full head of curly hair.) and the list of similarlities went on right down to having the same name. I'll give Number 2 credit. If he had a type, he was dedicated enough to it that there were no compromises. Not so much getting a new boyfriend as a temporary replacement. Needless to say, this did not end well, and I have nary seen nor spoken to Number 2 since.

The icing on the cake was contestant number 3. The first year was actually pretty good. The bloom of new romance and all that, though to be honest, after about 6 months the writing was on the wall. The next 2 years were more like a grudge match. He is one of those people who is a gross exporter of his own craziness, and once he has the other person rolling, their own supply of crazy kicks in. Having an adequate supply of my own we were off to the races. One of his favorites was to assign his crazy behavior to me. i.e. It was my fault he was being a pain in the ass and doing obnoxious things. After a certain point you really do start to wonder about your effect on other people, so it is always good to have friends to confide in. I do remember at one point talking to my pal Bunny about what I had made 3 do and having Bunny look at me with undiguised disgust and say "Oh, I never knew you had super powers, could you get, here he named a bartender that everyone it town was after, to have sex with me while you're at it?"

But as they say, "As a dog returneth to it's vomit,so a fool returns to his folly." and I kept plugging away at this loosing proposition. Finally, after listening to 3 say for 6 months that he thought we should break up, I said,"You know what, so do I!", and so began one of the most protracted and stupid break ups in the history of faggotry. I usually take my time making up my mind, but once I do, my mind is made up. I think you can also guess that once I said, "that's it", 3 changed his tune, because he still had lot's of crazy to spead around. For the openning round, he went to Amsterdam on vacation. Not because he wanted to go to Amsterdam, but because after 3 trips to London in a row, I refused to go again. When asked where I wanted to go, I said, Amsterdam. He said no, he wanted to go to London. I said have a good time, and stayed home. The message of the Amsterdam trip, (where I am told he never left the hotel) was that if I had stayed with him, I could have gone to Amsterdam. So not worth it. It is one example but it should give you an idea of why I think of 3 every time I hear the Eurythmics song "Thorn in My Side". This went on for far too long, in various iterations and sad to say, I am not proud of my own behavior. Finally, I acted on the obvious solution to this mess and removed myself completely from 3's sphere. While I don't actively avoid him, I do not seek out his society either. He is blissfully and disfunctionally coupled again for many years now and on those few times I do run into him, I am treated to a litany of the unhappiness that he is subjected to with the new object of his affections. The subtext here is that he would not have involved himself with this crazy, if I had not so heartlessly left him without any provocation what-so-ever. It's kind of sad, but I think the situation suits him perfectly and he is about as happy, being miserable, as he is likely to get.

I myself have avoided involving myself in any type of relationship that looks like it is going to lead to the term "commmited", since I have proven to myself that if I do, I may just have to be commited. It's been 17 years now, and I have not been distraught by the lack of pink hearts, tacky cards or gilt puti in my life on the 14th of February. I am thrilled for everyone who is in a successful romance on this day of lovers, and will offer sympathy to those who are not and wish to be. But please, some of us have been purposely dodging blind Eros darts. Trust me, it's better like this.

Talking with Monkey and Boyflex on break we were discussing my entry for the day which reminded me of the one who on our second date, waited til I was asleep and then broke into the neighbors apartment. As Monkey pointed out, at least he didn't rob my place.

Ice Queen

I don't care how cold they say it is, they are lying bastards. I know it is much colder. When I left the house this morning they said it was 11 degrees. My ass! Tomorrow they are prediciting about 7 inches of snowfall, so regardless of the cold I may be overwhelmed with the need to go and watch the Whole Foods parking lot for a few minutes so I can watch all the neurotic yuppies pull up in their Volvo and BMW, SUV's to stock up on bottled water and tofu. It's like a ritual everytime there is a prediction of foul weather here in Boston and is always good for a laugh.

Flattery will get you everywhere

Matt over at Square Jawed Action Hero did my portrait. Pretty cool huh? Take a look at his site, where he reviews movies, talks about cartoons and animation and posts his own artwork.

Gym hazard

I got to spend an hour at the gym. 40 minutes of aerobic divided up 50/50 between stairclimber and treadmill. In theory this will all work in the end to ridding myself of the unsightly bulge that refuses to leave my midsection. I hate doing aerobic. I can walk around the city for hours on end, no problem, but put me on a machine and I am only able to think, when will this be over. Todays adventure in physical fitness was further embellished by the pervasive aroma of ripe gym socks.

The first thing I think when something like this comes up is "Oh my God, is that me?" And it could have been, too. My Barbie dream fitness outfit had been sitting in the locker for a week. While I hadn't noticed anything when I was suiting up, who knows? It might be that it had to come up to body temperature to release it's bouquet. So, I spent 20 minutes becoming much too thoroughly acquainted with the smell of somebodies socks. About the same time the stair machine was announcing that my 20 minutes had ended, the fellow on the treadmill behind me finished up and as he left, the eu du bas athletique exited with him. While it is not the first time that this has happened, i.e. one of the gym members being a bit on the fragrant side, what is to me alarming is that this was not some college student with a cavalier attitude towards hygiene, it was someone who was probably my age.

This is not the first instance of that phenomena either. A few months ago, I was talking to one of the other regulars when suddenly we were overcome with the feeling that someone had just unwrapped an extremely ripe gorganzola. I just looked at Frank and said, "Please tell me that's not me." I am happy to say that in fact it was not. It was, alas, another individual of mature years, who seemed to have developed some sort of personal grudge against bathing as far as one could tell. I should hasten to add that the individual was not, at least to all appearances, laboring under some financial embarrassment, or noticeably crazy. Simply that he and soap had had some terrible misunderstanding and were not on speaking terms. The manager of the gym came in and got a nose full. The next day there were signs posted reminding members that we were in and enclosed space and the judicious use of modern odor fighting products were to be encouraged. Not that I think deodorant would have helped much. It would have had all of the efficacy of spraying a limburgh cheese with Right Guard. I found myself remembering the section in "Three Men in a Boat" where J.K. Jerome describes the cheese that wouldn't go away.

"Splendid cheeses they were, ripe and mellow with a two hundred horse power scent about them that might have been warranted to carry three miles, and knock a man over at two hundred yards."

Fortunately for the regulars, the offending gentleman was a seasonal exerciser. He seemed to be one of those people who work out furiously for about 4 weeks before beach season begins and then disappears. Happily, he took his alter ego with him presumably to further endanger wildlife on the seashore. I have visions of gulls, terns and sandpipers being knocked out the sky by this guys feet. So it wasn't until today that I ran across his cousin. It could well be that I have never encountered sock boy before because ordinarily I do not go to the gym on Sunday. However I am on an odd schedule until Le Soigneur decides what to do with me and set me off on my own. So as I say I was treadling away, in a rather green fug today. If I have to go in there next Sunday, I will try to remember to stop at the Army Navy down the street and pick up a gas mask first.

Warmth

Yeah I know. It looks like I tied road kill to my head. Guess what, I don't care it's warm.

Too Much Information

Protein shake + Flaxseed Oil + Multi-vitamin = Green Pee. Who knew?

Waterboy

The new diet continues. I am eating lots of not very exciting food, high in protein and low in carbohydrates. On top of this I am suppose to drink at least a gallon of water every day. My understanding of the situation is that I need all this water to transport the protein to the muscle. It also is transporting me to the bathroom on a fairly constant basis.

I am becoming conversant with every public rest room in the Boston area. (No smart remarks) I have always had a bladder the size of a pea, but in conjunction with middle age and large quantities of water, I feel like I should be carrying a bucket around with me. Lucky for me there is a bathroom right down the hall from my desk at work. On the down side there are no rest stops between my office and my apartment. I try to remember to make a stop before I leave for home in the evening, though on nights when I have forgotten, it has sometimes been a race to the finish.

All in all this, more than exercise and a bland diet, is making me question my grasp on sanity. My friends, and especially the Monkey all visibly shudder when they think about the hour at which I choose to rise to worship at the altar of fitness. Honestly, I have become so boring over the past few years that I genuinely do not mind being in bed by 9 so I can be up by 4:30 in order to give myself enough time to regain consciousness so that I can be dressed, coffeed and out the door by 5:30 in order to be at the door of the gym when it opens. I think I am also at an age where if I waited till after work as I used to do when I was younger, I'd never actually go.

It's the water. The one gallon plus of water every day that I do not understand subjecting myself to. I seem to spend the better part of any given day drinking water and looking for the bathroom, trying to evade people who have questions at work so I can go to the bathroom and drinking more water and making more pit stops. Then drinking more water so that I can start all over again. It is like some bizarre religious rite. I am put in mind of all of the physical mortifications that I read about the saints putting themselves through in my long distant Catholic boyhood. Was there a saint who drank huge quantities of water so that they could be waylaid by long winded faculty members in the middle of an emergency run to the restroom? Where will it all end?

The bland diet I can put up with because it adds to the joy of cheating and actually eating an absolutely delicious meal that in no way can be construed as being good for you. I have also fallen into the perversity of anyone who comes to enjoy weight lifting in that there is something satisfying about having "good" muscle aches. But the water, I just don't understand why that isn't the breaking point, the proverbial straw. It's a nuisance to constantly be making sure I am meeting my quota for the day and even more bothersome to be relieving myself of this self imposed liquid burden and looking for places to seek relief.

I suppose that I will have to chalk it up to vanity, which is a pretty ridiculous reason for someone with a puss like mine. It's not gonna' stop me, but it's still a pretty silly reason.

Attack of the Lite Brites: Day 4

The non-news event that is still getting a lot of air time is the TBS Cartoon network marketing prank gone wrong. I am sure the mayor is more than happy to have attention diverted from the school superintendent fiasco, but is it better that he's making Boston the laughing stock of the country? What's even more puzzling is that the local media is playing into this. Everyone is acting as though we have narrowly escaped having the city leveled by nuclear devices rather than merely annoyed by yet another marketing ploy. I would like to know why the 4th estate is not asking, why, if in other cities around the country could spot this gag for what it was in very short order, that the police and the mayors office here in the hub could not.

Hizonner is constantly referring to Boston as a world class city. I happen to find this a little bit less than credible, considering that we roll up our sidewalks after dark. For craps sake, we close down our subway between 12:30 and 5:30 every morning. This whole police action, or over reaction whichever it is, only makes this city look more like some provincial town in the middle of nowhere, filled with gullible rubes.

The only people who seem to be capable of responding in an appropriate manner to the non-newsworthy nature of this horribly embarrassing incident by only discussing 1970's hair styles with the media are the 2 guys who were offered 300 bucks to put the "devices" out around the city. 300 bucks, by the way, which as far as I know, they have yet to receive. (It was pretty hilarious to listen to the self righteous horror of the media at their irreverence) It must be a really slow news time or Hizonner is threatening them with some fate worse than death if they don't play this up and play down his more important recent screw up.

All in all, it is a pretty humiliating experience for those of us here in Boston who actually have a couple of still functioning brain cells. Why the mayors office or at least the police can't admit this is just an enormously embarrassing screw up and move past it, I don't know. Maybe because it would be admitting some responsibility. Whatever the case, it's time to just move past this and see if we can't try and concentrate on things that really are important to the lives of the people of this city. If nothing else, I'd like Tommy and crew to stop trying to spin this into some sort of important decision making moment at a critical time of city wide emergency.

My cousin Dave has a saying.

"If I made a mistake that fucking stupid, I'd bury it so far out in the woods even God himself wouldn't be able to find it."

Maybe I should have Dave talk to our mayor.

This just in: I was talking with a friend out in California. He said that elsewhere in the country, Boston's reaction to the attack of the Lite Brights is causing great hilarity. Big surprise, huh?

Nuthin' much

I seem to be in a mid winter slump. I feel ratty and uninspired. I am in one of those funks where nothing seems to feel right and I am the wrong size for my skin. There are plenty of chores that need to be done and nothing that I want to do. I am tired of everything. I don't feel like doing chores or going to the gym. I want to be entertained but I don't feel like going to the movies or the museum or shopping or reading or blogging. I would just go back to bed, but even that doesn't have much appeal.

This is terrible. I am feeling about as reasonable as a bored 7 year old. I know this too will pass. In part it is this grey time of year that feels dreary even on sunny days. The doldrums will pass in a few days or hours or minutes. That's the thing, you never know what will flip the switch. Well, whether I want to or not I will head out to the gym, to pursue my futile and misguided attempts to see if with enough exercise I can whip myself into vaguely human shape. After that, I don't know. Maybe I should try a little retail therapy. Argh! I have too much crap already. See what I mean?

Overreacting!

The stupidity of this city and our idiot mayor leaves me speechless. I hope the humorless jackass and his moronic lawsuit are laughed out of court. Jeeeezus H. Christ. On toast.

Sad morning

It's a very sad day today. Columnist Molly Ivans has died. I always found her both funny and astute, and I loved the fact that it didn't matter which side of the aisle people were on, if a politician was being a dumbass they were going to hear about it from Molly. If for one am going to miss her columns and I would have loved to hear what she had to say about the '08 race. So stop for a moment to think about Molly and take a minute to make fun of George in her memory.

Early a.m.

Flaxseed oil is disgusting. That's all.

Yesterday Morning

I was getting ready to go about my lawful occasions yesterday morning, at my usual obscene hour, when I happened to look out my window and saw this sunrise. The first indication that we might actually get the snow they were predicting. The sunrise was much more spectacular than the actual snowfall.

Food

I finally decided that I have to do something about the steady diet of boneless, skinless chicken breast, brown rice, plain yogurt and whey protein that I have been living on for the past few weeks.

Tonights dinner, pork roast. I pulverized some fennel seed with some salt and some garlic cloves into a paste. Thank goodness for the mini cuisinart. I then poked holes in the roast and stuffed the fennel, garlic paste into the little holes. It is currently roasting away and will come out of the oven when we have achieved 160 degrees internal temperature. In the meantime I am going to start on the cabbage, which once cut into a chiffonade will be cooked with some onions and cider vinegar until it is tender. I will finish it off with some sliced apples and apple cider. While it is not on my diet I will serve this up with egg noodles. It may not seem like much, but this is really living it up. I sort of wish I could still drink. A nice bottle of Orvieto would probably go really well with this, or maybe a rhine wine like gerwerztraminer. Oh well, I will have to be satisfied with the possible.

Things I Learned Today

I have found out that the sausage, egg and cheese bagel at Finagle A Bagel, sounds better than it tastes. That if you have even a small cup of coffee with said breakfast that the 2 quarts of water you drank while you were working out are going to start searching for the nearest exit. I also learned that if you have your hand on the door of the only bathroom in the fast food joint, and some desperate looking young woman rushes up begging to go ahead of you because it's "sort of an emergency" that you had better be prepared to wait 15 minutes, and ultimately give up and head back down the street to your gym to use their facility, because Miss Emergency will be in that toilet for the rest of the day, shooting up, giving birth or doing petite point sofa pillows in the john. I think I have learned enough for the day and I am ready to spend the rest of the day at home in ignorance.

Self starter

I was suppose to go into the gym last night after work, but I got a call from the receptionist that my trainer had to go home due to illness. I am hoping I did not give him my cold, but I am kind of doubting it, since our symptoms sound quite different. I am hoping case of yuck I seem to be finally fighting off will cancel out his stomach flu.

I really don't like going into the gym in the evening (too crowded) so I have put off my workout til this morning. The ball is in my court now, and so I have to start putting into practice some of the crap that I have in theory been learning. So to that end I have had my flax seed oil and my protein shake and am just killing some time until I can leave for the gym. Saturday they don't open till 8, which I'll admit is nice for the people working the desk, but is a pain in the ass for early riser me. By then I have been up for at least 3 hours and my ambition to go and swing weights around is already starting to flag. I think in order to have a successful workout, I need to be half asleep when I leave the house, so that I don't realize what I am about to do to myself until I am actually at the gym and it's too late.

The good news is that I get to treat myself to a bagel or something similar afterwards since my body will need some yummy carbohydrates and sugar after. This at least will make a nice dent in the healthy, low fat, low carb, high protein force feedings I am putting myself through. If anyone ever told me I'd have trouble gaining weight, I would have laughed my ass off. Who knew?

Reading

As I mentioned I started to read "Our Mutual Friend". As habit would have it, I have now picked up "A Portrait of a Lady" as well and I am reading them in tandem. I should also mention that I finished "The March of Folly" which was a timely read. You would think that the section on the Viet Nam conflict was the most relevant considering the current state of affairs in Iraq. However I am forced to say that GWB can not claim any special place to obstinate blockheadedness as an American leader. In some ways the section on the British loosing the American Colonies is more relevant. George the 3rd, like George the Turd, surrounded himself only with those who agreed with his every misguided thought and dismissed or banished or persecuted any who would try and defy his god given right to rule foolishly.

I also read in the course of 2 days, Alexander Chee's , "Edinburgh". If you have not read it, I can only suggest that you do so. The subject matter is disturbing, and the prose are exquisite. The combination makes for a compelling read that is engrossing. I swear that the style of Mr. Chee's writing keeps you floating an inch off your seat as you read it. I don't want you to think that I am saying that this book is merely beautiful prose, Edinburgh asks more of the reader. It asks the reader to think, and I am still thinking about this book.

So, having a cold is not all bad, but I am tired of being sick and really want to get back in the gym and have muscle aches that ache in a good way.

Blah, blah

I'm still in bed. I wish I could report that I am now on deaths door, however I am still only suffering from a head cold. I am not sure if I should have even stayed home from work, other than not wanting to give my cold to all of my co-workers. I actually do feel pretty fagged out (if you'll excuse the expression) and I sound like I have been gargling with ground glass. On the whole it is just irritating.

So I am in bed with my laptop and a copy of "Our Mutual Friend". I had meant to pick up "Portrait of a Lady" as I mentioned, so I went over to the bookshelf and grabbed the fat book. I just grabbed the wrong fat book. It must have been kismet. It is perfect for my mood. I had forgotten what a dark book it actually is. There is of course Dickens' humor, but that is set against an umber background. There are so many wonderful characters and in some ways I feel as though it is less sentimental than "Bleak House". The flawed characters are more humanly flawed and the noble characters, more humanly noble, and for me Lizzie Hexam is his most appealing heroine, she is more three dimensional and far less idealized. The novel still has the high gloss of Victorian morality, but with some of the shine worn off. At any rate, I think a dark book, filled with greed, jealousy, murder, betrayal, deception and star crossed love, set in a murky background better suits my mood.

With any luck I will be back in my own grey January world of the 21st century tomorrow, dealing with far less universal problems. Such as who double booked the conference room? A bit more like a Barbara Pym novel. I guess high drama is where you find it.

Blah

I have a cold. It snuck up on me. I got up yesterday feeling full of piss and vinegar and went off to the gym and proceeded to have a particularly good workout. I decided to treat myself to a danish and coffee on the way home. There was a snow flurry going on as I sat in the coffee shop and I people watched and wondered if maybe I should go out for a switch on a Saturday night and see what the rest of the world was up to.

I got home and began the tedious procedure of installing my new hard drive in the laptop, so while the software was loading I went grocery shopping and then made stuffed cabbage occasionally going over to the computer and hitting the return key. Around noon I started to get a runny nose and figured it was due to the cold temperatures. By around 3 I was getting a scratchy throat and by 8, I had to admit to myself I was getting sick. Rather than fight it I just went to bed. 5 this morning rolled around and Alice dragged me out of bed demanding her breakfast, the price I pay for having thumbs. I took my vitamins and my Chantix and surveying my kingdom, realizing I have to do some laundry, I did the only sensible thing. I went back to bed.

It's now around 9:30 and I am lying here in bed, still thinking about the laundry. It seems like an insurmountable task. I hate colds. It is not as though I am on deaths door. I will go off to work tomorrow, I will eventually get out of bed and at least wash some socks and undies, it will just seem like more of a chore than it is. I don't have anyone around that I can get to do things for me, and that has never been a strong suit for me anyway. I've known a few people over the years that enjoyed being sick. They would always get people to come over and do things for them, bring them orange juice and tell them what a poor baby they are. I just want to be left alone. I don't want to be around other people, I just want to get better and not feel like I have been through the wringer. I know that it is not even a bad cold and I will probably be back to normal in a couple of days, so I will try to make the best of it. I will make myself tea, I will start rereading "The Portrait of a Lady", a book that I loved in my youth and I would like to see if I still love in middle age. I will in general take it easy, quietly alone at home and maybe try and get some work done on my computer since I now have the advantage once more of portability. I have also discovered just writing this that the laptop also makes a great heating pad. It can't be all bad.

Killing time

I am hanging out in the lobby of Shapiro building, killing time while waiting for my appointment with my doctor at BID Medical. It is nice to be able to drag a computer around with me. The novelty I think has simply not worn off yet. My old PowerBook was before the day of wireless being ubiquitous, so being able to tag free internet access is still a new experience. I will have to think about the progress of tech in my lifetime. I remember my grandmother who was born in 1900 telling me about the first time she saw a car, the first time she saw an airplane fly overhead, radios and other wonders of the modern world coming all in a seeming rush. If she were still alive what would she think of the way that things seem to change on a daily basis. She was able to maintain a sense of wonder about the world around her. What would she think about her grandson's blasé, sometime cynical attitude towards the world.

I find myself thinking about an old saying that goes something like, "I think about everything I learned today and all the things I won't know tomorrow."

Duh!

I figured out the camera. It does tricks.

New Toy

I just got my new laptop this morning. It is the low end MacBook, which is more than adequate to my needs, and yet has all sorts of cool toys, including a built in camera which I am having zero luck figuring out how to work. I know it is a case of duh!, since Apple tends to make things operate in such a way that even a chimp like myself can figure it out.

At any rate I am psyched. I am no longer tethered to my desk at home and I can join the rest of the maddened hoards surfin' away at the local coffee shop, though not I think at Charbuck's, who still charge for their wireless. There are several joints around town that allow patrons to mooch bandwith for free, and the coffee is better.

I also have a BPL card, so I can while away some time at the library if I so choose and irritate other library users. I don't know if it is actually a good thing to have one more communication device at hand. In some ways it seems to defeat the purpose of getting out of the house to get away from people who might be able to catch me at home, though my cell phone is making that nearly impossible as it is. Deep sigh. Regardless, I intend to enjoy my new toy until the new wears off. Who knows, maybe I'll figure out how to use the camera eventually.

Brrrr.....

January finally arrived. I was too asleep on the way to the gym to really notice how cold it was, though I had checked the temperature on my way out the door and it was 12 degrees. However, after being put through my paces by the trainer and a nice hot shower I was wide awake when I walked out the door and a 20 mph wind hit me as I went around the corner of Tremont and Boylston. The residual moisture in my beard from the shower immediately turned into ice. By the time I got to my usual coffee shop, my breath had iced over my moustache. I feel like a terrible wimp, but usually winter is a fairly gradual process that leads up to this type of weather. I feel like I have just been dropped into a tub of ice after sitting in the sun for a couple of hours. This is not weather to inspire me to get out and go. But, want to or not, I am on my new schedule and since this is more a study in disipline for me than anything else I will be heading out at my ungodly hour again tomorrow to fight the good fight.

At least I am finally feeling like it is winter and it is starting to awaken my impatience for spring and working in my garden again. I haven't fantasized about possible plantings or made any plans at all since the end of the growing season since I have been in a prolonged autumn slump where I am usually grateful that I don't have to go out and pull weeds. I have been aware for a long time that I am a creature of habit, but I am realizing more and more how dependant I am on cycles as well. Time to look at the gardening catalogs, and shop for a new picture hat.

Eat and eat and eat....

I am getting on with my new workout/diet. Both are, for me, counter intuitive. I spent so much time conditioning myself to watch what I eat and exercise constantly that now that I am suppose to eat constantly and cut back on my frequency of routine... well it's a little disconcerting. I am also having a problem with the idea that I will probably go over my pre-diet weight and not look like a baggy filled with custard. Le Soigneur tells me to think of it as muscle gain, not weight gain.

On the smoking front, I have only lit up twice today. I think that lit up is the operative term, since one I only took a few drags off of the first and the second I did not smoke even half. As someone who usually smokes 5 or 6 down to the filter with his morning coffee this is a pretty dramatic change. There is something very strange about any drug that simply renders cigarettes so flat and flavorless that you start to loose the yen for them. However, I am not going to argue with success.

I must now go and allow the other people working in my department to drive me crazy, and eat some more, and then eat some more... It adds a whole new dimension to the term ad nauseum.

Winter sight

With the January temperatures finally arriving in New England, another visible sign of mid winter has made itself known. The first of my 2 spiked orchids has started to blossom. Lest anyone think I am crazier than I actually am, Phalaeonopsis thrive on neglect. Get the light conditions right and try to remember to water them once a week and you are all set. At any rate with the weather reports saying that we will see the temperatures drop into the single digits tonight and with the wind chill it will feel like it is in the minus column, it's nice to have a little piece of the tropics in the house.

Field Trip part 2

FB showed up around 10:30, and with one thing and another we finally got on the road around 12:30. The weather was absolute crap, which made the drive less relaxing than I would have liked. The greenhouse itself is like a jungle. FB has been there before and gave me the guided tour of all the greenhouses, and the place is almost like the poor cousin of a botanical garden. There are some ancient and amazing trees, plants and vines that are allowed to pretty much run wild. It was a nice time and very low key, plus there was the sex, though as promised not in the greenhouse. Though considering some of the undergrowth, we probably could have got away with it.

And no Monkey, I did not cut the cheese in the car. (nor at any crucial and embarrassing moment, thanks for asking.)

Go Fly a Kite

I met Jon in a long defunct second tier bar when I was 23. Darts. That was the name of the place, though most often we called it Farts. It was in of all places Back Bay, which has always been one of the tonier neighborhoods and a most unlikely location for a gay bar. It was also a dump. They were trying for some kind of look but, whatever look that was, they never really succeeded. It had a rather depressing and kludged together look about it, I don’t even remember the music being all that good. We usually went there out of boredom in the hopes that it would relieve the sameness that would occasionally pall our usual haunts. All in all it was not a memorable place. From what little I can remember, it was dark and uninterestingly laid out. One of the few things I remember is that the dance floor was surrounded by a seating arrangement that was like bleachers covered in industrial carpet, the better to accommodate the throngs that never came. I think that the only reason I remember this much is that, that was where I first saw Jon.

He was sitting on the bleachers, and I noticed he was cruising me. It was not eyes across the room. He was attractive but I think I must have been going through one of my “type” phases. Jon was not on the list. But I wanted to dance so when he climbed down and asked me if I would like to dance I said yes. The other thing I remember was that Jon was wearing a cap. One of those hats that I have heard referred to variously as a newsboy, skully and snap brim. I think this has stuck in my mind because as the evening progressed, one thing led to another and I wound up going home with him. He didn’t take his hat off until we arrived at his place and that was when I found out that he was bald. I think I must have been the first time I had ever been with a bald man, since I recall it so vividly and I have to say it has affected my view of bald men ever since. We got down to business and I have to assume that we had a good time, because when I think about my relationship with Jon, I always remember how good the sex was. If that first encounter doesn’t stand out, I think it is because it was one part of a greater piece, a mere factor in the sum of a relationship.

Dump and go was not as popular a sport then as it is now, so the next morning I woke up at Jon’s place. He coffee’d me we exchanged numbers and I went on my merry little way. I doubt I gave it much more thought. I do remember that I was surprised and a bit hesitant when a few days later Jon called up and asked me out again. I am not sure why I agreed to see him again, since as I said, I was in one of my type phases, but I said yes. After that Jon began to court me. There is no other way to put it, and it may sound quaint but it is what he did. He began to send me cards of his own manufacture, he cooked me dinner and once presented me with one of the bound copies of his thesis. (Which by the way is quite brilliant, but sadly I lost when my apartment flooded) It was a strange courtship, but I am a strange man myself and Jon was a charming fellow. Intelligent and witty and eccentric, he could be by rapid turns very serious and very silly. I think that what finally won me over was that for the first time, I was dating someone and I was having fun.

After a couple of months late spring had arrived and Jon asked me to go out to the cape for the weekend. I do remember asking my roommate what he thought, and he told me I’d be crazy not to. So it was that I found myself speeding down Route 6 with Jon at the helm of one of a long line of shitboxes that he owned over the years. I remember that it was a particularly ugly and rusty Camero. As we drove along he told me stories about the cape, how his father’s family was originally from Provincetown, Portuguese merchants who had lived on the tip of the cape for 3 generations before his father had gone off to college and become an engineer. He told me we would be staying at Mildew Manor, the family manse and chose that moment to tell me his parents would also be there. I somehow managed to repress the urge to fling the car door open and take my chances of rolling off the embankment on 6. I began to express some serious concern and also to question the sanity of the little man that I was traveling with. My own family and their attitude towards me and my life was if not disowning me outright, at least keeping me at a respectable distance. The prospect of spending the weekend around parental disapproval was not something that I considered to be conducive to enjoyment. Jon laughed at me and told me not to be silly.

Thus it was that I met Jon’s parents. I think I could not have been taken more aback by their indifference to my presence than I would have been if they’d erected a stake in the backyard to burn me at. Indifference is perhaps the wrong word. Unphased. They were actually very pleasant, trying to put a very uneasy 23 year old at his ease. Jon’s mother was reading a murder mystery and ascertaining that I also liked them made several recommendations, I was told where there were crossword puzzles if I wanted to amuse myself and in general they could not have been nicer. Jon and his father talked about the traffic situation on six and discussed the best exit plan for driving back to town. It was all too normal, and strange in what to me was an abnormal situation. Eventually, Jon started hunting around the place and finally asked, “Where’s the kite?” This elicited the response of “What kite?” and this wound up in what I was to learn were the normal perigrinaic explorations of seemingly innocent topics by Jon’s family. Eventually, it was deduced that no one knew of the whereabouts of the kite, so Jon announced that there was nothing to do but go out and purchase a new kite.

Now sadly gone, there used to be on Commercial Street a venerable institution, “The Kite Store”. That was all they sold, and the variety was staggering. As we started our way there Jon talked about coming to the cape as a child, the things he’d done the people he knew and with a turn of phrase that always makes me think of Jon, at one point said “surely you must know”. I told him that no in fact I did not know, and this was my first trip to Provincetown. This revelation left Jon properly horrified and our trip to the Kite Store became an impromptu tour of P’town. I was shown the sights, and Jon waxed large on tales of youthful misconduct, for he was 9 years older than I. He pointed out historic sites and the locations of drug or alcohol related mishaps involving either him, his sister or both. We eventually made it to the store and with all the gravity of some 19th century explorer kitting himself for an expedition to darkest Africa we picked out a kite. By the time we had made our purchase and Jon felt I had been sufficiently acquainted with the town it was decided that it was too late to go to the beach and it would have to be deferred till the next day. We made our way back to Mildew Manor and I watched on as the preparation of dinner became the new debating point. Tasks assigned, decisions discussed, once again with the gravity of a military campaign and also with a bantering humor and affection that was foreign territory to me.

After dinner Jon’s mother and I worked on a jigsaw puzzle she had begun while Jon and I were out and Jon and his father discussed repairs that needed to be made to he house to keep it standing for one more year. Eventually, it was time for bed and I remember whispering nervously to Jon where would I be sleeping. “With me silly, where did you think?” I vaguely recall feeling nervous about this arrangement, but I vividly recall the strange thrill of “doing it” under the same roof as Jon’s parents.

The next morning breakfast was more of a catch as catch can affair. Everyone was on a different waking schedule and I was no early riser in those days, so it was late morning before Jon and I headed out to Herring Cove. This was 1978 and P’town hadn’t been developed to death, so when we came around the corner of Bradford Street past the Dairy Queen the dunes began. We continued down the road for a while and then Jon suggested we cut across the dunes. It was amazing. I remember the stillness, for in those days P’town was still really a summer place and the off season was really off. As we drew closer to the beach, tide pools began to appear and Jon and I would stop and look at the tiny crabs and shellfish waiting for the tide to come back in, living in their tiny worlds that expanded and contracted with the motion of the sea. As the sun rose higher and hotter, Jon took his t-shirt off and put it on his head to keep the sun off. I laughed at him and said something about it making him look like a Sister of Charity. Jon began to scan the ground and finally found a long stick which he fed through the arms and when it was holding the shirt out at a perpendicular angle said, “There, now I look like the Flying Nun!” I had my camera, and against Jon’s protests took pictures. Black and white, more memorabilia lost in the transitions of my life.

Eventually, we made it to the beach and for the first time I saw the ocean from Cape Cod. That infinite undulating grey line, just the 2 of us there on the beach. The wind was with us that day and after a couple of false starts Jon handed me the string and told me to run and then the kite was aloft. There we were, trading control of the kite and laughing. Running down the beach because it was there and empty and we were young. It was then that I realized for the first time since I had begun to date this strange little man, how handsome he was. His strange mix of genes written on his body. The smooth Scandinavian torso and the hairy Portuguese lower body, a bald headed satyr dancing on the beach and I fell in love at that moment. It was a love that sustained, it survived our breakup, and went on in a long and sometime rocky friendship, but always brought us back together in our times of need. It was a love that lasted for the rest of Jon’s life.

It is a cold and grey January day today, and it has been 15 years since Jon died, but as I am thinking about him this morning I only see a bald headed satyr in a worn out speedo, the late spring sun reflecting off his rimless glasses on the beach, a kite overhead in an impossibly blue sky and I am young and foolish again and I fall under this demi-gods sway and we laugh and I am happy and I am in love.

Smoking update

I started taking Chantix Thursday morning. It is a new medication for smoking cessation. It basically kills the flavor of cigarettes and makes smoking them, at least so far, slightly unpleasant. It works too, it has made my beloved Camel's less than palatable. It also makes you fart. This in conjunction with the whey protein that I am suppose to be consuming for my new work out regimen is having some rather unfortunate results. I am suppose to go off on a field trip today with FB. An hour and a half to our destination and ditto back. It is not a day to drive with the windows open either. I am starting to have a vision of myself in this situation. Either that or being picked up by the EPA. I am wondering if Beano will help? If you hear that 2 queens were found dead on the Mass. Pike from the effects of methane exposure, you'll know who it was. (At least I'll find out how much FB likes me.)

Long weekend

It was a rather hellacious 2 weeks at work and now I have 3 days of not working ahead of me. Aside from a session with Le Soigneur this morning my time is my own. A day of reckoning, measuring body fat and planning diet. I am going to have to readjust my thinking to view weight gain as a good thing.

Other than that, what to do? Or should I just enjoy the deadly sin of sloth? I will have to call around and see what people are up to, and since I have time to kill before my appointment I will probably drop into the local Charbucks and drink some bad coffee and see what Wahz has been getting up to. Give C. a call and see what he's up to, just get out of the house and do something. Or not. I have a book that my brain has hurt too much from work to finish and a couple of new ones that have worked their way to the top of the pile.

Enough agonizing. I will just take the weekend as it comes and try to enjoy the luxury of not laboring under deadlines and other peoples expectations for 3 days. Who knows, I might even crawl out from under my rock and go out tonight. You can never tell.

Morning Mix

I set the ipod to random this morning and this is what I came out with while I went about my lawful occasions this morning.

Boulder to Birmingham: Emmy Lou Harris

Burning Love: Elvis Presley

Candy: Big Maybelle

Cold, Cold Heart: Hank Williams

Cruel to Be Kind: Nick Lowe

Crying: Roy Orbison

Do You Want to Dance: Bette Midler

Don't Make Me Over: Dionne Warwick

Excuse Me ( I Think I Have a Heartache): Mavericks version

Feelin' Alright: Joe Cocker

I am such a freak.

Nemo takes the pill

I had a check up with my MD the other day. It went fine, but we returned to a topic that we've discussed before. Smoking. Or rather quitting smoking. I have been trying to quit for the past couple of years with no success. The patch made me jumpy, the gum was just downright disgusting and Wellbutin did nothing at all. I have also made a few cold turkey attempts. Talking with Dr. Fred, he told me about a new drug that has been having some pretty impressive results, so I asked for the prescription and picked up the pills last night.

I read the instructions, warnings, and caveats, pretty much like the warranty that came with your computer, they guarantee nothing and take responsibility for less. So this morning I sat down looked at the dosage pack and had to make the final commitment. This was a tougher move than you might think. I have been smoking since I was 11 years old. I was introduced to tobacco by the Gtwins. This was the same pair that would introduce me to masturbation and underaged drinking. Drinking has gone the way of the dinosaur, jerking off is still a great way to kill time, but smoking, smoking is something else.

I hate the smell, I freely admit that it makes me feel like crap these days and yet. It is such a deeply ingrained habit. There is a certain ritual about it and in these days of smoke free environments there is the whole forbidden fruit, bad kid in the class appeal. You as an adult get to do something that is naughty, that the hyper responsible cluck their tongues at and make disapproving speeches over. Also there are the anti-smoking nazi's, who feel they have the license to confront complete strangers and chastise them in public for smoking. I don't know if this happens elsewhere, but here in Boston, it is not an unusual occurrence. These morons do not seem to realize that their displays of public self righteousness only make people like me dig my heels in further.

So, if I like it so much why am I trying to quit. In the final analysis, it's time. I cannot get too excited over the health benefits. I have smoked for over 40 years now and any improvement will probably be marginal. I am just tired of having the monkey on my back. I am tired of dragging around this habit that is expensive, smelly and inconvenient. I would like to feel as though I can kick the ass of yet one more self destructive habit.

So I sat there and looked at the blister pack of doses. One more change. I have over the past 4 years left a job that I worked at for 14 years, the last 5 of which I spent there because I had convinced myself that I was unemployable outside of that disfunctional misery inducing cocoon. I am dragging my reluctant ass back out into the real world and attempting to challenge myself. This stuff is small potatoes. It will not cure cancer, AIDS or bring about world peace. It will hopefully make me less of a burden to myself and by extension less of a drag on those around me. So, I popped the pill through the blister pack, and downed the pill with a large glass of water. Now, I can only hope for the best. I am trying to have some faith that if nothing else it will give me some placebo effect and I will have the edge of advantage this time around. As I said, I've tried before and it has always ended in failure. The bar is pretty high, but I kinda like it when they tell me bar is too high. It makes kicking ass all that much more satisfying.

Le Soigneur continued

"Well, you're already there. You need to move on to the next stage."

What the hell is this guy talking about. I had my visit with the trainer, and the purport of what he said was, you are in great shape, you are ready to move on, put on some weight and some more muscle. I am perverse. I think that I am so attached to being out of shape, that now that I am, it would seem, in shape I am having a difficult time adjusting to the idea. I am definitely having a tough time with the idea that weight gain is a good thing.

On top of this, where is the dramatic narrative? In "Dark Victory", what would have happened if Bette Davis' doctor had told her that she got headaches because she was dehydrated and should take a couple of asprins and have a lie down? This guy is fucking up my blog entry. Is this a conspiricy?

To add insult to injury, I must now suffer under the slings and arrows of outrageous Monkey as he "I told you so's " me. Some friend. So, no noble suffering, no why do I do this. Instead I get to go online and start shopping for whey protien and multi-vitamins, and adjust to a new lifting/rest schedule. I must go sulk now, because I seem to have succeeded. Like I said I am perverse.

Le Soigneur

I am getting ready to head out the door. I have a date with the trainer at my gym and am both looking forward to this and not. I can certainly use a shake up, however I am dreading the calipers. I have my list of what I feel I need to work on in order to become bathing suit worthy this summer but even after almost a year and a half of working out and usually pushing myself I still feel as though I am in rather lamentable condition, especially in the distribution of flab vs. muscle. I'll report in later. (Yet more crunches and god alone knows what new tortures will I be expected to endure in order to develop shoulders and put some meat on the sippy straws I refer to as arms on my more optomistic days.)

Making a gesture

The Montrealer told me it was time to go home. It had been a long day at work, and I was not doing a good job at just leaving things till tomorrow. "Hey, they'll still be there." I agreed and started to log off the computer. Naturally any window that was still open was asking to be saved or for permission to sign out. Finally after hitting the enter key a half dozen time it began to log out as I told it to log out already while gesturing as I spoke.

Looking up, I saw that our new temp was looking rather amused and I said something about the genetic need to talk with my hands. The Montrealer nodded in agreement. "Talking with your hands is very important." she said. I then horrified her by telling her of how the Irish nuns in my school used to force me to sit on my hands when I spoke to break me of this filthy foreign habit. Needless to say my girl was shocked and disgusted. We stopped as we were headed down the hall, still discussing the importance of gesture, to pry Monkeyboy away from his desk as well. As he came out the door I was saying something about the Gallic shrug. I got blank looks, even from the Montrealer. So I demonstrated. It is a tilt of the head and the quick uplifting of either one or both shoulders. It is sometimes accompanied by "eh". It is a gesture that would reduce my 3rd ex to absolute fits. Monkeyboy said something about it being dismissive, but I said no, it is simply an expression of resignation to life's absurdities. Montealer continued to claim never to have used much less seen this gesture and I think I shrugged.

As we walked towards the exit, we were discussing the possibilities of the weekend since we have MLK day off. Monkeyboy started to complain that he had to go to New York. Needless to say he got no sympathetic reception to his complaint. Montrealer asked, "How can you not like New York?"

Monkeyboy, "I just don't! Okay. Let Ganome go, he loves New York."

Montrealer tilted her head and one shoulder went up slightly. I couldn't help it, I pointed at her and said, "She just did it!" This produced a loud round of laughter as Monkeyboy and the temp realized that she had, as well as producing stares from passersby. Like I said, it's genetic. (Ganome shrugs and hits publish button.)

Caveat

The piece "Working Out" is really too long for a blog entry. I have however put a certain amount of work into it and don't know what else to do with it. For those who have the patience to read it through, thank you. Those who don't, well I'll never know will I.