Crazy management

So far this week has been another study in crazy. I have to admit, I am getting a little tired of damage control. A good example is coming into work this morning to discover that departmental web access was down. I could access the system from my laptop over wireless, but as far as using my desktop computer went I was SOL. I don't do IT administration. That did not stop anyone from calling me up and either bitterly complaining, or demanding that I do something to rectify the situation immediately. While a lot of this is just the nature of my job, it does get wearing.

In my personal life, I have been on about an equal slide. I have been trying to take off a few pounds with no luck, which has been crazy making. For some reason, which I am willing to chalk up to work stress, I haven't been sleeping well which has been making me cranky. Which has been making me anti-social. Life just feels like it is slipping out of control. Not major nervous breakdown material. Just poorly managed.

So, I am trying to get as much of my crazy under control as I can. I received sound advice on the diet front from my friend the office babe. Fuck it. So I am going to live with the extra weight and have faith that I will get things back under control in the fullness of time. I am also going to have an initial appointment with a shrink tomorrow, and see what I can do about managing the rest of the crazy in my life. I am not sure how much immediate good that will do, but at least I feel as though I am trying to take some positive action in my life.

I think when I was younger I believed that you hit some magical number and then woke up, able to cope with any situation. Now that I am on the down hill side of middle age and only a couple of years away from once again switching demographics, I feel as though, while I am not dealing with a lot of the emotional turmoil that comes with youth, that I am having to deal with a whole new set of complex challenges and there's lots more on the road ahead. So managing the crazy it is. Maybe I should do what the rest of the country does and just go shopping.

More flowers

Here's some more pictures of flowers. I would try and write something, but it's been another brain frying day at work. Oh and R.J. and Lynette, lupines are weeds. Every last one in my garden got crapped there by passing birds. I have a hard time imagining having to struggle to grow the things.

Hell week

My friend, boss and partner in crime, Monkey has been out in Vegas on vacation, enjoying himself, the bastard. Consequently it has been my lot to deal with all of my problems as well as trying to trouble shoot for Monkey, in his absence. It has been a tough week. A big part of my job is dealing with people anyway. But this week has been a little over the top. Just dealing with a small portion of the crap that he has to put up with on a daily basis at work has me respecting him even more.

I am pretty frazzled at this point, and am not sure I am fit for human consumption. I am really looking forward to the weekend. There is a chance that the niece will come into town to check out the garden and have lunch with me. This will mean breaking the insane diet that I am on. (more about that in another post, I lost a whole pound, woo hoo!)

I will try and take more pictures of the garden over the weekend. Things are happening so fast now, with plants blooming that I feel like I'll miss it if I blink.

I am in the mood to go out and kill something, so the weeds are soooo dead.

Relax

It has been a tough week in general and a really tough day in particular. This morning I did not go to the gym (that's a whole other story) so I stopped by the garden this morning to have a cup of coffee before I headed off to the office. Here's a few of the things I saw.







There are Creeping Flox, Emperor Tulips, Lupin, more Tulips, and a Vibernum. It was very relaxing taking in the morning air and enjoying flowers and all the spring visiting birds migrating through. The good weather is suppose to keep up, so hopefully I will have a chance to get out and spend some quality time with myself. This is supposing I am not driven to suicide tomorrow, or wind up in jail for killing some of the people I work with.

Impostor update

I know ya'll are just dying to hear what the final upshot of the war against the Anti-Ganome was. I finally broke down and complained to the forces that be at Manhunt, asking them to make the Anti-Ganome take down my picture, that was of me, the Ganome, and NOT of the Anti-Ganome, whatever he really looks like. I had to provide them with proof of identity and then never heard from them.

So, I moseyed over to his profile. Lo and behold, no profile! It would seem punishment was swift and fierce. I hadn't intended for the creep to loose his Manhunt account, though I doubt that it will stop him from opening a new account and probably using my picture all over again. Still, I felt a little bad.

Schnoz

You never see yourself in profile. I was playing around with the built in camera on my laptop and figured, what the heck!



My immediate reaction when I saw the results was, Jeebus H. Christ, look at the size of that snot locker!

My younger brother and I won the genetic lottery as far as inheriting the family honker goes and I have always been aware that it ain't exactly button sized, but what scares me is that your nose and ears continue to grow as you age.

I'm gonna have to save up for rhinoplasty so that I'll be able to lift my head up from my chest when I'm 70. I have to talk to Mike. Maybe they offer a group rate.

New Morning

Fucking trees! Literally. Tree pollen started happening, just when I was starting to get over a spring cold. The end result was that if snot was a tradable energy commodity I would have been a one man OPEC. The real problem with all of this is that during the night I would wind up ingesting said substance and then spend the day nauseated. Not a great state of affairs. There are better ways to start the morning than by recycling your coffee.

Yesterday, I called in and spent the day in bed, mostly sleeping, some reading and no other form of entertainment, get your mind out of the gutter.

I woke up rather cranky this morning in spite of the fact that I was feeling noticeably better, and grumbled my way through my coffee, which stayed down for the first time in a couple of days and then headed out the door for work. It only took a few steps in the spring air to make a new man of me. Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May, but this late April morning is as temperate as the bard could hope for. We are suppose to get some April showers this afternoon which is fine, because this morning is warm and sunny and the sky is an impossible blue and spring is promising the pleasures of summer.

My inner 20 year old wants to play hooky and be irresponsible and wander the stodgy, familiar streets of this town with fresh eyes. However, duty calls, bills to be paid, people who rely on me and a whole adult life I am sometimes unprepared for. Off to the grind and I will have to take the pleasures of the day as they come.

Save Net Radio Update

I received an update from Savenetradio.org. It would seem that they have been taken by surprise by the response from the public and have had to retool their site to handle the traffic!

So, if you haven't already, go to their site and send a letter to your congressman. While allowing the record companies to have their way will send the small stations under, it will also effect any public stations you might be streaming as well and will eventually silence most of the music you hear streaming.

For all intents and purposes we have allowed the government to steal our air rights from us, leaving the big broadcasters in control, don't let them take away our internet access to some new and exciting musicians who you would never hear on the commercial airwaves and alternative programing from creative netcasters.

What is this country coming to?

If the war in Iraq, gun violence, and the Bush administration aren't enough! Now, certain elements in the candy industry are declaring war on chocolate. I had this brought to my attention going to Lynette's blog and literally moments later I got an email from this character.

If the evil forces of Hershey have their way, they will be able to manufacture a product that contains no cocoa butter and is made with diary substitutes. It will leave us with something that bears as much resemblance to chocolate as Velveeta resembles cheese. (Can we say cheese food, people!)

Life's comforts are few and far between these days, and allowing a one more group of greedy thugs to have their way is not acceptable. Go to http://dontmesswithourchocolate.guittard.com/ and let the FDA know that you are not happy with the idea of screwing around with chocolate. You may think this is silly, but we've got ourselves into quite a bit of trouble already by allowing corn syrup to be substituted for sugar, and guess what, we are becoming the fattest country in the world. No one has looked into the possible ill effects of messing around with the composition of chocolate. The FDA is suppose to be there to protect our health not to give the green light to corporate greed. This may not bring about world peace, cure cancer or end hunger, but maybe if people start feeling like they can make positive changes on a small scale, it will encourage them to act on larger issues. Just a thought.

Weekend in brief

The weekend went well. Nothing earthshaking. I spent a good part of a beautiful Saturday in the garden. While I was there I got to meet my neighbor Mike's new beau. There wasn't a terrific amount of interaction. They seem to still be in the "all wrapped up in each other" phase, but the new boyfriend is cute and seems very nice and Mike is in a hitherto unknown state of... gooeyness, maybe. Whatever his condition, he certainly seems happy and I won't pick on him for it. Too much. Besides it's more fun to do in person.

My own romantic endeavours this weekend with Mr. D. were confined to an impromptu appetite stimulation, and then going out for dinner. It was a fun evening and was over too soon. Sunday I got roped into helping the garden society with a park clean up day, which obviated the need to do any aerobic at the gym. I have a feeling spending the morning hauling wheelbarrows of mulch burned off far more calories than I would have used up on the treadmill. Then it was off for coffee and gossip with C. He is waiting for the out of town visitor, if not from hell at least from purgatory. Though, as C. points out, whenever this character comes to visit, C. gets some great stories to tell after.

The rest of the time on the weekend was filled in doing errands and working on a writing project that feels like it will never shape up. If not the most exciting weekend ever, at least a pleasant one. We'll see what the week brings.

Health Food

Does the olive in a martini count?

A Good Laugh

If you, like me are in need of a laugh today, go here and download "Enormous Penis". (Thanks, Billy)

Life is Strange

Recent weirdness.

Some guy on the train with a bible open to Leviticus using a yellow highlighter. He's obviously looking for all the really juicy sins.

Talking with the manager of my gym about one of the creepier members.

"He never actually works out. He just hangs around naked in the locker room, making the other members uncomfortable. If he gets yelled at for bothering people in the steam room, it's because we're discriminating against him. If no one will pay attention to him when he's trying to hit on them in the steam room, or they won't let him play, he complains that people are having sex in the steam room and he's being discriminated against." My question is, does he think he's being discriminated against for being gay or just for being a pest.

At work my boss comes in.

"We're having a departmental meeting tomorrow. I want you to explain your new duties to everyone in a few words".

I float a few suggestions. "Yeah, that kind of thing, that sounds good."

I just wish someone would explain to me what my new duties are.

The news of Virginia Tech has, not surprisingly, turned from being news to being shameless rubbernecking on the part of the media. It's all angling for "human interest stories" and sensationalism.

I had a check up with my doctor. It seems that I am in obscenely good health. So as some sort of practical joke, I almost immediately come down with a cold upon leaving the doctors office.

One of our IT people demonstrated how to twiddle your thumbs while holding a can of Coke as an example of multitasking.

One of our faculty members who couldn't master it, then gave a juggling demo.

It almost makes me feel as though I spend my time here productively.

I was telling a friend that I made an impulse order on Amazon for a somewhat pricey and not necessary book. He told me he was saved from making a porn purchase because of web glitch. Sometimes we need technology not to work to save us from ourselves.

I don't have much to say for myself, but life seems to continue on around me.

On the Radio

I am a fan of streaming radio broadcasts. So when I read this I was pretty horrified. Follow the link in the article and send a message to your congressman. Help save access to internet broadcasts from around the country. Don't let the greedy vampires in the record industry take the music away from us.

The Gloves are OFF!

In the immortal words of Bugs Bunny, "I hope you realize, dis means war!"

I have asked the character on Manhunt to take down my photo. Guess what? It's still there!

I have tried to put myself in this mook's place, I've tried to figure out his motivation. Is he so self conscious that he feels as though anyone's picture is better than what he looks like? Is he fooling around on his boyfriend/wife and doesn't want to have his picture on his profile? Is he just a big closet case? Whatever the reason, the big fake is using the Ganome's photo! This must come to an end. (in the interest of full disclosure, you are not going to get a look at the Ganomes pink bits, so don't get your hopes up.)

So kids, if you are looking for a good time, log into Manhunt and look up letsfuckand69. (Yes Monkey, you were very clever to figure this one out) In the interest of making sure that this is fun for the whole family, I would like to point out that anyone can open a Manhunt account for FREE! Obviously, you don't have to use your own photo, and ladies they don't check your chromosomes so have at it. IN FACT, for the purposes of this little experiment, you should create unique, disposable accounts so you won't really have to put up with this ass clown when you're finished. And remember steal your photos! Porn stars, your pet, a vase of dahlia's, a picture of a komodo dragon, whatever.

The only ground rules are let him know, that you know, that this is not his picture. I would kind of prefer no one leaves a trail of bread crumbs back to this blog either, but I'll cross that bridge when I come to it.

So kids, tell everyone you know. I mean it only will take you a few minutes. You can post your emails to Mr. LFA69 in the comments here if you come up with something really good. Just remember cut and paste.

For each and every one of you that bring a little joy in Mr. LFA69's life, I say thank you from the bottom of my little Evil Ganome heart.

Bait and Switch

I got a phone call from Mr. Date tonight.

"LET'S FUCK AND 69! LET'S FUCK AND 69" and then laughing hysterically he started babeling about 6-2.

My initial reaction was, "I didn't know he had a drug problem."

Once Mr. Date was able to make himself coherent, he proceeded to tell me that some schmoe in Portsmouth NH is using my picture on his Manhunt profile. Aside from claiming to be me, he also avers that he is 6 foot 2. I will say this, he is claiming to be 32, so either I look better than I think or he, more likely, needs a new prescription for his lenses. The only thing he got right was claiming to be French Canadian.

For those of you who have come to know the Ganome, you know that he stands proudly at 5'3" and he shall never see 50 again. 32 is but a dim memory.

What to do, what to do? If I had more than 10 people reading this thing, I would publish this guys screen name and then leave you to your own devices. I am quite sure that people could come up with some fairly interesting propositions for our friend.

At the same time, I am sort of horrified to think that someone is so desperate, that they are using my picture to try and lure people for hook-ups. I can speak from experience, that photo was not exactly causing a line to form at the front door of the Ganome lair.

I am still trying to decide whether I am more irritated or amused. I did send him a little message. Keeping it short and sweet I simply wrote, "My goodness, we must have been separated at birth. Asshat!" I think I showed a great deal of restraint.

I will check back in a couple of days and see if he takes my picture down. If not, the gloves come off and I will publish his screen name and his profile. After that I leave it to you, gentle readers.

The Pie of Doom

“Okay, you can have broccoli, green beans, cauliflower, cabbage and brussel sprouts.”

It’s my trainer and we are negotiating my diet.

“How do we feel about sweet potatoes?”, I ask.

“Okay, you can have one big one, but that’s your carbs for the day. Now, fish oil, olive oil or flaxseed oil… and oh, yeah, nuts. Walnuts, almonds or cashews.”

We are having this discussion because I had my flab measured. 18.2% body fat. I am aiming for 12%.

This has me thinking about my rather neurotic relationship with food. I realize coming from a man who is currently subsisting on protein shakes, boneless, skinless chicken breasts, brown rice and green vegetables this may seem a little odd. What one must bear in mind is that I came to this state due to my love of food.

I think back on wonderful meals as old friends, gone but not forgotten. One of the ultimate eating experiences of recent years was going out to dinner with C. at James's Gate, in J.P. and ordering fried oysters as an appetizer. Always a risky proposition. More often than not what you get when you order fried oysters is hot pencil erasers in greasy batter. What we got on this memorable occasion was a basket of light crunchy heaven in the form of fried batter with sweet juicy oysters hiding inside, waiting to surprise and delight anyone with tastebuds. I do remember that the rest of the meal was equally as well prepared and delicious, but C. and I have only to remind one another of the oysters to assume a far away look as though we are recalling some long ago love.

Several years ago, when the mommy state decided to ban unpasteurized cheese for our own good, Wahz and I headed out to the Star Market to buy the last of that bizarre concoction of Borden's, Liederkrantz. For any who do not remember, or never tried it, it was a cousin of Limbourg cheese on steroids. It, quite frankly, stank of cow barn and composting silage. It was heaven! We stood side by side at the dairy counter, looking sadly at our friend who was to be condemned and Wahz pulled out a box of it and said, "We have to eat it on saltines. That's really the only way."

I reached in and grabbed my own box. "I have no intention of sharing." I stated flatly. We stopped and picked up some beer on the way back to Chez Wahz, and then tucked in. We slowly ate an drank our way through a half pound each of incredibly lively cheese, and talked about smelly cheese we had known and loved. I have no doubt Wahz house smelled as though a herd of cows had been lifting their tales in there by the time we were done.

Catherine's Chocolates, is a tool of Satan. I do not share. On the rare occasions that I buy a pound of hand made chocolaty mortal sin, I dole it out in a way that allows me to savor the box in a way that is probably sexual to the point of perversity.

I have been trying to put behind me all that is good and fattening, but I am being sabotaged in my efforts by Italian women. They are a curse. I work with some lovely people and 2 of them are a mother and daughter team from the North End. Last week being Holy Week, Mom was cooking up a storm in preparation for the big family dinner on Easter. She likes me. She brought in some pizzagaina for me. For those not familiar with this holiday treat, to the uninitiated it is a brick of pure cholesterol. In fact it is a custard base with fromaggio fresca, provolone, parmesan and romano, and richotta cheeses, studded with mortadella capicola, prosciutto, pepperoni and sopressato. You gain 10 pounds if you stand in the same room as this stuff, and it is every bit as good as it sounds. Possibly better if you are lucky enough to have office Mom make it for you. I also found out from her daughter, the office Babe, that Mom has to really like you in order for you to rate a piece. I felt honored, I justified it by telling myself it was a holiday and no one keeps to a diet over holidays and I managed to make 3 meals out of the “little” piece she gave me. It was worth it. Okay. It was just worth every ounce I gained looking at it. Shut up.

A couple of days later, one of our grad students came in. She is a very nice young woman from a city just south and west of Rome on the Mediterranean. I had done her a favor so to say thank you she brought in a strawberry tart she had made. It was made with fresh strawberries. It involved pastry cream. It had a crisp, perfect crust that had more to do with a light toothy shortbread, than shortcrust. I am pretty certain it had enough butter in it to cause cardiac arrest in an elephant. It went down the hatch. When someone has baked for you, you have to say thank you and eat at least one small piece. I must have been unusually polite. I had 2 honking pieces.

The next day Mom strikes again, this time with ricotta pie. I won’t even start. Saying it was good would be damning it with faint praise. I did, in a combination of self interest and, I must admit, saintly generousity share the ricotta pie with my faithful student worker, the Montrealer.

And the end is not in sight. I was talking to the Office Babe about the fact that Italian women seem to have it in for my waistline. Her response was, “Hm! Well that’s too bad because I’m making goodies over the long weekend, so I’ll be bringing stuff in on Tuesday.”

I’m doomed. Got a napkin?

Morning walk to the gym

Play ball!

It was opening day at Fenway Park today, and over 2 hours after the game has ended "The Greatest Fans in the World" are still staggering around my neighborhood in a cloud of alcohol.

I have never been a fan of baseball, but after putting up with these yutzes for 14 years I have grown to loathe baseball in general and the Red Sox in particular. It is duller than watching paint dry, but I think drying paint would probably present too great an intellectual challenge to the average Sox fan.

I am hard pressed to put my finger on what gets under my skin the most. Watching fat suburbanites dressed up in oversized baseball shirts carrying baseball gloves is pretty annoying. Having happy intoxicated fans scream "FAGGOT" out of the windows of yellow school buses is not up there with snow flakes and kittens either.

Perhaps most bothersome is the smug satisfaction that radiates off of them. Somehow, lining the pockets of a group of drug addicted, serial sex offenders qualifies as a worth while activity up there with curing cancer.

They have no reason to doubt their noble cause either. The media, the Red Sox organization and the pudgy little jerk in the mayors office will all tell you if you are in any doubt that they are "The Greatest Fans in the World!" and that the Red Sox are "The Greatest Team in the World". Never mind that it seems they have only won the World Series twice in the course of a century.

Among the privileges of this club are permission to vomit and urinate where ever you choose, pick fights with residents of the city, terrorize elderly people and smash in car windows, and on occasion overturn or set fire to cars with plates from the state the team is playing against. I don't even want to go into the whole New York thing.

You would think that these happy souls would be satisfied with this, but you would be wrong. Like most bullys, they have an Achilles heel. They are all terrified of the city. Put them within sight of the stadium and they are as bombastic as can be. Suggest they use public transit and the blench and quail. So they squeeze their bloated alcoholic bodies into their oversized SUV's and drive into town, snarling traffic for hours. This is where they go wrong. Many are willing to pay the obscene prices charged for parking, but there are always a few who are slow to learn and the little dears park in resident only spaces. That is when my little black and evil ganomish heart sings. Because there is a fleet of tow trucks in the pay of the city just waiting to tow these jerks cars.

Of an evening I like to occasionally sit on my front steps and watch the ballet that is the dance of the tow trucks. Once in a while, the baseball oafs will decide to be clever and park in the alleys. These are all paid parking spaces. An old pal Bunny had one such spot that he rented so friends would be able to park if they drove in to visit. On game nights he sat by the window with the phone. If some halfwit pulled in and staggered off in the direction of the stadium, he would call the tow company. Then if he was home when the game ended he would resume his station at his window for a little quiet entertainment when the one of the greatest fans in the world came back looking for his car and wondering if he had gotten so shit hammered he couldn't remember where he'd parked the family car.

It's going to be a long six months, but it is one of the prices that must be paid for living in a relatively cheap apartment. It is making me wonder once again about moving. Not just out of this neighborhood but out of this city and leaving it to the ball fans.

Change of plans

Late last night the phone went off. The niece called to tell me, unfortunately, that my sister-in-law's father was taken to the hospital. Needless to say, Easter festivities have been called off. I do not know the gentleman very well, but the time I have spent around him, he has always struck me as a very nice guy. I feel bad for my sister-in-law.

As an atheist I don't say prayers, but I will be thinking about my brothers family today. As for me, I will try and do some of the chores that I put off yesterday.

Cranky Ganome

I am a bit betwixt and between today. I got going a little late this morning and so I am slightly behind schedule on things. I am having a very hard time caring. I think it is lag over from yesterday.

I really don't like to let work interfere with the rest of my life, but yesterday was a tough day. We had some rather unpleasant shake ups at work that have resulted in my moving into a better office space at the expense of having a very bad taste in my mouth about how all of this transpired. Having heard enough horror stories about people who have foolishly bad mouthed their work places on their blogs, I have no intentions of going into details. Suffice it say I am not a happy ganome.

To add to the creepafication, I got home and the prints I had purchased from our pal Matt over at Square Jawed Action Hero had arrived, it's just that someone had taken them out of their packaging and then shoved the prints in the side of my mailbox. I don't think any serious damage was done to the prints and I will be heading over to my former employer to do some evaluation, before they go into frames. It's just creepy to think that some one has been going through my mail. Be it one of the neighborhood hillbilly crack whores, looking for something to steal, or just one of my clueless neighbors. Either way, I don't like it.

The weekend is also looking like it will be a bit less than ideal. I really have to spend tomorrow doing serious cleaning in my pigsty and Sunday, while I will be enjoying the nieces company, it will however be with the caveat that I will also be enjoying the company of a lot of other relatives. On the other hand I am told that the parental units will not be in attendance, which is always a blessing. Also there will be ham. As in the big thing that goes into the oven and not the thin slices that go on sandwiches. Honestly, given the choice I could easily give Easter a pass. Not even the prospect of chocolate can get me too excited.

I am trying to write this all off to spring fever. Snow, sleet, rain and cold seem to be the prevailing conditions, and I always willfully forget that April is never as advertised. It really is silly to expect the weather to improve before May in this part of the world and you really can't count on warmth until June.

Well, I have cutting out from work early to look forward to. I have been putting in a lot of time this week, so I will be able to try and get a head start on all of my errands this afternoon. I am getting my flab measured with calipers and then a quick stop at the grocery store before I go home to at least take care of the dishes in the sink before Mr. D. comes over.

Someone's been sending me flowers

I feel just like Hermione Gingold!

Tree pollen

I have spent the morning wandering around the house looking for my brain. Hay fever season has arrived and my already tiny brain has shrunk down to the size of a BB. I am also fairly convinced that hay fever causes all of the wrinkles in your brain to smooth out and so my tiny brain instead of looking like a dried pea, more closely resembles said BB in that it is, I am fairly certain, smooth and shiny. A super slick surface that would be the envy of modern material science. Not even an idea can stick to it.

I have to go to work, but I fear that I will be a danger to myself and others. I have visions of myself lurking about the office like some tiny Frankenstein's monster, heading down to the village after having a bolt of lightning jolted through me. The faculty and staff will probably be showing up in my office before lunch with the torches and pitchforks, ready to perform their unpleasant but necessary duty of ridding the world of one more hideous menace.

I will let you know if Monkey winds up on top of our building, dressed in a lab coat, screaming,"They called me mad, MAD! But I'll show them, I'll show them all!" as flames pour out of the windows.

Garden shots

I went over to the garden yesterday with the camera. The most I got done was taking pictures and visiting with my neighbor. Still it was worth it, things are coming up.

Update: For the sake of clarity, I took pictures of sedum, oriental poppy and of course, crocus.

I was had

I had forgotten that it was April Fool's Day, so Dave, bless his little black heart actually got me going for a few seconds. I am such a dope. Good one, Dave!

Date 2

Date number 2 went off pretty well. Mr. D. met me at Forest Hills Station and whisked me off to the wilds of Roslindale. We sat around the kitchen and talked while he made dinner. Stuffed chicken breasts and grilled asparagus. The chicken he accurately described as coming from Chernobyl farms. Each breast was about the size of a roasting chicken. In the interest of full disclosure, he stuffed them with prosciutto and pepper jack cheese and they were very good.

I also got to meet his dog, who is a very sweet critter and very well behaved. I say this a something of a dog lover, so anyone who is willing to take the time to train their dog gains points.

I also met one of his housemates, though I can't give much of an impression there. We watched a movie after dinner, and then sort of collapsed, since it turned out we had both had pretty busy days before hand. Also I was not at my most sparkling, since my first bout with hay fever has kicked in. Regardless, it was a very nice time. Which leaves only one problem. Me.

I have not really dated anyone for quite a while. Consequently I am very set in my ways. I have my own schedule and am used to accommodating myself, not other people. My usual Sunday consists of waking at my usual obscene hour and luxuriating in the weekly novelty of taking my time. Lolling around the house with coffee, feeding the cat and deciding at my own pace how I will spend my day. In the warm months, weather permitting, I will fill up a thermos and after feeding the cat, I will go over to my garden and enjoy the rare quiet in urban life in my garden, as I plan out what, if anything, I will do that day in the garden and enjoy the fruits of my labor in quiet and watch the birds as they start their day. I remember one morning sitting there, when one of the red tailed hawks came and perched on the arbor in my garden. Me watching him as he pointedly ignored me, scouting for more interesting things like voles and squirrels and songbirds.

Is this something I will feel like I will have to give up, or is it something I will have to try and learn how to share? Who knows? It is early days and I really should just try and enjoy things as they come. But I think in order for that to happen, I am going to have to accept the fact that it will involve becoming less married to routine.

Buttermonkey does his part

My pal Buttermonkey has been a little bummed out. He has had a sore throat for a few days, and went to the doctor. He was told it was probably a viral infection. This was upsetting because he's been.... a little busy lately, and was feeling sort of guilty that he might have been spreading some sort of cold around.

Today, he realized that is was hay fever. He called in for a prescription and was going to pick it up on his way home.

After work, we were chatting on the way out of work and the topic of his parents came up. He was saying something about how the very mention of fellatio sent his mother over the edge.

"My poor dad, 27 years without a blow job! It's inhuman."

I thought about it for a minute, having heard some about his parents.

"I think you mean, 27 years without a blow job from your mother."

"You have no idea how happy that just made me." he said. Then he thought for a second. "I'm going to go pick up my Allegra, and then I'm going to go out and do my part to help end the worlds blow job shortage."

Have I ever mentioned how much I love working with this guy?

The Date

What can I tell you. The earth moved, continents sunk. There were rainbows and bluebirds. Shit, the earth sprouted magical singing daisies! Jeezus H. Key-Rist, what did you expect? It was a first date.

Actually, it went pretty well. He's making me dinner on Saturday.

The game is on.

I spent an interesting and instructive half hour on the phone last night with Mr. Date. We are on for dinner tomorrow night. The idea of Mexican food was nixed. We don't know each other that well yet. Maybe a few dates down the road, taking the optimistic view that there will be more dates. I have learned the hard way never to take anything for granted.

In other news, the weather is suppose to be warm and sunny this weekend, unless they change their mind at the last minute. (This is New England, folks) So I am hoping to log some gardening time, and maybe see if I can lure my pal Mike out into the garden and possibly indulge in some burritos since neither of us will have to worry about the after effects. It ain't that kind of a friendship. This may be a vain hope since my beloved, bitter, cynical, Mike has been replaced by some giant Hostess cake with a sickeningly sweet, schmoopy center. Really, it is terrible what love will reduce a man too. I may have to content myself with weeding.

I am also going to have to do something about flab control. I got a good view of the spare tire that I have developed this winter because we took some progress pictures at the gym. All I can say is ewwwww.... we are looking at some serious portion control or a summer at the beach wearing a mumu. If I start getting crabby it's the lack of food talking.

The Dating Game

I have a date. Remember I told you about the guy I'd (ahem) met before. With one thing and another we are suppose to get together this week for a date. I mean, we will actually incorporate some activity into this other than, but more than likely including sex. This is all good.

However, Mr. Date called me up this afternoon, which is just fine. I am happy to get calls from Mr. Date. The problem is that he called when I was busy acting in my unofficial role of dept. psychiatrist and I had to cut the call very short as I tried to smooth down a coworker who is having some work related problems that really aren't my responsibility, however, I was having to listen in the interest of continuing smooth relations with my colleagues.

I would much rather have talked to Mr. Date. I would probably have enjoyed talking dirty with Mr. Date, since we were speaking on my cell phone. Instead I had to give him the, "Can I call you later, when do you get out of work?" line, which always sounds like you are trying to put someone off.

This job is interfering with my sex life. I will have to make sure and call him back this evening. It might not be a bad idea to talk dirty.

First Saturday in Spring

Yesterday was a very nice day. Nothing special happened, but all in all it was one of those quiet days that was just nice all around. I got up, had a nice leisurely wakeup and after the requisite caffeine dose, I headed off to the gym to get on the stairclimber (my favorite) to try and burn some of the extra flab that I have acquired off of my mid section. I stopped at Marshall's on the walk home for a quick look around and found 2 xist t-shirts on sale, 3 pack, black, v-neck for 12.99. It may be a purely emotional attraction, these t-shirts, but I like the hand of the material, the weight and the texture. I do know that they wear better than other brands I have tried and I like the fit. My propinquitous purchase in hand I proceeded down the street where I ran into an old friend that I have not seen for months.

Jerry is always fun to talk to. I first met him and his late lover Frank when I moved to Boston at the age of 20. Jerry was in his 40's then. At the time I was slightly appalled at being hit on my a middle aged man, who to a 20 year old seemed so ancient. Now that he has moved on to being a septuagenarian with a healthy interest in fooling around, he is more like a beacon of hope. He has turned into a wonderfully twinkly eyed, dirty old man, who makes no bones about his continued interest in getting laid. We spent time catching up and chatted about inconsequentials as we checked out the local talent that was parading past in the warm spring day. Friends were discussed, handsome men were admired, the changes in the city were reviewed and the charms and shortcomings of life in the world were examined.

But the day beckoned and it was time to move on. Walking past the park, I decided that I had indulged in sloth long enough. I changed my clothes and went off to my garden. 5 wheelbarrows full of fallen leaves and branches later, my garden was starting to once again assume more the aspect of a garden and less that of a neglected garbage tip. My vibernum is promising to bloom profusely this spring, the little grey bud clusters on the tips of every branch, the heady, spicy scent of the flowers mere weeks away. My syringa arnoldia has leaf buds that are quickening to green, though I hold out scant hope for much of a display from that, due to the warmth of the winter. Lilacs need a cold winter to bloom. The dried seed heads on the echinachea and rudibeckia that were left out in the fall for the birds were cut down. The raking revealed the sprouts of spring bulbs, the fleshy leaves in greens and purples twisting out of the ground. Already the red tips of peonies are peeking up, the sedum are starting to come out, the clusters of leaves like tiny chicks huddling in a nest. Oriental poppies are sending out hairy leaves, and the purpley green leaves of columbine are unfurling. Portents. Spring is indeed arriving. More friends were spoken to. Fellow gardeners emerging from hibernation, seasonal friends that disappear under the snow are also starting to crawl out into the promise of sun and warmth.

Soon enough it was time to head back home and wash up and eat some lunch. Looking at the time I realized the Met broadcast was about to begin, so with a plate in my lap I tuned in. Il Barbiere di Siviglia was on and having heard any number of Barber's I thought it would be a good accompaniment to doing some light cleaning. Not so. With the first few bars of the Overture, I knew I was in for something special. The music was so fresh and energetic it was like hearing it for the first time. Juan Diego Florez, Peter Mathei and Joyce DiDonata and the orchestra infused the music with an energy, humor and enthusiasm that left me first sitting on the sofa, then lying in the middle of the living room floor listening, as I have not listened to this chestnut in ages. I have heard that there were criticisms about the production itself, but anyone who was unmoved by the singing and playing should really turn in their card. I for the first time in a while really wished that I had been in the audience, and felt truly grateful for the Met broadcasts.

After 3 hours of opera heaven, I came back to earth and attended to more mundane pursuits, like grocery shopping and laundry. The niece had called while I was in the garden to make plans to go to my brothers for Easter and I had to consult the internet to find out which Sunday this was. The day wound down in a pleasant way, and by the time bedtime arrived, I was feeling contented and ready for sleep. It was an unremarkable day, and yet remarkable in it's peace and the hidden and unexpected beauties that popped up unbidden and after a long winter made good the pact with nature that spring was fulfilling its promise. Life will get back to its normal pace, filled with aggravations and irritants but it is nice to be reminded that sometimes in very simple ways it can be sweet.

I am such a 10 year old

Monkey and I went down to one of the food concessions in our building because I forgot to pack a lunch. I got some cheap, not so great sushi and Monkey, who was thinking fresh fruit, appropriately enough he decided on a banana. When he took it out of the basket, he said,

"Ooo, this banana is warm!"

It must have been the look on my face, he just rolled his eyes at me.

"Just let it go, hon. Just let it go."

Where upon we both started laughing like 10 year olds. Some humor just never gets old, and for the record, the banana really was about body temperature.

Spring has sprung

It is much too nice a day to work! It really is. The temperature is up to around 60, the sun is shining more or less and the snow is rapidly retreating. The weather for the weekend is also suppose to be good so there is even something to look forward to! All in all things are looking up. I will admit, it is only small things, but they count. 2 of the most annoying people I work with are out of the office for an entire week. So life is feeling better.

I also got an nice email (photo enclosed) from one of my readers. The gentleman in question is very handsome and suggested that we had, hem, hem, met. Now kids, this was a face one was not likely to forget, but I was drawing a blank. So, after I picked the carpet lint off of my tongue, I replied, saying I really couldn't recall. The minute I hit the send button the penny dropped. Oh. OH! Yeah. Ooops. Suffice it to say that he really is that good looking and is a nice guy and it was enjoyable. And that's all you bitches are getting on that one.

Other than that, it's spring. The wands on the willows along the Charles are starting to turn yellow green, spring bulbs are starting to poke out of the ground. I am expecting to see crocus any day now and with luck, I will get to play with rakes and wheel barrows this weekend and start the process of cleaning out all of the leaves and dead branches that have accumulated in my garden over the winter.

Now I can get down to the business of bitching about the fact that I still have to put on a jacket to leave the house. Hey, who did you think was writing this, Little Mary Sunshine?

End of phone saga

Life is returning to normal. I went to my dentist, who for the record is a terrific dentist and as cute as a button to boot, and have finished the last part of a rather expensive process and I have been assured that I shouldn't be experiencing any trouble between now and my next check up.

When I got home, my phone and internet service were back on line, so I will be able to waste time in front of the computer in the comfort and safety of my home.

I also got a letter from Daddy's little girl, which has come as a bit of a relief. I haven't heard from my daughter for a while and I was starting to get worried. All is going well there, hubby and both the kids are doing fine, so for the moment that worry is also put to bed.

Tomorrow it is back to work, but it is Friday. Next week will be a bit tight, but I will manage somehow. I've managed on fewer resources over the years.

The snow has almost completely melted away, I am starting to notice buds on the trees and spring just might make it here after all.

All of this good news should put me into a better mood, and free my mind up for more important things, like smiting mine enemies, like the phone company and anyone else who annoys me.

Mr. Cranky

I am in a foul mood today. At the behest of the idiots of the phone company, I wound up taking the morning off from work, so I could sit around twiddling my thumbs waiting for a repairman to come around. I was told they would be there between 8 and 12. I kind of thought that this was going to be an exercise in futility, since they had pretty much told me that this was a problem with the cables in my neighborhood, but what do I know?

After hurrying through my workout and tearing out of the gym without a shower, I made it home at 8 on the dot. I then sat around, and sat around and sat around waiting for my cell phone to ring. It kinda goes without saying that no one ever came. I'm a sport, sort of, so I waited until 5 past noon to call up Verizon and let them know that the repairman never showed up.

The thrust of my conversation with the customer service center was that there was major cable failure in my neighborhood, there was no point in my taking the day off and loosing the mornings pay, since there was nothing that could be done from my house. Period.

I think you could now call me the Angry Evil Ganome, with at this point extra evil. I know that it's pointless. I can get as steamed up about this as I want, it will not change things, get me my pay that I've missed or in any way adversely effect the phone company. The only thing I can say at for certain at this point is that this has further stiffened my resolve to abandon Verizon once and for all and just go with a cable modem and my cell phone. Of course this will involve setting up an account with Comcast and having to pay an installation fee, so this is not going to happen immediately, I first have to catch up on some of the pay I lost fucking around today waiting for the phone company to show up.

Well, it would seem that I will just have to content myself with using public internet at the library, or shell out a couple of bucks at local coffee houses to use their service until the forces that be return me to the land of the connected.

Now if you'll excuse me I have to go to the dentist.

The Horror Continues

I finally managed to get a real person at Verizon. Yeah, I know, amazing. The upshot of this is that while they can pretty much tell that this problem is in a line outside my building, reinforced in part by the fact that there has been a systemic problem in my neighborhood that was caused by the snow storm, that is not stopping them from insisting that I be available to let some schmoe into my house "in case they need to test the lines."

WTF? What is with these guys? They can't test the outside lines and then get back to me? I should already know the answer to that. The last time I had a problem it took them over a week to get someone over to me. Then the repair guy didn't show up. Then I had to call them back and reschedule. This time I waited outside for the repairman. I saw the repair van come down the street and go around the corner. After about 10 minutes I went to see what the story was. This character from the phone company was sitting in his van reading the paper. We were a little annoyed.

I get Mr. Schmoe to get his well upholstered ass out of the truck to come and fix the freakin' phone. He goes around checking everything in and out of the apartment, guess what? He can't get a dial tone either! Finally, he was able to determine that some genius had shut my phone off in a manhole 2 blocks away, and hadn't bothered to turn it back on!

I know that this is going to turn into another snipe hunt and that I am going to have to sit around the house, so that they can figure out that the problem is somewhere other than the equipment inside my house and that I will have wound up taking an unpaid day at work so that I can participate in this foolishness. It is not making me a happy little Ganome. Not at all happy.

I guess I will have to suffer a little longer with Verizon until I make my move. Keep your fingers crossed, maybe they will fix the phone lines on the street before Thursday morning and I will be able to avoid all this.

Regardless, it will be nice to post from the comfort and relative quiet of my own home again.

St. Paddy's

I am not a big fan of St. Patrick's Day. It probably has to do with all of the Irish nuns I had in elementary school, and their... negative... attitude toward all the little Kanuck's in St. Mary of the Seven Dolors, maybe it was the Ryan family across the street, whatever the case it has been influenced by a group of people who will tell you they are Irish, but have never set foot in Ireland. What it generally means for me is that I can either stay at home or spend the day dodging belligerent drunks in green who are shithammered by noon. And for my money, Kelley Green is one of the most hideous shades ever perpetrated. On top of this, we have had a major snow,rain, sleet and shit storm here in good old Boston, which has knocked out my land line and consequently, my DSL. I'm cranky, I am without internet, and I am in fucking Starbucks, paying for T-mobile, because the Finagle a Bagel closed up shop on Newbury Street and I can't think of anywhere else to mooch free internet bandwidth.

To add insult to injury, the friggin' parade isn't until tomorrow, so that means all of the asshats will have an extra day to make drunken nuisances of themselves.

All that said, the sodden are not the true enemy. the true enemy is Verizon! I called the phone company up, and got one of those avatars that is suppose to make me feel like I am talking to a real person. The similarity is quite striking. Both are clueless, unhelpful and both will only schedule a repairman several days in the future, and give you a service window that encompasses a 12 hour period. These miserable shites have been robbing me blind for years. I am usually coming in at around 100.00+ a month for phone service and internet. I think the day has arrived to dump the whole mess and get a cable connection and live with my cell phone. I have a pay as you go plan, but I really don't see it making a huge difference in my life. I spend next to no time on the phone, and even if I do rack up more minutes it will still be cheaper than what I am currently paying for my land line.

Of course this is going to involve getting involved with Comcast! I hate to imagine the negotiations since I only want internet access, not cable TV. It is Unamerican of me I realize, but I don't watch TV. I do not watch, Survivor, Desperate Housewives, American Idol or any of the other narcotics that are being televised to a willing public and I have to say that they all sound so insipid, I have no interest in watching them. This kind of leaves me bereft of water cooler conversation, but it means that we have to talk about more interesting subjects like, our sex lives and speculating about the private lives of our co-workers.

As I read this, I realize it is all ranting. Too bad! I have been inconvenienced and therefore Verizon's corporate headquarters should be razed to the ground and the earth should be sown with salt, and all who are in power there and their minions should be sold into perpetual servitude.

As soon as I come up with a plan, I'll let you know.

Gettin' much?

Yesterday over at JMG, the open thread for the day was "Sex without love, or love without sex?" It was a pretty lively time on the comments, but what gave me pause were all the guys who were saying "now that I'm (insert age over 45) I am not that interested in sex." WTF?

As someone who will never see 50 again, all I can say is that I'm still happy to do the driving, my problem is finding someone who wants to get on the bus! Geez Louise, guys, what are you eating?

I'll admit, I thought when I was younger that my sex drive would kind of dry up and blow away once I got past, say 40. Not so much. I also thought that it was a little unseemly for anyone over a certain age to be engaging in the horizontal mambo. Not that that stopped me from participating in some fun and games with men who were rather richer in years.

Now that I am in that demographic, and some of my friends are either pushing or past 60, I can say that there are plenty of other men out there that are still willing to get into the game and take one for the team.

I am not sure why this bugged me so much. Do I feel like these guys have succumbed to the youth culture and have just given up, or do I feel envy because they have outgrown a need for sex and can now dedicate their extra energy to, I don't know, macrame?

It gave me something to think about, but I'll have to get back to you on it. I have a hot date coming up.

Bringing Sexy Front

I was checking out my buddy Mike's blog yesterday and he was... well... gloating over the fact that he has the metabolism of a hummingbird. He extemporized a bit on the satisfaction he enjoys watching others who have to watch what they eat and I might have been feeling a bit sensitive on the topic, having gone from 155 when I got sick to 160 when I got on the scales this morning.

I might also have been just a teeny, tiny bit harsh in my comment. So, Mikey, baby, I love your abs! I have been fondly gazing at them, as well as all of the other equally delightful parts that are Mike ever since you became my gardening neighbor. Long may your metabolism reign so that all may enjoy the pulchritude that is Mike. I didn't mean a word of it, except the part about keeping your shirt off.

See ya' back in the garden soon honey. More picnics and margarita's? Whaddya think?

Who's your Daddy?

I was in Monkey's office this morning complaining, because I was having to attend to yet more scut work. I suggested posting a sign that said,"Clean up after yourselves, you fucking pigs". Monkey assured me it would be against policy to do so. He did however suggest I post this picture with the legend. "I AM NOT YOUR MOMMY".

I showed the picture to one of the straight boys here at work. He said he'd be scared.

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.