Driving lessons

I can remember every car my parents owned during my childhood. I remember the ’46 Ford coupe and how when we would drive up to the northeast kingdom to visit Uncle Frenchy. We would drive up old route 7 and my father would gun the car going up the rolling hills so that all the wheels would leave the ground at the crest. This would elicit shrieks of “Do it again Dad!” from us kids and the low tones of Doris muttering “If you do that again Johnny, I’m going to kill you.” All the while the old man laughing like an idiot.

I remember every intervening car that my parents owned until I moved out of the house in 1974. But I think that I remember the 65’ Plymouth Fury wagon the best. It was, at the time, the newest used car my parents had ever owned. It was also the only car my parents owned that I ever drove.

This car was white, the size of a Midwestern state, low slung and powerful. It had a 318 V8 which made it quite “peppy”. For a family station wagon, the thing had an almost frightening turn of speed. Actually, for just about any kind of car the thing was practically capable of flight.

My parents, I think had quite a bit of fun with that car. I know Doris did. I remember one particular summer day, shortly after my parents got the car, that I had been volunteered to go and help with my mother’s bi-weekly grocery shopping expedition in Rutland. We were at a stoplight that was at the entrance to the newly constructed highway. A car with a young man driving pulled up next to us. I am not sure I remember exactly what type of car it was, only that it was one of the muscle cars popular with young men at the time. Something like a GTO or an Olds 442.

When we had come to a stop a bag of groceries in the back seat had fallen over, and Doris asked me to set it to rights. I leaned over the back of the seat, and reached for the bag as Doris sat there, occasionally glancing at the driver of the other car with a slight smile, while he sat in his car, smirking and racing his engine.

I should have known I was in trouble, but even after years of experience I didn’t see it coming.

Just as I grabbed the bag, the light changed and Doris stomped down on the gas.

I flew over the back of the seat as my mother broke out in a fit of laughter as the car leapt up the entrance ramp. By the time I managed to regain the perpendicular we were racing up the highway, neck and neck with my mother’s competitor. He was getting visibly red in the face and Doris by this point was laughing like a fiend and the needle of the speedometer was climbing.

Probably looking like a Jack-in-the-Box peering over the top of the front seat from the floor in back, my reaction was, “Mom!”

She just kept laughing and pushing the car faster and the other car was keeping pace, but unable to pass.

Just as I saw the needle pass 85, Doris took her foot off the gas, and the other car shot ahead of us. Doris continued to look quite satisfied with herself and I climbed back into the front seat.
A couple of miles further down the road we passed our friend, who had been pulled over by the police. Doris just looked at me and said something to the effect that she hoped he learned his lesson about speeding. Later on in my own driving career, I would learn that this stretch of route 4 was a notorious speed trap.

One of that cars other qualities was something of a blessing and a curse at the same time.

It handled well for a station wagon because it was actually quiet low. If we had indeed live in some suburban enclave, which I assume Detroit had designed the car for, that would have been fine. However in 1970 rural Vermont it was not an ideal design. Most of the old county roads at that time were still unpaved. Actually, after a typical Vermont winter, they weren’t even so much roads as rutted goat paths.

These roads were a test of the average suspension system and heaven help you if your car had a vulnerable exhaust system.

The Plymouth had a vulnerable exhaust system, and my mother is married to a man who is the only person on the planet that knows how to drive. Everyone else is an idiot who should never have been allowed behind the wheel of a car.

Consequently, it was Doris misfortune to always be the one driving when the car went over a particularly rough spot, which would cause the muffler and sometimes the entire exhaust train to part company with the car. More than once do I remember the car roaring into the driveway, with the muffler sitting in the cargo bay. The old man’s reaction was always the same. Jesus H. Christ, Mother! Can’t you drive? I never have any trouble when I am driving to, insert name of any one of our farmer relatives who lived on interruptions in the fields that looked like they had been created with a harrow rather than graded roads.

I can’t prove it. But I suspect that my father was a victim of these roads as well, but was merely able to reattach the errant sections of the exhaust system before he got home. Whatever the case, he was able to assume the face of injured virtue and lord it over my mother on this subject.

Needless to say, this became something of a sore point with Doris and so she would attempt to take extraordinary care when traveling on dirt roads to make it home, with the muffler still attached.

Thus it was, on one fateful sunny summer day, my mother decided that she wanted to go and visit my Uncle Al and Aunt Elsie.

I went along so I could visit with my cousins. Generally speaking it was always fun visiting Al and Elsie. Their sons were close to my age and we generally would find something fun to do that if we had been caught would have landed us in trouble. Fortunately, Steve and Dave were masters at subterfuge and we rarely got into trouble, or at least any that stuck for long.

I also had a newly minted drivers permit burning a hole in my pocket and was hoping to get to drive. Doris however was having none of it. For reasons that were a mystery, she was dead set against me getting a license. I have since formulated some theories about that as well, but at the time it was just another injustice and hope welled in my teenaged breast every time we went out that I would be able to get behind the wheel.

As I said, Doris had set herself against me driving, so she chauffeured us up the rutted track to Al’s farm, a road that ended just past the farm at the home of one of the local service station owners, Whitey.

We made it to the farm without event and my cousins and I went off to find something stupid and dangerous to do while the adults settled down to gossip and the consumption of an impressive amount of beer. The afternoon flew by and I made it through with all my limbs still attached so we must have had a good time and finally Doris announced, somewhat bibulously that it was “time we headed back home.”

We drove down the hill from the farm and turned onto the road. We hadn’t got far when, ahead of us, Whitey came barreling down the road in his tow truck.

Doris eased the car towards the edge of the narrow road that was a tight squeeze for 2 cars at the best of times. A huge station wagon and an even bigger tow truck was just not going to make it without someone going into the ditch. Doris kept edging over and edging over when suddenly, the wheels of the passenger side of the car went into the ditch. Whitey sailed past us, and Doris who has an impressive vocabulary of swear words was exercising her knowledge of all of them, when looking back, I saw Whitey pull into Uncle Al’s driveway and turn around.

He pulled up beside us and getting out of the truck went around to the stricken side of the car. After a quick look, he walked over to the drivers side and said with the brightness of the near terminally drunk, “Well Doris, it looks like you’ve got yourself stuck!”

He and Doris had a rather good natured exchange and then Whitey hooked the tow truck up to the car and pulled us out and drove ahead of us until he reached a spot where he could pull over and let us pass. Through some miracle, the muffler gods were feeling merciful and the exhaust system remained attached.

The entire drive back I was on the receiving end of a rapid fire description of how miserable my life would become if I ever told my father about what happened. Knowing what my mother was capable of my silence was easily purchased.

Not that it mattered with what happened next.

The house that my parents bought in 1960, and in fact still live in, has a number of peculiarities. One of them is that it has a blind driveway.. From the road grade to the trees there was a berm that was at about a 45% angle slope from the road grade down to our lawn. At the time we still had a stand of 5 large trees in a front of the house. 4 sugar maples and an elm. The elm demarcating where the driveway began. In spite of a large tree and a reflector mounted on a pole at a height of about 4 feet as visual markers, my mother had a lot of trouble distinguishing where the driveway began and there were a number of unfortunate incidents involving the driveway, whatever car we owned at any particular moment, the hedge and on one memorable occasion the elm tree and our 1953 Ford.

Twilight was just coming on and this only added to the uncertainty as to the exact position of the drive. Also, Doris was a bit distracted with threatening my life should I be incautious enough to betray her to Dad and the fact that she had been keeping up with my Aunt and Uncle on the beer consumption. She hit the turn signal and started to crank the wheel.

“Mom, this isn’t the driveway!”, I shouted.

“Don’t you tell me where the driveway is young man.” I was informed sternly. “I’ve been pulling into this driveway ever since we bought this house.”

With those unfortunate words, Doris cranked the wheel and drove the car down the embankment between 2 of the maples, taking the muffler off the car.

“God dammit! Why in the hell didn’t you tell me I was missing the driveway?”, were the next words out of my mothers mouth.

It goes without saying that my father was out in the yard when this occurred.

Doris drove across the yard and pulled up in front of the house. Johnny, who had not been neglecting his daily recommended allowance of beer, was grinning like a jack-o-lantern and shouting “Jesus H. Christ, Mother! What the hell are you doing?”

Any of my mother’s blame assignment fell on deaf ears. This was too good for the old man to ignore. Mom heard about this for ages.

Payback however is a bitch.

Many years later, I was up visiting. I hadn’t got through the door when Doris and my younger sister greeted me at the door that the old man had finally got pulled over for speeding. Not simply that, but by a female state trooper and being my father, he had only made things worse for himself by being condescending to her. My sister had had the pleasure of witnessing this, because she had been in the car as a reluctant passenger, because she, with her freshly minted drivers permit, had wanted to drive and the old man had insisted on driving because he is the only person on the planet that knows how to drive. I was hearing all this at the tops of their voices as they were both laughing their heads off when I heard the old man’s voice from the living room, “Jesus H. Christ, Mother! Why don’t you just take out an ad in the paper?”

I’m sorta surprised Doris didn’t take out a full page notice in the paper.

Orchid update

I mentioned in a past post that a couple of my orchids had thrown up spikes. One is not doing so well, but this guy has pulled through for me.





I am hoping that my other orchids take the hint and get down to business. With it still being cold and gray here in the northeast, it brightens things up a little having this guy spit in Mother Nature's eye.

Spring fever

Spring is seeming a little distant today. We got snow this morning. I needed to do something before I finally lost it, so I got out the gift certificate that the Niece has given me for my birthday and went shopping for plants.





White Flower Farms is like crack for gardeners. I refuse to admit how much I spent, but this spring I am putting in some new varieties of echinacea and a second New Dawn Rose. Yes, Mikey, this time I'm planting it on the short side of the fence, so it will be climbing in your direction.

I could use some time out in the garden. There is something about working out in the garden that is incredibly soothing. So I am already planning on where to plant these babies.

Food is not my friend

I was talking to La Simpatica the other day. We were talking about food. She was saying something about being hungry and wanting something sweet. Actually, it wasn't even about being hungry, it was about having the urge to eat.

"Food is not my friend", was my reply.

"But it's so good", she said.

"No", I said, 'Food is like a really bad boyfriend, the one you swear you've finally washed your hands of and you're not going to have anything to do with, ever again, regardless of how good the sex is. Then he shows up on your doorstep and it's all over."

That about sums up my relationship with food. I wish I'd been born a WASP sometimes. As far as I can tell, their opinion of food is that it is sustenance. They also seem to like things bland.

I grew up in a culture where food was a way of life. Cream, butter, meat, potatoes, pasta, pretty much anything that should not figure in a healthy diet. In other words anything that is good. Don't even get me started talking about desserts and the underappreciated custard. Creme Bruleee is decadent in its sheer simplicity. Bavaroise is it's slutty sister in a big poofy ball gown. I remember one particular experiment with a lime Bavarian Cream, flavored with tequila and served with a raspberry coulee.

Perhaps a pork loin, butterflied and rolled with brandied prunes with a red currant sauce finished with heavy cream and served up with whipped potatoes.

As you are probably able so see from what I'm talking about, when I was more overweight, I had earned every last artery clogging pound. Perhaps that is why I have so little patience with the average overweight American.

Instead of lingering with a charming gigilo that is leading you down the garden path, they are shacking up with the 2 dollar whore of fast food. I don't really think most of the people carrying around saddle bags love food. They just love to stuff their faces. Theirs is the sin of gluttony. I would equate my problems with food more along the lines of lust. If I am going to eat my way into a heart attack, I want the experience to be worth it. I'd rather regret something that features hollandaise sauce, starch and animal fat that leaves me with a warm afterglow and the urge to smoke a cigarette before I fall asleep than gobble down a Big Mac.

Don't get me wrong. I also love a good burger. But I would prefer one that was once an actual cow and the cheese to be real cheese and not pasturized processed cheese food, thank you very much.

My friend Anne and I in the days that we still went out to the cape always made a pilgrimage to one particular clam shack in Wellfleet for a steaming platter of deep fried goodness. I should also mention they made their own tartar sauce and my attitude was "In for pence in for a pound!" when it came to the condiments, french fries and cole slaw.

If I am going to blimp out, I want to do so eating real food, not eating something that was conjured up in a lab somewhere. I want it to taste like food, not what one of the big food conglomerates have decided is a close approximation of what, say, beef tastes like. If I am going to be punished for my sins, I want to at least enjoy the sinning portion of the program.

At any rate, the struggle continues on. I will say this though for watching what you eat. On those occasions when you do fall off the wagon and follow your impulse rather than your better instincts you thoroughly enjoy the occasion. If like the bad boyfriend it takes a while to recover from the mess that has been made at least you had a really good time getting into trouble.

Secret Personality

Gavin had this posted over on his blog, so I thought I'd take the test. I'm not entirely displeased, though I really thought I'd wind up as Oscar.

You Are Dr. Bunsen Honeydew

You take the title "mad scientist" to the extreme -with very scary things coming out of your lab. And you've invented some pretty cool things, from a banana sharpener to a robot politician. But while you're busy turning gold into cottage cheese, you need to watch out for poor little Beaker! "Oh, that's very naughty, Beaker! Now you eat these paper clips this minute."

The Muppet Personality Test

Playing Catch Up

Sorry I haven't been posting for the past few days. After I was feted and recognized I was sent back to work and with Monkey out on leave, work has been a bit hectic. Like actually requiring my attention instead of killing spare minutes blogging. There haven't been many spare minutes.

In the news for me. I have been slaving at work as I mentioned, slaving at the gym which goes without saying and sleeping and trying not to eat everything that comes to hand.

I did get a rather handsome check from work for my award.

Then the government put their hand in my pocket. Then I went to my dentist, Dr. Hunky and about half of what the government left me disappeared. On the bright side, Dr. Hunky doesn't do anything unless it is necessary and while I know I need to have 3 more teeth crowned, he didn't schedule the next tooth, so I am assuming that these are not pressing. Have I ever mentioned that I love Dr. Hunky or what a good dentist he is? 'Cause he is.

Then my faithful Nokia brick has become ill. I love this phone because it is so ugly no one will ever steal it. It was at the time the cheapest phone available and has survived being dropped, kicked, bounced and on one memorable butterfingers occasion flying across the room into the wall. It has done what I want out of a phone. Make calls, answer calls, send text messages and receive text messages.

However all good things come to an end and a couple of the buttons seem to be getting "soft" which I gather is the term. The problem is that my carrier no longer carries any of the cast iron cell phones that I prefer. So I had to go off to the internet to find an unlocked phone that will work with my carrier. I managed to find an old model of Nokia that the vendor claims is still in the original box. That however was a few more bucks. Le sigh.

The rest I have shoved into my savings account as seed money for my upcoming trip to NYC in May.

However not all is doom and gloom. A couple of days after the ceremony, one of my co-workers sent me a couple of pictures that she took at the ceremony. She used to sell suits at Filene's a now defunct department store that we had here in Boston. She is the person who recommended the tailor that managed to fix the suit so that it actually fit, since all clothes seem to be cut for those who are a little wealthier in waistline, or so it seems.



My reaction was, "Wow, the suit makes me look like I have shoulders!" One of my co-workers who was standing there when I opened my email said something to the effect of, "Dude, that is how you look."

Ever the Doubting Thomas I decided to take a picture with my beautiful new camera when I got home from the gym today to see what I really look like.



While I will be the first to admit that the padding in the shoulders really helps, I also am feeling like all those dead lifts are starting to pay off. I actually have lats! Who knew?

As you can probably tell, since Tuesday, my life has been so exciting that I have been reduced to talking about my workout. On the bright side of the workout, I think I got cruised by a really, and I do mean REALLY handsome man. By handsome, I mean handsome. Not pretty. Not cute. Handsome.

I'll let you know if I work up the courage to actually speak to him the next time I see him.

Hopefully, life will get a little more exciting and spring is coming so I will be able to once again bore you all to tears with pictures of my garden. Speaking of, I have to sit down with the White Flower catalog and decide how I'm going to squander the gift certificate from The Niece.

Later guys, I gotta do some shopping!

Mrs. Astor's horse

Today is the day of the big ceremony. I am in full business drag. Okay, so I wore cowboy boots, they cost more than the suit and the tailoring combined. Give me a break already.

So far, it's been pretty amusing. I walk through Back Bay every morning which is one of the most expensive neighborhoods in Boston. I am in my usual work dress which is generally speaking jeans and whatever else I have thrown on to make myself decent. If I have the nerve to smile at any of the people out walking their golden retrievers they will give me stink face in return.

This morning, as I wandered down the street on my lawful occasions, I smiled at people and they smiled back. Asshats!






Well, I survived and managed not to trip walking across the stage. Here are a few pics of me in all my glory. The captivating female in one of them, is my buddy La Simpatica who you've heard me mention. Ain't she a doll?

It was a nice ceremony. They actually kept on schedule, so it didn't drag out. The speakers were actually good. The person who introduced me read from the letters he had received regarding my nomination which was kind of face burning, but in a good way. A lot of people from my department showed up and made lots of hooting and hollering when I went up to get my award.


They put on a nice spread and there was even a jazz band. Neither the food or the music sucked which is very unusual in my experience. I got congratulated all around yet again. The main conspirators all showed up. They were pretty pleased that I had gotten all decked out for them. Right down to the topcoat and a fedora, which is pretty fetching if I do say so myself. It also turns out that we have a spy in our midst. I got an email from one of our former undergrads congratulating me. It turns out a friend of hers is in the grad program here. So, I am hoping that I will get to see her when I head down to NYC in May and have the chance to catch up with her and see how she is doing in her post college career.

Work wise, the day was kind of a wash. I have a feeling it will all gang up on me tomorrow. But that's fine. It turned out to be a very nice day and I really do feel good about things right now.

More pitcha's

Here are a few more pictures from the other morning. Exciting, huh?

Early a.m. (snow day)

Because I have a new toy and absolutely no life, I went out at 5 a.m. and took some pictures of the snow. I wanted to see how the new camera handled low light conditions. I don't think Tater has anything to worry about, but I thought some of them were pretty nice.

Return of the prodigal

I got my cell phone back this morning. You know how you have those fantasies that the person who returns your cell phone, pushes you out of the ditch, helps you up if you slip in the sidewalk, whatever, will be Mr. Moviestar.

You know how it's always some shmoe that looks pretty much like you do.

Mr. Moviestar returned the phone.

Ugh.

And he's nice.

Double ugh!

When I went to get my phone this morning, I was expecting to meet some nice Joe who was just a good Samaritan. Instead I meet some 6'+ matinee idol with black hair and blue eyes, who has the nerve to be a nice guy.

It's discouraging.

He obviously didn't get the memo that if you are in your 20's, handsome and cause old men's tongues to drag on the lobby floor, it is your right, nay, your duty to be a complete and utter jerk.

At any rate, I offered him a $20 and he wouldn't take it. He told me he just wanted to do something nice. I said, you are saving me from a world of screaming from my AO, and he could look at it as my buying him his first cup of coffee for the week. He wouldn't take it.

So, I guess there are a couple of morals to this story. Even really attractive people can be nice in spite of some of our most dearly held beliefs. There really are nice people out there who just want to do the right thing in small ways that actually are important. I should hook my cell phone to my belt and not my pants pocket.

Oh yeah, I really need to start saving for that face lift.

New toy

I have been trying to get a new camera for the past few weeks. I mean how hard should it be?

The old Nikon Coolpix which has been a great camera has been getting a little... unreliable. Among other things, over the past year it has increasingly not been doing a great job of resolving reds. This is something of a nuisance when I am taking pictures in the garden. Last year, a lot of the pictures I took of poppies were blobs of red with black centers.

So, after being pretty responsible with most of my tax return and trying to get current on some bills, I had a few bucks to spare.

I decided to move up the food chain a bit with the point and shoot and get something with a decent zoom, so I could get better pictures of some of the birds that visit my garden and maybe catch the occasional rabbit or other cute critter on film, or jpeg, or whatever we are calling the medium.

Sounds easy enough. Go on line order the thing and be done with it.

Not quite.

I had decided on a Lumix. I was torn between the 12X and the 18X zoom and saw a refurbished 18X zoom for about the same price as the 12X. So, I ordered it. I waited a week before I called up Amazon to see what was what. They were no help and couldn't tell me when I could expect to receive the thing, so I canceled the order and decided to try my luck with an outfit called 6th Ave. Camera.

What a mistake.

I put in my order and waited 2 days before I sent an email off to them to see why I hadn't received my shipping confirmation. I got a vague email back from them, saying that they didn't have the camera in the warehouse and were waiting for one to be transfered from one of their retail stores.

The long weekend came and went and still no word, so I called to see what was up, since it had been a full week and I had payed using my debit card. They now had my money and I had no camera. I was helped, if you can call it that, by a young woman who told me, "Oh, there must be a problem with the website. They say we have black body cameras in stock, and we only have the silver ones."

I told her that a silver one would do fine, but that since I had been waiting a week, I wanted the camera overnighted. I was informed that she couldn't do that, but that she would expedite the shipping and I would have the camera in a couple of days.

By the next morning I had still not received a shipping confirmation. I had had about enough, so I called them up to see what was going on. I was informed in a very offhand manner that "The order doesn't seem to have left the warehouse." I said, cancel the order. Which she did without so much as a question or a protest. I guess they don't need the business.

I then surfed over to Amazon, shelled out for overnight shipping and now have my new camera.

It's pretty cool. I has all sorts of functions that I still have to figure out and it takes good pictures.

So, here are a few shots I took last night and today. Thanks to B. and M. for the pictures at the office.

Good Samaritan

It has been an aggravating 2 weeks for me. With one thing and another, dealing with uncooperative businesses, new semester nonsense, the tail end of the cold that refuses to die and any number of small problems. Then, this morning, I lost my cell phone. Not my cell phone, my cell phone, but my work cell phone, cell phone.

I hadn't even noticed and then one of my coworkers called up to tell me that she had received a text from the work phone, telling here that someone had found the phone and would like me to contact him so he could return it.

I have never actually lost a cell phone before, but I have returned a couple and people were always stupidly grateful. Or so it seemed at the time.

My losing the phone would not have been the end of the world. I would have had to put up with a certain amount of grief from the Uberboss, who would have been very unhappy about replacing it and I would have had to try and retrieve all my contact information which was in my cell phone, which would have been a lot more aggravating.

As luck would have it I actually dropped the phone fairly close to home and the young man that found it lives one door down from me on my street. I will be getting the phone back (one of those blessing and curse situations) tomorrow morning. I am feeling pathetically grateful and have to figure out something nice to do for this guy. I figure I will offer him a $20 as a reward for his good citizenship. If he refuses, I will try and pump enough info out of him so that I can see if a gift card from Starbucks or something similar would be welcome.

At any rate, my faith in my fellow creature has been renewed to some extent for the day. Now if I can just get people to leave me alone so I can do my work.

Fit to be tied

I am going to be getting an award from the school I work for. It's a pretty big deal. The award is given out by the school, not just the department. I guess I sort of felt pretty good about it when I first heard, but it took on a whole new meaning when I found out I had been nominated by the students.

The young people in our grad program are very busy. They probably have a heavier workload than the faculty. Putting one of these nominations through takes a lot of work and I guess that they were determined to see this thing through, because on the 26th, I will be getting a plaque from the president of the school and then eating rubber chicken. (I should also mention I get a nice fat check too.)

So, I feel like I have to do the kids proud. I went out and got a new suit that is at the tailors right now. Finding a 42 short is a whole blog post in itself. Hint to the clothing industry, it should be a 10 inch drop on the suitpants.

I was not feeling it with any of the ties that I have, so The Archduke Franz Ferdinand RG and I went out to look at ties.



I had decided that I wanted something loud in pink or maybe lavender. Then I saw the lime green paisley which even RG admitted was really me. There was a suit like the one I had bought, so we were able to check the colors against it. And yes I got a charcoal gray pinstripe. When you are as short as I am, anything too flashy and you look like you're with the circus. Another fashion hint, if you're under a certain height or at least if you have very short legs, avoid cuffed pants. But that may just be me.

At any rate, I went with the tasteful little number on the far right. As usual, I went to Chez Marshall's. Like I always say, only the best for me.

I already know that I am going to have to post a picture of me after I've been hosed down and had my barnacles scraped. You'll just have to wait. Like I said, the suit is at the tailor's.

That time again

One fine February morning in 1955 as Doris was doing the morning dishes, her water broke. My old man was working on the road at the time, so she called the doctor, who came and picked her up and so Doris went on Dr. Stannard's rounds with him, making house calls until it was time to head off to Rutland Hospital, where at 3:00 in the afternoon, I made my debut.

Actually, this was the first in a series of disappointments that I caused my mother. I remember a rather cloying expression of the time, where new babies were referred to as "little strangers". I was more like an unwelcome guest. My mother, who was never terribly enthusiastic about raising children, already had 2 and did not particularly want another one. I gather at that particular juncture, my parents were having a rough time financially. On top of that, if I was going to have the bad grace to come into the world, she had wanted me to be a "Valentine's baby". Being a queen, I arrived late.

I have in the subsequent 53 years had plenty of opportunity to reflect on the ways that this shaky start has influenced my life. A good deal of this reflection has taken place in the offices of therapists. I have come to the conclusion that happy childhoods are not all they are cracked up to be. While I would not wish the living hell aspects of my childhood on any poor child, it has shaped me into who I am, for better or worse.

One way it has affected me, is my relative indifference to birthdays. The other thing is my equal indifference to aging. The numbers don't mean that much to me. During the course of my life the only birthday that bothered me was turning 36. Why, I couldn't tell you now, and I don't think I could have expressed it then either. I am not saying that I don't find some of the inroads of the aging process irritating, mostly that I don't still have the energy level of a 20 year old however things like gray hair and wrinkles are just added visual proof that in spite of the vast reservoir of stupid that I have drawn on over the course of my life, against all odds, I am still here to tell the tale.

If I hadn't been plodding along all these years, I would never have met Wahz or C., 2 of the best friends a man could ask for. Or RG or Mike. If I hadn't been willing to change with the times and start blogging and reaching out across the ether, I wouldn't have had a chance to meet the great people who read this wretched blog of mine and against all good sense have reached out and commented and in a number of cases kept up communications outside of blogging. I wouldn't have met the Farmboyz, or Tater or Gavin who made the effort to come to Boston and I wouldn't have met people like Will or Atari who were right here, but were a part of the background noise of urban life. Come May, I will be getting the chance to meet more of you. As far as I am concerned it's worth a few more gray hairs and a loss of skin tone.

I guess what I am saying is that we are suppose to celebrate our birthdays. Another year has passed full of event. Things befall us, good and bad, and if we keep our wits about us we learn new things and grasp new opportunities. While I am not happy about the encroachment of achy joints and other attendant problems, on the whole, I'd rather be where I am now, rather than where I was 20 years ago.

We all deal with the aging process differently. If you want to bemoan the accumulation of years, I'll listen. I just may not be too sympathetic. We are all headed for the same destination by different roads. I for one am going to try and enjoy the trip, take in the sights and enjoy the souvenirs I have picked up on the way.

BTW, Doris sent me a cake.

Cake update, my beloved Quebecer baked me a cake as well. Chocolate of course. And it was really good!

Valetine's Greetings

I fully expect that there will be some people out there today denouncing Valentine's Day and others writing about how sublime they think love and or romance are.

I will be spending my spare time with myself. I won't be eating or drinking myself into a stupor. I will not be railing against the foolishness of love or pining for a relationship. I have been spending the past 18 years in happy bachelorhood.

I am not ruling out relationships. It could happen. But then we may finally get that visit from ET.

You are welcome to spend the day as you will. I will be spending the day remembering the words of Oscar Wilde.

"To love oneself is the beginning of a lifelong romance."

Happy Valentine's Day.

Repair job

Things in Ganomeland have been a little sketchy lately. I tore a muscle in my leg in around Xmas and I am still limping along and trying like mad to avoid physical therapy. At the same time, I caught "the cold that will not go away".

I finally broke down and went to the doctor last week.

Now I know the distaff side of you folks out there are all saying, "Just like a man! Why didn't you go sooner?"

The answer is pretty simple. I knew, in advance, how this was going to shake out. I have a cold. It's a virus. They can't do anything about it. It will go away eventually.

As to the knee related problem. I tore the muscle and it will heal if I take it easy and stop acting like a jackass.

Not acting like a jackass is the real problem. There is a genetic predisposition on the male side of my family to say things like, "I can lift that!" Or "I'll be damned if I'm going to waste a half hour till someone can help me."

This form of jackassitis leads to situations where skinny little men do things like move old Steelcase desks by themselves or move full filing cabinets. By move a Steelcase desk, I mean upend the thing onto a dolly, move it down the hallway, load it onto an elevator, unload it, bring it to the storage unit and offload it from the dolly. (If you are unfamiliar with Steelcase desks, the old ones are about the same size and weight as a Buick.) I think it goes without saying that these behaviors are not conducive to allowing torn muscles to heal and which may have something to do with the fact that I now look like Festus in Gunsmoke when I go down a flight of stairs. To add insult to injury here, I wasn't even doing anything stupid when I initially injured my knee. I slipped on some ice.

However, having been threatened with a physical therapist, I am attempting to behave myself. I have been staying off all the cardio equipment at the gym that bothers my knee. Unfortunately, this means all the cardio equipment. I am also NOT doing squats with the Olympic bar and my own weight loaded onto it. I have actually gone 2 weeks without doing a leg routine, period, and this week will only be trying to do a workout with light weights, which I have promised myself I will stop if I start to feel like I am straining the muscle too much.

All of this goes against the grain. Partly because I am a jackass and partly because I am having to deal with the fact that I am no longer in my 20's. Or my 30's. Or even my 40's and that it just takes longer to heal from injuries, get over colds and in general self repair when I have an insult to my body.

All of this is making me reflect soberly on where I am and where I am headed. I am trying to deal with the idea that some things are just out of the question now and that as time continues to fly by, more things will fall into that category.

I know that eventually my knee will heal and I will be able to get back into my regular routine and try and stave off as much of the inroads that time and age are making in my life and well being.

Then I will go out and do something really stupid. Hey, there are still a lot of heavy pieces of furniture that need to get moved around the department!

Happy Birthday Doris

Today is Doris' birthday. She turned 82 and it goes without saying, is still going strong.

I gave her a call this morning, to wish her many happy returns of the day. I have a feeling that she would love it, if she knew how many fans she has on the internet. However, I also know she would be very hurt if she read some of the more frank descriptions of my childhood.

She would tell me that she had done the best she could and the thing is that I realize now that she really did.

She lived through the Great Depression and WWII. She, someone who I don't think ever really wanted children, managed to rear 5 of us to the best of her ability. Her marriage was not a happy one in many respects and it hasn't been until the past 25 out of 60 years of marriage that she and my father have been able to coexist peacefully. She is a difficult person, but she has had a difficult life.

She certainly made up for a lot of her lack in parenting skills with pure entertainment value. While any example she may have set for us has been of the "What would Mom do?" and then doing the opposite variety, there is a value in that.

Doris does seem sometimes to get crazier every day. The niece and I will occasionally have "How crazy is Doris now?" discussions. We will try and keep tabs on who is in favor and who is in the doghouse. What scheme is she cooking up, in order to get her own way? What has she managed to slip under the radar, and what will she do next?

My mother is the last of her family, having outlived her brothers and her sister. All she has left are her husband and her kids. She doesn't make it easy for us, but I know that she loves us in her way. I think she looks at life as a fight and she is not about to let down her defenses and let life take it's course.

So, if she is going to spin out the remainder of her years as an elderly, female Don Quixote, who am I to stop her. Her windmills keep her going as long as they are out there to be tilted at. She will keep finding some wrong that requires redress, even if it is a wrong only she can perceive.

Maybe as a mother she is teaching me one final lesson, and that it patience.

Happy Birthday Doris and many more.

Famous?

My fame must be spreading. I got this photo from that handsome and multi-talented humanitarian, Nurse Dave. It seems that they've heard of me even in NOLA.

A Night at the Opera

I have never seen a performance of Semele, so I was not quite sure what to expect. I have to say I was looking forward to the performance with a little trepidation. Anyone familiar with early baroque opera knows, they tend to be a bit static and while the music is beautiful, there isn't much scope for action. Singers take their mark and sing.

So you can imagine my delighted surprise when the curtain went up on Semele and on stage was a wedding party, in modern dress in a hotel function room. The chorus, (the wedding party) are all holding presents, in one chair a harried looking Cadmus is holding his head, in another an equally distraught Athamas is in a similar pose and curled up on one of the tables is an extremely sulky Semele!

Opera Boston stages all of it's productions at the Cutler Majestic, the theater owned by Emerson College. It is a lovely hall, beautifully renovated with marvelous acoustics and unimpaired sight lines. It also has a stage the size of a handkerchief! If one were going to be impressed with nothing else by Opera Boston, one would be impressed with the imaginative way that the company utilizes the limited stage. Once again, the stage design was perfect for the production. They managed to construct the tacky pseudo opulence of a hotel function room and by clever use of flats, throughout the production, continuously made subtle alterations to the set so that you were moved through the area.

The singers in modern dress were got up like a real wedding party, complete with ugly bridesmaids dresses and tacky groomsmans outfits. The outfits really looked like something one would see at a wedding, and yet did not go so completely over the top as to be distracting.

The orchestra and chorus were lovely. The Semele, Juno, Ino, Jupiter, Apollo, Athamas, and High Priest were all making their debut in this production and the only singer who seemed less than competent was the Athamas. Considering the quality of Opera Boston's productions in general and the rest of this cast in particular, I am willing to speculate that he was having a bad night. Counter Tenor is a difficult vocal range, but he did not seem up to the task. Fortunately, it is a small role and we spent most of our evening listening to some wonderful performances.

Semele was shallow, vain and silly, yet slightly dowdy. Her character was perfect for someone overreaching. Her interactions with Athamas were played with a perfect awkwardness and with Jupiter, just with the right amount of overenthusiasm.

Jupiter, portrayed as a high powered business type, was all you could want for a fatuous swain, both as seducer and neglectful lover proclaiming his undying love, while checking his cell phone for messages.

Ino as the unrequited lover was a wonderful, quivering mass of thwarted romantic intentions in an ugly bridesmaid dress.

Juno, in a power suit, with Iris as her personal assistant was indeed Junoesque. Her anger, as much injured pride as jealousy. All severe tailoring and privileged impatience.

Iris was played as Juno's personal assistant in an even more severe blue suit and RPD glasses. This made her aria where she describes Jupiter's precautions to safeguard his beloved Semele all the more sensual when she metaphorically lets her hair down as she delivers this song.

All in all, for me, it was a surprising performance and with the exception of Athamas, beautifully sung. The staging had just the right proportions of humor and downright camp without ever sinking into burlesque. The modern setting was used to great advantage, Somnus in Dr. Denton's, the use at one point when Jupiter carries off Semele, of a video camera, the growing dishabille of the chorus as the wedding party proceeds, Semele's overweening vanity, the little blue box that makes it's appearance as Jupiter tries to distract Semele from her quest for immortality, all wonderful metaphors for misplaced human ambition.

The denumount, with Juno tricking Semele, and her reunion with Jupiter leaves the audience with a tableau of Athamas, with the slightly stunned, grinning and gormless expression of the average groom and an equally stunned though not at all happy looking Semele, being united.

All in all, it was an enjoyable evening and I was surprised that 3 hours of music went by so quickly. I still have Ernani to look forward to, so I'll get a little grand guignol in as well before the season is over.

I heart Sharon Jones

When Sharon Jones and the Dap Kings play a song, it stays played! Keep your pop divas kids, this woman has a set of pipes. If you don't run out and buy this album after listening to this, there is no hope for you.



I have been playing the hell out of this album since I bought it.

Just checking in

My brain still seems to be on vacation. However, I have been meaning to post a picture of my new t-shirt that Monkey gave me. I love my new t-shirt. It kinda says it all.


I am going to go to "Semele" tonight, so I should have something to blog about tomorrow. I know how anxious RG is to hear about my opera going experience. Don't worry Cowbell, I'll give you a detailed description too.

Aside from that, like everyone else in the country it seems, I am nursing the never ending cold that won't go away. (Just shoot me)

On the other hand, even in my fog of cold driven misery, I couldn't help but notice last night on my trek home that it is no longer dark at 5 o'clock.




Maybe there is hope after all.

Signal to noise

I remember when I was a lad, I used to go camping with friends. By the time we were in high school this had become an excuse to go off on underaged drinking sprees. Among the necessities we brought along, with a case of cheap beer, was a radio.

This was back in the very early 70's so those old radios were monaural. With telescoping antennae and running on 4 D batteries and a built in AC adapter they fairly hefty. While the thing probably weighed as much as the tent it was none the less one of those items that were indispensable to the teenage camper.

One thing I remember most about those camping trips was the variability of reception on the radio. I didn't know then, that those cloudy nights were the nights that we could pick up the RPI Fieldhouse, and listen to the lastest hit from Aretha Franklin, and that on those clear nights when the sky was alive with stars we would have trouble picking up the commercial station broadcasting out of Rutland.

Currently, my brain is acting a bit like the old Emerson, on a clear summer night. I cannot seem to get my brain to register anything but noise. What ever poor signal of inspiration for blogging and story telling I usually experience is not coming through at the moment. There have been a few flashes of a clear signal, perhaps stories that will appear later. For the moment I only seem to be experiencing hissing and popping.

Instead of fighting it, I am just going to let it happen and do a little mental star gazing until whatever mental clouds that are necessary for me to string together a few coherent thoughts have formed.

It's, like, a fish

I was out shopping with C. today. We went to Ocean State Job Lot to look for a shower curtain and view the wonderful horrors on sale there.

Having got my shower curtain (2.49) and a yoga mat (6.99) we went to the check out line. A rather awful mother and her daughter came up behind me. The mother was of a rather vinegary disposition and the daughter most kindly put, was a ditz.

Mother: Is this a checkout line? (petulantly) Where's your grandmother?

Daughter: She's around.

Mother: Well, go find her.

Daughter: Can't she, like meet us at the car?

Mother: I don't think so! She doesn't know where it's parked.

Daughter: Okay, take this.

Mother: What is it?

Daughter: You put, like, your iPod in it. It, like, lights up. And then it dances. It's, like, a fish.

Overhearing conversations like this, make shopping in only the finest stores worth every penny.

Voices carry

Sunday just isn't Sunday unless RG and I go out looking for trouble. I have a vision of the 2 of us, with blue rinses and walkers out marauding the streets of our metropolis, scaring the tourists.

Yesterday was no exception. In addition, we had Atari Age in tow, the poor child.

We had met up at the Charbuck's in the Pru Barnes and Noble. After a certain amount of coffee consumption we decided to head out and take a look at things and began walking. Eventually, we found ourselves at Downtown Crossing, which was at one point the retail destination for the city. The area is closed to motor traffic with the exception of delivery and emergency vehicles and has been for many years now a pedestrian mall. Consequently, it is in the great scheme of things fairly quiet, for a busy urban area.

For those of you have been denied the joy that is RG in person, one thing you should understand is that, like small children and the hard of hearing, RG has no indoor voice. If RG says anything, it is heard by anyone and everyone in a 20 block radius.

With that in mind we had got to the corner of Washington and Franklin when RG announced, and I do not use the word announce lightly, "Can we turn here? I want to go get some poppers."

It was quite the conversation stopper. I looked at him and said, "RG, we're using our indoor voices."

In his usual form, he just gave me one of his "I'm such a stinker" smiles and raising his voice, declared, "I think the hookers are over this way."

It's always an adventure.

Natures skin care

I am sitting in my office while a snowstorm rages outside. While most of the other schools in the area were able to display some common sense and close, we on the other hand stayed open.

In spite of the fact that there are no classes and probably 80% of the staff commutes in from the outer burbs, we are open. The fact that there will be an enormous absenteeism rate today and consequently it will be next to impossible to get anything done leaves the forces that be undeterred. We are open.

I also predict that we will close early. Which will tick me off even further, since it means that I will get to traipse back home in this crap, when I could have been sensibly ensconced in my nice, warm, dry apartment.

On the upside, as RG has pointed out, walking in a blizzard does a great job at exfoliating your face. I'm positively radiant!

Dinner time

Doris had any number of drawbacks as a parent, but I will give her credit for entertainment value. If she had been a bit more responsible in her parenting duties, she would in some ways have been an ideal mother for growing boys.

One of the ways she managed to get along with us was that she had and still has a rather bawdy sense of humor.

By the time I was 14 or 15, I had discovered dirty jokes and also found an appreciative audience in my mother. By that time, things had degenerated around the house to the point where my father and I could not eat at the same table, so Dad would take his dinner on a tray in front of the TV and my mother, my younger brother Mike and I would eat at the kitchen table.

I can't be sure of when exactly it started, but dinner time became the set hour where we would review for Doris all of the jokes we heard at school. Looking back, Mike must have had quite the group of friends, since he is 4 years younger than I am and he was able to provide quite the staggering array of smutty humor.

There we would sit, biding our time. Timing was everything after all. What was the point in telling the joke, unless you could hit Mom with the punchline when her mouth was full. We got extra points if she passed food through her nose.

Every evening Mom would make the same dire statement.

"Goddamnit, I'm never going to eat with you 2 again!"

Every evening she would be back for more. Occasionally, she would make her own contribution, having heard something particularly good from one of my aunts or one of her crony's.

We must have made an odd grouping. 2 adolescent boys, telling dirty jokes to our mother and our mother telling us dirty jokes in return.

Some of Mom's more straight laced friends thought that this was just awful and wondered what type of horrible monsters we would grow into under this disgraceful arrangement.

My father couldn't understand it either and grumbled away, but he might as well have been on the other side of the country. Having excluded himself, he never found his way into this small and exclusive club, dining in his solitary splendor, above such vulgar displays.

Looking back on that sad, odd childhood I am strangely pleased that I can find these little islands of happiness. Strange as they were, they were vignettes of something like family and I suppose must have informed my outlook on the world.

Getting a good laugh at the dinner table is still one of the tools I use to measure an enjoyable time at table. Dirty jokes don't figure quite as large, though I will also say that some of the more interesting experiences my friends and I have had that usually revolve around sex make up a goodly portion of dinner conversation and we have had a lot of good laughs at each others or our own expense.

On the whole, I would say that those dinners with Doris, regardless of the dire predictions of our turning into hooligans, in fact prepared us for civilized life. After all, they say man is the only animal that can laugh.

Though, whoever said that never owned a dog. Cats don't laugh, they only snicker.

Gym update

I am over a week into my new gym. So far, so good. The niece emailed me to ask how the new gym is working out. Since I know you all couldn't care less are dying to know, here's the scoop.

The gym really is much cleaner and more well maintained than my old facility. The level of fitness also seems to be much higher, which is pretty motivating. Not that everyone is an Adonis, but watching my fellow gym goers, everyone seems to be pretty intent on paying attention to what they are doing.

For those of you who do not foolishly get out every day and beat yourself up, you will have no idea of how distracting it is to catch, out of the corner of your eye, someone literally swinging weights instead of lifting. I am a bit of a nosy parker about these things and want to go over and tell people to go down on their weights and do it right. It is nice to not have to watch sports injuries just waiting to happen.

I am also being motivated to set myself some new goals. Like getting rid of at least some part of my spare tire. To that end, I have actually been doing the much hated cardio workout. There are few things in this life that are more obnoxious, in my opinion, than getting on a cardio machine and wasting precious minutes of your life that you will never get back. However if it gives me less belly jelly for RG to make fun of, it will be worth it.

I am also going to start yoga classes tomorrow. Every tendon in my body is screaming just in anticipation. Since I don't want to suffer alone, I have picked up a week guest pass which I am going to give my pal La Simpatica. Why suffer alone when you can spread the joy?

There is also the improved customer service which is a relief. Not that this whole thing was entirely satisfying.

A week after I joined up AARP deigned to let me know I was eligible for a discount. They were only about a week late in relating this to me. When I called up the gym, no surprise, my contract was already locked in. It would have been nice to get the discount, but it isn't as though I am loosing out on that much money.

What made it less painful was that the manager was very polite while explaining that if you snooze you loose. He actually did try and make the news as acceptable as possible and offered me a bunch of guest passes and told me that if anyone signs up with the gym and mentions me as the person to recommend the gym that I get a free month. Quite a change from my old gym. I didn't get the discount and I can accept why, what made the big difference was the attitude. He seemed to be pretty interested in keeping my business and I wound up assuring him that I was very pleased with the change.

On the whole, I am really happy with the change. Not least of all, that I can get out of the gym and go home and make myself some coffee instead of grabbing a cup on the fly as I race off to the T. Though I am going to miss the coffee place I used to frequent.

10 boring facts

Our beloved Willym has tagged me with this meme. (You'll get yours pal) I cannot believe what a dull life I've led.

1)Three Exes I would pretend not to know today:

I only have 3. If my dear Jon were still alive, I am sure we would still be bickering in the good natured manner, which was our ground state. As for the other 2. I haven't seen either of them in years and hope to maintain this happy state of affairs.

2)The most scandalous rumor to pass through my high school.

Other than my drug habit? One of the girls (who shall remain nameless) went into the hospital with an apparent attack of appendicitis and gave birth to a full term baby. No one knew she was pregnant and she really wasn't "showing". Swayuh to Gwad!

3)The time I Knew Santa didn't exist.

I don't remember exactly. Born cynic that I am I think I had caught on by the time I was about 4.

4)The funniest thing I did in a house of worship.

They used to have to keep my cousin Steve and I separated because of the unsanctioned hilarity, but it was Doris who was my downfall. One Sunday, one of the wealthy lady parishioners came in swathed in furs, wearing a fur hat. As she passed by us, my mother and I noticed a tiny, truncated tail on the back of the hat. We looked at each other and started shaking but not laughing and then Doris began to croon very softly, "Daveeeeey, Daveeeeey Crocket, King of the wild frontier." I got in so much trouble with the old man.

5)Best excuse I came up with for being out past curfew.

After a long night of being led astray by my peers, I staggered into the house to be confronted with a rather pissed off Doris. I simply announced. "Mother. I'm drunk" and lost the contents of my stomach on the spot. She still laughs about that one.

6) Saturday cartoon character I had a crush on.

Race Bannon on Johnny Quest. C'mon, he was hot! And you know he and Professor Quest were doing each other.

7) Cartoon character I wanted to be.

Wolverine. (This was long before Hugh Jackman. We're talking the old Marvel Comics here.)

8)Foods I can no longer stomach.

MacDonalds.

9)Tacky pick up line you used that worked.

"So. Wanna?" It's worked more than once.

10)Secret Hangover recipe.

Extra strength Ibuprofen washed down with an extra spicy Virgin Mary with a raw egg beaten into it.

As you can see, other than my rather unfortunate lack of judgment concerning men and a bit of heavy drug abuse in my early youth, my life has been pretty lackluster.

The question is who to tag now? I'd tag Belle, but she isn't blogging any more. So.... I guess we will have to turn to RG. I can only imagine. (Note to self, have sex in house of worship, preferably Catholic, for old times sake.)

Opportunity

I just got this in my email at work. This may be the big opportunity I've been looking for to transition into a new job.

Try to think of a better coreer option for you!
Why wait?!WE now happy to introduce to you a tatally different option to acquire your qualification online!Any field your master in you will defenitely go better with a diploma record in your CV.
Millions of people all over the world took advantage of getting bachelor’s, PH’s, and Master’s through the net.
And plus you now able to reach your aim almoust instantly.Ladder you carrer! Call us 1 206 888-2083 for 24/7. You can proudly grasp your diploma within days!

I was especially excited about the ph. Maybe the shower gel I got at L'Occatane with my fab gift card will make all the difference. If not, I will at least enjoy the scent of Vetyver in the shower. I particularly liked the use of the word grasp, in reference to the diploma. I wonder if I act now, if they will throw in a set of steak knives.

Update:

Hot on the heels of the last email came this one. This must be my lucky day!

Now there's a time to check out what's in store for you!
Start right ahead!We now thrilled to bring you this special offer to get your degree on-line!Whatever your specialization is now obtaining your diploma degree becomes a reality.
Millions of people all over the world took advantage of getting bachelor�s, PH�s, and Master�s through the net.
And what�s more you now don�t have to wait years to advance your career.Ladder you carrer! Call us 1 206 888-2083 around the clolck. You can proudly grasp your diploma within days!

Though with all the question marks, they seem less sure of themselves. I think I will be sticking with the original offer.

Field trip

When Tater was in Boston last November, we talked about the idea of bloggers getting together in New York come the spring.

Suddenly, it is January and it seemed like a good idea to start rallying the troops. So far, we have on the list, Bigass Belle, More Cowbell, What Would Jackie Wear, Roger Dodger, Tater, Dulce y Peligroso, Secrets of the Red Seven, Why Oh Why and everyone's favorite Ganome.

I also made sure to alert my Monkey Boy in person.

We trust that the weather will by then be warm enough to have lured Father Tony back up from his southern retreat.

So. Who else is in?

RG is all for hitting the Guggenheim, WWJW has suggested the Cooper-Hewitt and I would like to go to the Museum of Natural History, which I have not seen since the renovations took place (What's it been 10 years?). Plus, there will be food and drink to seek out.

The next question is, who else is in? So far, survey results as they come in are for Mid May. I am going to float the dates 5/16-5/18 as a possibility.

Talk amongst yourselves. I know that RG and I are already ripping each others hair out planning our trip and looking forward to stalking seeing Tater again.

And Doralong. We'll talk about shoe shopping.

New Year, New Gym

I started at my new gym, which is, so far pretty nice. Once again, nothing fancy, but the equipment is newer and the facility is much cleaner and much more well maintained. The clientele seem to be much more respectful of the facility as well. Of course there are more grown ups and fewer muscle head frat boys at this gym, so that helps. For one thing, I couldn't help but notice that the members actually strip the weights off the bars and machines when they are through using them. It doesn't hurt any that this morning I meet one of my fellow gym goers, a very hot and handsome young Latino guy, who is also built like a brick shithouse. Too make matters worse, he's very nice and offered to help me out if I needed a spot or some help with my workout. There should be a law, that when you look like that, that you have to be an asshole, so I can quietly hate you and all your hotness. I guess I'll get used to it.

Other pluses are that it is a 5 minute walk from my house and they offer classes that I can actually attend, since they are scheduled for hours either in the early hours of the morning or after work. Not at 2:00 in the afternoon.

It is still early days, however after my experience with canceling the membership with my old facility, I am happy I made the move.

When I showed up at the old gym yesterday, I cleaned out my locker and told the new manager that I would be canceling my membership. His sole concern seemed to be letting me know that the gym policy is 30 day notice, so I would be charged for February. Having worked in retail long enough, I know that as unfair as this seems, it is pretty standard. What irked me was that I was not asked why I was leaving. I have had to sell goods and services to a gullible public long enough to know that if a client announces that they are going to dispense with your product, you ask questions. You find out why they are unhappy and if you cannot persuade them to continue using your goods/services you at least try to create some good will so that the door is open. People have changes of heart and will come back to use stores or services that they swore they would never use again if they feel as though their custom was valued.

This new manager, who as far as I can ascertain, has been on the job for a couple of months now, but whose existence I was unaware of until a couple of weeks ago is an ass clown and has no business managing any kind of a business.

I think that is what really pissed me off. Not the 40 bucks that I'll never see again, just the crappy business practice. I've done this type of crap for a long time and have been pretty good at it. I had to work pretty hard to get to management level before I threw it all over for the glamour of office work, so I appreciate it when I see someone who knows their stuff.

Like I said, this guy is an ass clown, and if I find I don't like my new gym as much as it seems I will, I will go elsewhere. The old club is not getting a second chance. If they don't want my money, some other club will find that my money is green and spends just fine.

Oh, the other thing. It opens at 5 a.m., so I can go work out and then come home and enjoy my coffee in a relaxed manner before I walk to work instead of rushing out of the door to the gym to get grab a cup of coffee from a shop and then try and make the train to work.

This could all be good.

Decent cup of joe

New Years Day, Starbucks in the Prudential Center B&N.

RG and I are having coffee on our usual mission of checking out the male pulchritude wandering around loose in Boston and ogling the 20 year old barrista, when a friend of RG walks in. RG waves him over to the table.

RG: How are you? We don't see each other for ages and then twice in one week.

Friend: It's because I work over here. Both times I've seen you it's been over here.

RG: So, what are you up to today, you're not working?

Friend: At the moment, I'm looking for a good cup of coffee.

Pause for a beat.

RG: So.... why are you in Starbuck's?

Happy 2008

Just a quick post to wish everyone a happy new year. I would also like to thank all my bloggy buddies old and new for keeping tabs on me and I have a whole new year to look forward to meeting more of you guys in person. (Lynette, this means you)

I hope you had the new years eve celebration of your dreams and that the new year includes fairy princesses or princes, depending on preference, and singing and well choreographed woodland animals. I personally get to go back to the office tomorrow, which only features a wicked witch.

Happy New Year, everyone!

Rain, Sleet, Snow, Kiss

When I got up this morning at my usual ungodly hour, it was sleeting out. I went through the usual ritual, though at a slightly more leisurely pace having the day off. A little later than usual I headed out to the gym and the sleet had turned to snow.

The workout went well. Better than usual in that I didn't feel rushed to get to work on time. Hot shower and then out the door to go home and the snow had turned to rain.

I decided to forgo my usual walk home from the gym and take the train back to my neck of the woods. The sidewalks and streets are covered with a thin layer of treacherous slush and I didn't feel up for a half hour of sliding down the sidewalks in the freezing rain.

Jumping off the train at Hynes, I crossed Mass Ave and as I got to Boylston and turned the corner a 55 bus made an unscheduled stop. It was a handsome driver that I have been flirting with, off and on for months, waving me over to the bus. I got on board and we exchanged pleasantries as the strange route back to my neighborhood wound its way through, just the two of us on the otherwise deserted bus.

Finally, the bus stopped at the corner of Jersey and Queensbury. With a huge grin on his face he said, "Come here." Leaning over he grabbed the back of my head and pulled me into a kiss. Then releasing me he said, "Happy New Year."

I did the only things I could in the circumstance and throwing my maidenly reserve to the wind. I pulled him into another kiss and then wished him a Happy New Year as well.

Maybe I'm getting old, but that was one of the sexiest things that has happened to me in a long time.

Holiday recap

Another Christmas has been safely navigated. I managed to start things off right by wrenching my knee on the ice last Weds. and waking up with a miserable cold on Thursday morning. Nothing says the holidays like being too sick to get out of bed with a fever.

By Saturday, I was starting to feel a bit better and by Monday, I was feeling fit enough to go out and have lunch with my beloved Mike in Davis Square, near to where he lives. We had a nice visit and I have to say that Mike is looking very handsome sporting the hyacinth curls. (I didn't really think it was possible for him to get any better looking, but I guess I was wrong)

I was suppose to get together with FB, for my special Christmas present, however he had managed to come down with the same thing I was recovering from. I'd like to say that sucked, but the whole point is that it didn't.

Yesterday, I spent the morning running up my cell bill, calling friends and relatives. Then it was a pretty quiet day until I went over to Wahz for dinner. It was our traditional Christmas and everyone had a great time. Delicious food, too much champagne and good friends.

Today, it is back to the grind. Not too much happening and there won't be for the rest of the week. Campus is deserted. So far, the only people I have seen are other staffers.

For me, the holidays are over. I don't celebrate New Years. Though, C is taking Wahz and I out for dinner on Friday, so perhaps that will be the official end of my Solstice revelries.

I hope everyone had a wonderful Christmas. That every one of you were able to enjoy the holiday and like myself, spend some time with people you love and who are important to you.

Now. We just have to get through the rest of the winter!

All I want for Xmas

As if the Niece didn't rock enough, what with the L'Occatane gift certificate, I just got a package in the mail. Cashew Brittle. No, not just cashew brittle, HOMEMADE cashew brittle. Which I have no intention of sharing.

I'm telling you, it doesn't get much better!

Best Xmas Ever

Recently there have been a lot of break ins in my neighborhood as all the meth freaks get their holiday high on. So, I have been trying to remember to shove my faithful MacBook, Della, into my murse when I leave the house.

This has reminded me of one of my all time favorite Christmas stories.

A few years ago, on Christmas Eve, I had to go into my old dentist to have an emergency root canal done. This woman was nothing like my current dentist, who aside from being all hot and yummy, is a really nice guy and a good dentist.

She on the other hand seemed to harbour some personal grudge, though she could well have been this way with all her patients. At any rate she hustled me into the chair and started in on me before the novocain had kicked in. I am pretty sure the shot was administered with a rusty blunt needle. She then got out a dull wood chisel and a ball peen hammer, though it could have been a 5 pound mallet, I'm a little fuzzy on that and performed a root canal.

Finally after about 2 hours of torture I was released with a temporary crown and a much lighter wallet.

At the time, I was still trying, foolishly, to play nicely with the ex. So as I made my way home I stopped in a few vintage bookstores looking for a 1925 edition of "Gentlemen Prefer Blonds". It is one of my favorite books and I had introduced the ex to Anita Loos. He had always envied my 1925 edition with the Ralph Barton illustrations. As luck would have it, the last shop I checked in had a 1926 edition, but still with the Barton illustrations, so I figured good enough. It's not like we were having sex and I headed off home, warm in the glow of a good deed.

When I got home I had some trouble with the front door. When I walked into the Ganome Lair, I discovered why. The local drug addicts had been doing some holiday shopping of their own. Aside from relieving me of all my stereo equipment and electronics, they had also helped themselves to all the wrapped presents!

With one thing and another it was not the sunniest or merriest of Christmases. There is no silver lining to this story. No one came riding to the rescue helping me replace the stolen gifts. I had let the apartment insurance lapse, so I had to go through the long slow replacement process. Oh, and the dentist screwed up the root canal and a couple of years later I had to pay another dentist to correct the situation.

So why the best Christmas ever?

Whenever people get into those dreary conversations about the worst Christmas of their lives, I pipe up with this story and invariably everyone shuts up for a few seconds and then some always says, "Okay, you win." End of conversation.

So I guess there is a silver lining after all.

It could be worse.

I was going to do a very cranky post about what a crappy day I had. And believe me, today sucked out loud.

However, on the bright side, the Niece gave me a very generous gift card for L'Occatane and 2 of my orchids have thrown out spikes.

Therefore, no bitching. Regardless of how tempting it is, since today really, really sucked, but a couple of really cool things happened too.

It's always good to maintain some perspective.

Office party

I managed to survive the office holiday party. Actually the food was good. As a non drinker I didn't mind so much that they started to run out of beer in the first hour, though it was too bad. Our faculty at the best of times need all the help they can get in any social circumstance.

Overall, it ranked about 5 on the utter boredom scale. The poor soul who had to organize the thing I did feel bad for. She had had to cancel the event last Thursday because of the snow storm and reschedule for tonight. The food was good and there were a couple of real cuties from the catering company wandering around, but I have to say, the Math Dept. does not do holiday parties well. If this had been an English Dept. when I was younger most people would have shown up half lit, and when the booze started running low, some of the faculty members would have pooled some money and sent out for more.

However I don't think you can really expect too much from work parties anymore, so I am happy that I managed to get myself seen by the Department head and the HR officer so that I was out of there in under an hour.

Only 3 more days and I have a long weekend which I hope to spend with friends enjoying myself. I might even have a drink.