Close encounters of the bird kind

It has turned out to be a nicer weekend than anyone anticipated. Yesterday was sunny and warm. Today, not as sunny but at least warmer than it has been.

Yesterday was suppose to be cold and pissing down rain all day, so I had made plans and decided to stick with them. These plans did not include gardening, since it was suppose to be pissing down rain. I did however get out the old pasta machine and made a batch of fettucine and a pot of sauce bolognese. I also had a delightful lunch at C's house. He had made fresh pea soup and it was the perfect spring day lunch.

Today, I dragged over to the garden to start a rather late clean up and was amazed at the number and variety of the birds that were out.

These handsome fellows are every where at the moment.


People think that grackles are a type of crow, but they are in fact icterids not corvids. Which means that they are relatives of blackbirds and orioles.



These guys were also singing their hearts out.



I was working away when there was a huge commotion in the big magnolia a couple of gardens over. At first I thought it was some robins fighting over territory. They are vicious bastards during nesting season and I have seen them get into fights to the death.

Looking up at the tree I saw that there were a large variety of birds in the tree, all agitated. Something had upset the neighbors. It was this guy. This one had obviously seen some form of rodent life in one of the neighboring gardens and was very intent on lunch.






This brave soul was actually attacking the hawk.



Better him than me. It seems like a bad idea to me.



A really bad idea.

I'm so glad I bought the new camera. I might not be much of a wildlife photographer, but hopefully as I learn the camera the pictures will get better. Even if the garden doesn't turn out that well this year, it looks like there will be plenty to take pictures of this summer.

For the birds

When I was walking to work this morning, I saw a red tailed hawk.



This evening, I saw this guy, a hairy woodpecker.



Sometimes I just love my neighborhood.

Down the Crazy River

I force myself to look in the mirror. There is no choice, the beard haters are just going to have to get used to a goatee. I had forgotten about how bad the razor burn gets when you are shaving barbed wire.

Robbie Robertson is playing in the background:

"I was feeling like a stranger in a strange land
You know where people play games with the night"

The skunk steak of white hair in the center of my chest has spread out over the top of my chest as well. When did that happen? And who's this guy with the crows feet and bags under his eyes? Jesus, I just turned 40. No wait, 50. Christ I'm 53! What happened to 45? I don't remember. No, wait. I remember 45. I almost died. How the hell do you forget something like that?

Death sitting on the hospital bed with me having a chat. I tell him, "I'm ready to go when you are." But he says, "No. Not today. But I'll be around when you need me."

Like I say, how do you forget something like that. But you do. You move on.

"Catch the blue train
To places never been before
Look for me
Somewhere down the crazy river
Somewhere down the crazy river"

The razor moves across my face. Scraping away white hair. Damn, I remember when it was black. Black beard and a mop of curly hair. Now, just some old bald guy with a white beard. Am I still in there somewhere?

Oh to be 20 again. No, not really. I don't miss that guy. What an asshole. Too scared, too eager to please.

"You know, I think I'm gonna go down to Madam X
And let her read my mind
She said "That Voodoo stuff don't do nothing for me."

I rinse the foam off the razor and back to scraping. Shaving is an art. Small strokes, touch test. It never comes out smooth. Not really. My beard is too coarse.

"You almost died", the physicians assistant tells me.

"Yeah, I know. They told me I could have died" I reply.

"That's not what I said,' she tells me, 'You almost died. We thought we were going to lose you."

Could have died. Almost died. Semantics. You hear what you want to hear. It was a shock. When I was lying there, I didn't care either way. I must have heard something though. I called my asshole of an ex from the hospital, who thought I was faking that I was sick. How do you fake jaundice? I was as yellow as a daffodil.


"I'm in the hospital.", I tell him. "The doctor told me I'm probably going to die. I'll give you a call if I live.", and I hung up on him.

"No, you almost died.", she told me. A flat statement that gives it a different reality.

"Catch the blue train
To places never been before
Look for me
Somewhere down the crazy river
Somewhere down the crazy river"

Way too much drama for first thing in the morning.

The razor moves around my face in small strokes, avoiding the irritated area on my chin. I maneuver the razor over the growing wattle under my chin. How the hell did this happen? Shit.

I ignore it and keep moving the razor. Scrape, scrape, scrape. I clean off the upper lip. Careful of the birthmark. That always bleeds like a son of a bitch if I knick it.

I rinse the razor off, washing aways foam and stubble. Better get the hair off the ears as well. Ain't the aging process grand?

Time to push all these thoughts away. It's another day, and I have to go to work.

"I'm a man with a clear destination
I'm a man with a broad imagination
You fog the mind, you stir the soul
I can't find, ... no control"

I inspect my face. It'll have to do.

I find myself shivering a bit. The temperature dropped over night and you could store furs in my apartment. No time to stand around naked in my bathroom, still slightly damp from the shower. I towel off my face and pull out some clothes and start to get dressed.

"I'm a man with a clear destination
I'm a man with a broad imagination
You fog the mind, you stir the soul
I can't find, ... no control"

It's another day.

Rehab, no, no, no....

I have started physical therapy for my shoulder. This is not fun people. The basic lowdown is that rather than bursitis, I may in fact have arthritis in my shoulder.

I am now starting a regimen of exercises and stretches that are suppose to help. Eventually. Eventually being the operative word here. In the mean time, my left shoulder is now a low continuous throb.

I am not the chirpiest person on the planet at the best of times. The current situation is cutting into my sleep, my workout and life in general. This is making me crankier than usual and the sleep deprivation which is not helping my mood is also really screwing with my concentration. This is not lending itself to a sunny outlook.

I have learned an important lesson. The therapist told me that the longer you let these types of problems go, the longer the recovery time, so I am just going to have to be patient. So, as usual, the average male response to things "It'll get better on it's own." was not the appropriate response. I can already hear the distaff section of the cheering squad and lots of unhelpful remarks about "Well, if you'd run off to the doctors immediately... " Not helpful.

No one likes to be told they are behaving like one of their parents. I have to admit though, that my current situation has reminded me that I am, with very little effort, capable of being as stupid and pigheaded as my own dear old Dad. So I guess the apple doesn't fall far from the tree.

In the mean time my new best friend is the package of frozen peas that is doing duty as a cold compress.

Middle age is just grand. I'm really looking forward to getting older now!

Bad idea

The deed is done.



I don't even want to talk about it. I really don't.

RPD's

I got my new glasses today. This has been a 2 month process with one thing and another. Here's a picture of me with my old glasses. Not bad, huh? I like rimless glasses.



My new glasses were suppose to be very similar. However, with one thing and another, the glasses that I picked out kept getting screwed up by the lab. Finally, the store called me up and told me, they could try again, or I could come and pick out some new frames that they could make the lenses for in house and they could have my glasses for me the next day. By this time, I just wanted my damned glasses. So I got these.



Pretty fugly huh? I'm not crazy about them, but they have this virtue, they are now in my possession. The other thing that occurs to me is that they help hide some of my face, so maybe it's all for the best.

Four, twice

I have been tagged for a meme by Will and Gavin, so I guess the universe really wants to know how boring I really am. I have to name four things about myself in different categories.

Four jobs I’ve had in my life:

Food Service (busboy, waiter, bartender, cook and baker)
Landscaper (The guy with the shovel, not the guy drawing up the plans)
Picture Framer (one of the best and worst jobs I ever had)
Office Slave (They told me there'd be no heavy lifting, hah!)

Four Movies I Watch Over and Over Again:

Sunset Boulevard (Gloria Swanson was brilliant)
The Fifth Element (Bumbling idiots save the universe)
Auntie Mame (what's not to love)
Some Like it Hot (It's like Jello on springs!)

Four Places I Have Lived:

Vermont (home state)
Boston (home sweet home)
Cambridge (rent control was sweet)
Cape Cod (summer jobs)

Four TV Shows I Watch:

I haven’t watched TV for about 6 years. I don't think that Mary Tyler Moore and the Bob Newhart Show count.

Four Places I have visited:

London
New York
Toronto
Quebec


Four People Who E-Mail Me Regularly:

My boss
RG
C
The Niece

Four Favourite Foods:

Potatoes in just about any form
Pork Loin (okay, pork in just about any form)
Bluefish Dijonnaise
Trader Joe’s Triple Ginger Snaps (really, these things are addictive)

Four Places I Would Like to Be Right Now:

Cape Cod
In bed reading
My garden
Italy

Four Things I Am Looking Forward to this Year:

Gardening
Visiting NYC
The Beach
Annual pilgrimage to a clam shack

I'm suppose to pass this along to 4 others, though I haven't decided yet whether or not to actually do that.

Make me virtuous... just not yet

I had a check up with Dr. Fred. Aside from some bursitis, which is going to require some physical therapy, it would seem that I am in great shape. The only caveat was that my cholesterol is slightly high. I know that I have been letting the diet slip lately, so it is really just a question of getting back on track. I am pretty determined that after getting my weight down and lowering my cholesterol enough that I was able to get off the cholesterol medication and I don't want to go back. So it's back to the diet.

Monday.

La Simpatica's mother, who is a lovely woman, is the enemy of the waistline of those she likes. It's almost Easter, and Nonna has been making Pizzagiana. I might add, not everyone gets pizzagaina. You have to rate. I rate. We were in a staff meeting and Nonna leaned over and whispered to me. "I brought you pizzagaina." I had pretty much forgotten about Easter, till these fateful words reached my ear.

In case you missed the post about this last year, pizzagaina is a lovingly prepared, combination heart attack and stroke, baked in a pie form that is a traditional Italian Easter pie. You gain 10 pounds if you just walk into the same room as the thing and if you look at it, at least 3 major arteries close down for business. It's wonderful!

Monday will be here all too soon. I am going to start up my diet again. Pay attention to the amount of fat I am letting myself consume. Make sure my green vegetable and fruit intake increases. Cut out the junk I've been sneaking and step up the cardio. I will probably get a little more focused because I am going to have to go through physical therapy for the shoulder and that should help keep me on track.

That way I should be in good shape for next Easter. You only live once!

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.