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Tech Stuff.

So Jamie just told me that they keep me around because of my awesome IT skills. His email stopped working on the 18th of this month and nobody could figure out why. I had it fixed in two minutes, while eating a salad and working at my desk. It helps when you can hack into your home network from work. I highly recommend that ability for everyone that has a home network. If I wanted to, I could advance every clock in the house by an hour. How many bloggers do you know that boast about that? In fact, I could STOP TIME with just a few keystrokes. Let’s see you do that with your Amana Radarange.

I am parked in a different parking lot for lunch today. I have migrated to the city neighboring where I work and have situated myself next to the big sign that proclaims the variety of businesses in this shopping plaza. This used to be home to an Ames (which had taken over a Big N in the early 80s). That space was chopped up into a Dollar General and a Bargain Outlet. It appears that there are still bargains by the bagful. The inventory systems at Ames are what got me interested in tech in the first place. Well, mostly interested in tech; I did have a passing interest in the debut of scanning technology at Wegmans in the late 1970s. The cashiers didn’t roll their eyes when the item didn’t scan back then, that option came much later to our society.

The FedEx truck driver snagged the better spot of this parking lot by parking on the north side of the big sign. He is hiding in the shadow of the sign and keeping his truck cool. I think he’s quite resourceful. As resourceful as I wanted to be. It’s not overly hot today so I don’t care. I’m enjoying the late spring breeze and puffy clouds in the sky.

The seagulls that are far from the sea but usually very close to the adjacent Burger King are nowhere to be found today. Must be they are in a Big Mac sort of mood. Over the weekend I mentioned to Earl that I remember Burger King cashiers (back in the 70s) taking orders by coloring in dots with a grease pencil on a plastic card and then feeding that card into the cash register. No one seems to remember this sort of thing when I mention it to random people (and I just do bark it out like some sort of geek tourettes from time to time), but Earl said he remembers it well because he got a grease pencil in his hamburger once. I don’t know that I would enjoy that option.

Apparently the seagulls can read because they just arrived. They’re terrorizing the parking lot again, targeting the FedEx truck. Someone call Homeland Security.

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Like.

Have you ever had a moment where you said to yourself, “today I’m going to do what I want to do, not what I have to do” and then actually did just that? That’s how I am feeling today. I always start to get all analytical as my birthday approaches (even though it’s still over a month away), but as I sit here and ponder on the fact that I might be approaching the halfway point of this lifetime, I think about the fact that I should probably be doing things I enjoy instead of doing stuff because I have to do it. Which brings more happiness? A job that brings lots of money but little in the way of personal enjoyment or an adventure that makes your heart sing but leaves you wondering where your next meal comes from.

These are things that I think about.

I put a lot of credence into dreams. I think there’s all sorts of dreams, including those that include messages from our subconscious when we are too dense to see what’s right in front of us all the while. I frequently dream of my DJ days, spinning the records while watching a dance floor full of half-naked people dance to the beats of my choosing. This past weekend we went to a big nightclub that was in such a state, though I wasn’t choosing the beats (DJ Jesse Mercado was picking many of the same beats I would have selected). Earl and I danced like we haven’t danced in years, shirts off, sweat pouring out of my bald head. It was a grand time and something that we don’t have where we live anymore. Those days are gone in this area, but they’re alive and well elsewhere.

I think we’ll be traveling more often. It’s what we do.

I always need a creative outlet. I’m a creative person, I guess and I always feel the need to express myself creatively. Work gives me some of that with the work I do building applications, but it’s not all the way there. It’s sufficient but not completely fulfilling. That’s okay. It gives us the funds for me to do things like have a recording studio in the basement or for us to travel where the social life “pops” a bit more.

Pursuing happiness. I’m always in favor of that.

There’s a blogger who goes on about his tennis games. There’s another who talks about taking walks and go hiking in the desert. Yet another talks about his love of life near the coast of the Pacific. Some find their ongoing chats about these things monotonous. I find it all to be quite the contrary for they’re all in the pursuit of happiness.

It’s really cool when you find it.

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Change.

This is a notification of the SigAlert system. I have changed my Twitter and Instagram names to DJSuperCub. I repeat, I have changed my Twitter and Instagram names to DJSuperCub (update: I lied.). What’s old is new again. What resonates will always resonate.

Keep on resonating, baby.

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Fresh Air.

So Earl and I flew into Chicago for the long weekend and joined Jamie for a weekend of fun. We spent most of our time with the bears (the big, furry guys, not the sports team) at BearPride, going to various venues for parties and finding some good food to eat. We also made a stop at the vendor mart at IML (International Mister Leather contest) where we looked but didn’t buy anything other than a gift certificate to give as a gift. While over there, we ran into our friends Matt and Anthoney. They are Canadian. We still like them (and we still like some other Canadians as well).

For the record, I was not the only handlebar mustache in attendance, but the other guy was kind of snooty and didn’t seem to want to take a picture with me. His loss.

Earl and I ended up flying out of Buffalo on Friday because Earl was already in Buffalo for work and it was cheaper to fly out of Buffalo instead of Syracuse. Buffalo is a good airport to fly out of. Plus, they have Chipotle and more important, a company funded hotel room for the husbear, so it was a win win win with salsa on top. All good.

Since we had two cars in Buffalo, I ended up driving home alone in the Jeep after landing. The weather was gorgeous. Fully sunny skies, a slight breeze and very warm at 95. It was the perfect opportunity to roll the windows down and let things blow around the Jeep as I zipped along at 67 MPH (I’m still doing what I can to obey the speed limit without being killed).

As I watched cars zip by me with their windows rolled up tight, undoubtedly due to ample use of air conditioning, I enjoyed what Mother Nature had to offer: warm breezes, the scents of wildflowers and a big breath of fresh air. It was warm and it was humid and I sweated a bit, but it was well worth it. The aroma of late blooming lilacs and other flowers just made me feel grand, bringing a very enjoyable weekend to a nice close.

The smile has continued on through today. It’s a good feeling.

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DL 3882.

Dear Flight Attendants,

You get my undying respect. Earl and I have just set foot on Delta flight 3882 and in two minutes we have witnessed two people throwing a hissy fit about their seat location because it’s too cold, another having a fit about the fact that row 1 has no seat in front of it and a third who keeps asking for a pillow. This has been within the first two minutes of boarding this flight. I am sorry that the American public has stooped to such a poor, selfish display of behavior. I’m sorry that you have to be reduced to keeping passengers safe on what an industry has turned into glorified bus service with wings. Not all of us are like that, but there’s that whole bad apple – spoiled bunch thing.

Fondly,

A grateful passenger.

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Weekend.

Our long weekend starts in four hours and 20 minutes from the posting of this blog entry. I will be meeting Earl in Buffalo so that we can hop a flight tomorrow.

Sorry work, I’m already in long weekend mode.

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No.

Dear Miserable Looking, Apparently Homophobic Man In The Hallway at Work,

I have worked at the same facility for over two years. You have worked at this same facility for much longer. I realize this and I commend you on the fact that you have been able to spend a century or two doing the same thing in this whirling breeze of change in technology that has gripped the thirteen colonies and the other territories that just won’t go away. I get that they keep pushing your retirement age out another decade or two and I feel for you. It must be tough.

A fellow human being walked by you and cheerfully smiled as he said “Good morning”, like he does to everyone when he’s walking from point A to point B. The smile was genuine. One should always hope that a fellow human being is having a good day. Judging by the size of your jowls and the relocation of your travel path, it is apparent that you were not in the mood for such a happy greeting. This does not come as a total surprised for whenever I encounter you in the hallway you always relocate your travel path so that you are as far away from me as possible. If I were a betting man, I’d bet that if the water fountain could support your weight, your path of travel would include going over that water fountain so that you could get another inch or two away from me. It has been noted that you don’t approach everyone with such frivolity, only the one or two folks that don’t fit into a very narrow definition of normal. So, I’d like to share a little secret with you.

Even though I am a gay man, and even though I do enjoy the rugged, handsome attributes of the male species, I have no interest in you. None, whatsoever. I don’t want to get to know you better, I don’t even want to be on the same planet as you. But I was being friendly in a socially acceptable way and even a grunt and/or flap of the jowls would have been appreciated. And even though I am a gay man, I am still able to keep all of my sexual organs in my pants when the situation and/or social etiquette dictates that I do so. As a gay man, I am confident that my homosexuality is not contagious. You’re not going to become gay from walking in the same hallway as me and I can assure you that I have no interest whatsoever of playing “I’ll show you mine-you show me yours” with you. We have plenty of people on our team and we are not recruiting new members. If you’re not wired our way, we don’t want you to fake it. Faking your life is not the way to live.

So the next time I say “good morning”, and rest assured that I will continue to do so since you are a human and we both live on the same planet, make a little grunt of acknowledgment. Who knows, it might make your day a little brighter.

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Forever Young.

There is a fairly popular Italian restaurant situated at the end of the plaza that I park near during my lunch hours during the week. From my vantage point I can see dozen of people walk in and out of the restaurant, going about their daily business and doing their thing. For the most part they seem content.

Near the end of my lunch hour yesterday, I noticed an older woman walking out of the restaurant by herself. From what I could tell, she seemed to be in her 70s. I’d guess her around 75 or so. She was dressed fairly nice. Her hair was covered in a scarf in such the fashion that older women of a previous generation tended to do. I noticed she was wearing a pant suit. She wore glasses. She moved without mechanical assist, but her step wasn’t overly lively. She walked slowly, which is understandable for a woman of the age I perceived her to be. She looked pleasant.

As she walked towards the parking lot, I expected her to stop at the Taurus that was parked in the handicapped spot. In this part of the state, when you reach a certain age you are an absolute no one until you have a handicapped tag hanging from your mirror. It doesn’t matter if you’re actually handicapped or not for this tag seems to have an air of status about it for a certain set of people. I envision folks sitting around a cup of coffee during their seventh hour at Dunkin’ Donuts comparing the date that they obtained their handicapped privileges. He or she with the most junior date has to pay the check and ward off anyone that may suggest to them that they may be loitering.

The pleasant looking woman with the scarf walked right by the Taurus and continued her trek up the parking lot aisle. I was quite surprised when she stopped and hopped into her vehicle. There was no handicapped sticker on her ride, for she had hopped up into a late 1990s Jeep Wrangler soft-top with the side and back windows removed. Once situated in her Wrangler, she tightened up her scarf a bit, donned a pair of sunglasses, started up her Jeep and proceeded to head out of the lot. The sound of her engine indicated that she was driving a stick. And like all good Jeep Wrangler drivers, she waved at me as she passed by my Rubicon. I smiled and waved back.

And that, my friends, is how one stays young.