January 2007

Math Assistant.




Math Assistant.

Originally uploaded by macwarriorny.

Today is catchup day. The washer is spinning wildly, the dryer is turning at a slower pace and I’m doing my assignments for school. Earl and I are going to Albany this weekend for some bear fun and I’d like to have my homework under control so I don’t feel overwhelmed when we get back on Sunday.

Of course Mr. Curiosity had to sit on my lap and lend his opinion to multiplying and dividing equations with fractions in them.

Tonight I’m picking up Earl at the airport after his week away on business. We’re then joining my sister for supper. She’s heading back to Moscow on Sunday. I sometimes wonder if we’d enjoy visiting Moscow while they’re out there. I’m sure that would be an interesting experience.

Sick Of It.

While working on homework this afternoon, I had the local NPR station on for a couple of reasons: I like to hear what’s going on in the country and we get extra credit in Sociology if we keep a log of when we listen to NPR. I’m always a sucker for extra credit.

I listened to the program “Talk of the Nation”. Today’s topic of “How The Christian Right Hurts Democracy” somehow jumped over to a discussion about homosexuality. Again.

Color Me Shocked.

I am so sick and tired of people going on and on about gays and lesbians. What is the friggin’ preoccupation with the sexual orientation of others? We’ve always been here, we’ll always be here, there’s no true way to “change” us so why waste all the hot air debating gay men and women like they’re some sort of lab rat.

I am tired of it.

The way I see it is this: I’m gay. I always have been. I always will be. I grew up in a well-adjusted home from a morally “normal” family. Truth be known, the values instilled in my sister and I were probably five to ten years behind the times. My family leaned conservative, though my city bred mother made us appreciate the more open-minded view of things. My mother didn’t make me gay. My father didn’t make me gay. Nothing made me gay. I’m just gay. That’s it. It’s the way I’m hard wired and the only way to make me not gay is to shut me down completely. No chemical or psychological therapy, no other barbaric means of treatment or self-denial is going to “cure” me. There’s nothing to cure and I would fight to the death to protect myself or any other gay man or lesbian to assure that they are respected for who they are. I was made this way. God, Buddah, Azna, The Universe, dancing chromosones, whomever or whatever added gay to my genetic equation and that’s it. Would I want to be straight? Absolutely not, because then I wouldn’t be who I am. I would be another person and I quite happy with myself, thank you very much.

So to all these religious bible beating freaks that want the world to fit into their narrow minded view, listen to me. Shut up. Just shut up. If you want to dance around and get sweaty and live your life by a book that’s been folded, spindled and mutiliated six thousand ways from Sunday then go have yourself a ball. That’s your right and I will never question why you believe what you believe. It’s quite frankly none of my business. Just do me the same honor and let me be and leave me alone. If God wants a change, he/she/it/they will come down and swoop me up and we’ll go from there.

By the way – have you ever thought what would happen if a UFO landed somewhere prominent, and a young alien came out and scooped up a Bible and said: “So that’s where I left that book of nursery rhymes.”

Who Is This Guy?

Always fascinated by the mundane, I’ve noticed for the past year or two that this rather attractive young man turns up in commercials all over the place. His face has been caressed by an Italian bombshell in a shaving cream commercial, he’s been enjoying pancakes at IHOP and now he’s seen eating Hidden Valley Ranch dressing while the world changes around him.

Who is this man and his he vying for the Guiness Book of World Records title of “Appeared In The Most Commercials?”

Technology is fascinating. A few moments of intimacy with Google and I found out who this person is. He has a nifty name, as his name is Michael Spellman. From what I’ve read he’s very active in the theatre, has appeared on ER and has been in countless commercials.

I find him rather woofy as well.

Anyway, I can now get back to life now that I’ve solved that little mystery.

michaelspellman.jpg

All Over Again.

If you’ve read this blog for a while and/or know me personally, you probably wouldn’t be surprised if I told you that I tend to live a little bit on the lunatic fringe. I believe in all sorts of supernatural stuff and I tend to look at the world through a different pair of glasses than most. I’ve been called a “whack job” on more than one occasion. I wear the badge proudly.

That being said, I tend to use déja vü as a guidepost in my life. We’ve all experienced déja vü before, that sixth sense kicks in and says, “hey, you’ve done this before.” It’s almost like you can put your finger on the time and date that whatever specific event happened, even though it’s happening right now for the first time. I figure the whole experience of déja vü is the Universe’s way of saying “yes, you’re on the right path, you’re doing the right thing, you’re on track.”

An extension of that is a comforting feeling I occasionally get when I meet people for the first time. I can’t really describe the sensation, but every once in a great while when I meet someone, I just know that this person is significant in some way and that they are a piece of the puzzle in my life. Always one to trust my instincts, I treat this individual as if I have known them all my life, because I figure the Universe doesn’t lie and I must have known them before. Were we friends in a previous life? Did I bump into them a decade before in the supermarket? Perhaps they were disguised as Shirley MacLaine? Who knows.

This evening I joined my sister and my dad and stepmother for dinner. It’s the first of four consecutive dinners out this week, with a drop-kick of the scale pre-planned for Sunday. As we sat there, chatting away and enjoying our meal, I just knew that I had been through that exact moment before. Déja vü kicked in the moment the host told us our server’s name was Stephanie and carried right through the meal, and it was a good feeling. I took it to mean that I was on track. And you know, I thought to myself, “my goodness, these people are pretty nifty.” Now I know that sounds kind of odd because I’m talking about family members, but I do have some relatives and friends that look at me like I just parked a UFO on the roof and beamed into the dining room. But it’s a good feeling to be comfortable on a subconscious level with the ones that are woven into your life.

Now if I could just cheat sheet containing what lies ahead!

Surfing Solo.

I mentioned in an earlier post that Earl is out of town on business this week. He’s in the beautiful city of Indianapolis. I am resisting all urges to drive out and visit him after I finish my classes for the week on Thursday. It’s not really that realistic for me to hunt him down and barge in at the high point of his presentation to the corporate ladder. They’d probably poo-poo that sort of thing.

When Earl is out of town I’m usually on call for work, but since I’m unemployed and relatively caught up with my schoolwork, I’m finding myself with a lot of time on my hands. I decided to venture out into the snow and eat and surf at our local Panera. It’s rather deserted tonight, most likely because of the weather. There’s not a lot going on to entertain me, but I’m enjoying myself nonetheless.

After standing at the empty front counter, waiting for someone to appear out of thin air and take my order, a young woman walked around from the bakery area and asked, “would you like something?” Doing my best Bea Arthur imitation, I asked when the next Irish jig on the counter was to start. Being a redhead and all, I’d like to join the troop.

She didn’t find the humor in the sarcasm.

Everywhere you look in this restaurant are banners proclaiming the return of the “Chicken Bacon Dijon Panini”. Wickedly unhealthy, I decided that I would give this a whirl since I hadn’t tried it before it left.

“Oh, we’re all out of that,” was the curt reply to my request.

I settled for the hot turkey and artichoke panini. It’s rather good and doesn’t have any hints of microwave involvement, though I suspect there’s an Amana crankin’ around here somewhere.

I’m terribly lonely tonight. I’m thinking of going back home and getting a jump on the homework that’s due next Tuesday. I have to draw a survey map of the college campus. The instructor recommended that we wait until daylight to make the initial assessment but I’ve found a crystal clear satellite image online. There’s enough information available for me to get the basics, then I can fill in the fire hydrants and other small stuff later. I must be a really big geek or a really good student, because I’m looking forward to doing the assignment. It’s what I’ve wanted to do all my life.

Now if I could just get a heart stopping Chicken Bacon Dijon Panini with an Irish Jig on the side.

She Sees Green.

Early this morning I drove Earl to the airport for his latest business trip. Since it was well before dawn, I turned on the radio for the drive home in an effort to stay awake and to make the drive a little more interesting. Not in the mood for the thump, thump, thump of XM 81 (BPM- a dance channel), I tuned in a rerun of Anderson Cooper’s 360 on CNN. The show was originally aired last night.

One of the segments that caught my attention was regarding the recently found missing teen, Shawn Hornbeck. What I found interesting about this story is that Shawn’s parents consulted with psychic Sylvia Browne on a 2003 episode of Montel Williams. Sylvia is a frequent guest on Montel, offering her psychic insights to audience members. She also offers her services to those willing to pay about $700 for a half hour session and is the author or co-author of a number of books. It doesn’t hurt Montel’s ratings either.

During this episode of Montel, Sylvia told the Akers, Shawn’s parents, that Shawn had been abducted and killed by a hispanic looking man that had dreadlocks and drove a late 1950s or early 1960s car that had fins like the Chevrolets of the time. She said he had been buried near a group of jagged rocks. With the discovery of Shawn Hornbeck, it’s obvious that Sylvia Browne was dead wrong on this.

I’m not surprised.

First of all, I’m going to say that I believe that there are countless dimensions and all sorts of other stuff like that out there. I firmly believe that there are those that can contact those that have passed on and I believe that those that have passed on are able to contact us via dreams and visions, as long as we are ready, willing and able to accept these messages. I truly believe that Sylvia Browne has a gift. But that’s where my faith in Sylvia stops. I believe her gift has been clouded by greed.

I have read many of Sylvia’s books. If you’re ever interested in doing the same, you can usually read a small fraction of the books that she’s released because it often seems like she “cuts and pastes” from one book to another. On the other hand, some of her books are wildly contradictive to one another and to themselves. For example, Sylvia tells us that we all plan our lives before we are born. This is inline with my believe in reincarnation, however, she says that our family here may or may not be significant. We chose our parents ahead of time, and we agreed with our parents and siblings that we would make up a family and learn whatever we had to learn by doing so. That’s basically as far as the family unit goes. We may or may not like one another, it depends on the lesson that we have to learn. She also says that there really isn’t a genetic connection between being a psychic and being family members; it’s not really a trait that is passed down. Then she tells us that her psychic grandmother passed on and has reincarnated as her granddaughter, who is also psychic. She has two sons, one is psychic, the other isn’t, and by the way if you want a reading but can’t afford Sylvia, you may be able to afford Chris (her son).

I find this whole representation of what can be a wonderful gift kind of sad. As I said before, I truly believe that Sylvia has a psychic gift of some sort, much as I believe that John Edward can talk to those that have passed on. Unfortunately, it seems that Sylvia has either become very greedy or she has built such a large corporation that she needs to amass tons of money to keep it running. So now she’s appearing on Montel and whereever else she can, regurgitating book after book so she can make more money that way and also charging huge fees to help those that are in some sort of spiritual need contact whomever they’d like to contact, but then rarely does. To many, it seems like she’s preying on those that are at a particular time in their lives. I’m sure she’s not offering refunds when she’s wrong.

It’s sad that Shawn Hornbeck’s parents were told that their son was dead. It was callous of Sylvia Browne to state that with an absolute certainty on national television. The Akers should have gone in knowing that this is not a science by any stretch of the imagination and everything told to them should have been taken with a grain of salt. On the other hand, Sylvia shouldn’t seem so pompous and arrogant that she can make these predictions right there on national television and be spot on. Is she “cold reading”? Did she get a “wrong number” when she was dialing a prayer? I guess only Sylvia knows what she saw and how she came to the conclusions that she announced.

It’s a shame that she won’t take the offer to scientifically prove her abilities. I wonder what she has to hide.

Quick Thought.

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I always find it nice to see something that sparks a distant memory and makes you feel all warm and fuzzy. I was looking around on ebay today and came across this clock. While I can’t afford it right now, the picture alone made me feel good because it made me think of my “city” grandparents. They had a clock exactly like this one in their living room.

I can remember visiting on hot summer nights, watching the Yankees game with grandma and grandpa with huge, baby blue box fan in the corner whirring away in an effort to cool the living room down from the sweltering heat. Living downwind from the airport, an airliner would go over on some sort of pre-planned schedule. My grandfather said he hated the Yankees but never missed a game on “11 Alive”. Grandma would be knitting.

And a clock just like this one would be ticking away on the wall.

Test Subject.

Today in my “Math for Dummies” class a handful of students, including me, were called up to the professor’s desk. This always makes me nervous, though I’ve been doing well and have been on-time and everything so I couldn’t imagine what this was about. Then I remembered that I’m between mandatory measles shots and perhaps they were going to make me wear a mask or something, because a 38 year old bald, bearded man in a classroom full of teenagers and early 20 somethings doesn’t stick out enough already.

Come to find out, I had been selected to take a prototype of the new placement test administered to those wishing to attend the college. This is the test I was cramming for at the beginning of the month, after achieving a dismal score back in November. Apparently the college is converting from a paper-based test to a computer administered exam.

Always in it for computer fun and looking to crash software, I volunteered to take the exam. It wouldn’t alter my placement scores nor would it exempt me from taking Math For Dummies, but it would provide valuable feedback to the college and would also make me eligible for a door prize.

So I took the exam. It looks like future college hopefuls are going to have an easier time than I did, as they will now allow calculators and there are a quarter as many questions compared to the paper-based exam I had to take. The test administrative woman wouldn’t tell me my score, but she did let out a “Wow!” when the printer spewed out my exam and score, so either I did really well or I did really poorly. I guess we’ll never know. Perhaps the mathematics professors are yukking it up once again in their private offices, not that I’m paranoid or anything. “He thinks it takes four thousands gallons of water and one hectare to slipcover New Jersey! Ha ha ha ha ha ha!”

Maybe I’ll win the undisclosed door prize.

The Manual Way.

I have spent the entire afternoon and evening working on engineering drawings for my Drafting class. This is quite a challenge because I have absolutely no artistic skill whatsoever. I can barely draw a stick figure. I avoid the game hangman at all costs because it involves drawing said stick figure. The last time I played Pictionary with my family I drew a lightsaber and half the room blushed and my aunt made an “ahem” noise as she choked on her cocktail.

And now my professor wants us to draw houses in an isometric view.

I thought that’s what we got when we watched guys warm-up in the locker room.

In less than three weeks my Drafting class will be all about computers. I am counting the minutes until that time. But for the first three weeks I feel like I’m stuck in some cryptic boot camp trying to draw lines and circles and make my letters look like an all caps Helvetica font. Every time I discard another attempted drawing, all I can think is “15 cents, 15 cents” as we have to use this fancy engineering paper. I think I threw away at least $5.00 today.

I guess it’s all about the learning experience. I should have spent $5.00 on a Big Mac or Taco Bell. It would have given me less gas than my homework did.

Winter Conditions In Area.




Welcome to Central New York.

Originally uploaded by macwarriorny.

Earl and I decided to go for a drive today, despite all the snow advisories that were in place. You can’t let Mother Nature slow you down two days in a row.

Last night we were suppose to drive to Syracuse and join my sister for dinner, but it took almost and hour to get as far as the Thruway (about 20 miles) so we jumped on the Thruway in the other direction and doubled back home. There were times that it was snowing so hard we could barely see a foot in front of the Jeep.

The Thruway Authority does an incredible job with snow removal, but there’s one problem with taking to the Thruway during a snow storm: out of state drivers. When you’re on the local roads during a snow storm you see your fair share of bad drivers. When you’re on the Thruway, you see things that you wouldn’t believe. For some reason, a lot of folks in New Jersey think that they have to wear sunglasses in a whiteout, even if it’s midnight. Somehow, somewhere, they were taught that wearing sunglasses in the middle of a blizzard makes it easier to see, despite the time of day.

It doesn’t.

You know what actually makes it easier to drive in a blizzard? Turn off your headlights. Even if it’s the dead of night. Usually there will be enough light around you that you’ll be able to see the tracks in the road that you should be following and you won’t have the glare from the snow obscuring your view. Make sure you leave your parking lights on though, so others can see you.

And don’t turn on your damn flashers because that makes others think you’re broken down or an emergency vehicle, causing unnecessary responses that could create accidents.

Now that I’m off my snowbox, Earl and I went for a drive, went to the mall, picked up a classic joystick for the Xbox 360 and went grocery shopping. Not a walk through Thrillsville, but enjoyable nonetheless.

We’re kicking back for the rest of the weekend.