December 2007

The news has been screaming about this storm for the past five days. Always looking to scare the daylights out of the public for any reason, the news has been talking about little aside from the ice and snow and sleeting rain that is going to cut off our power, our gas supply (aside from baked beans consumption) and clog up the roads so badly that we won’t be able to move until the good grace of a snow plow rescues us.

Chicken Little wasn’t even this hysterical.

So while 90% of the population stays at home, snuggled up to their milk and bread, I figured this was the perfect time make the dubious task of holiday shopping part of my past. Earl is home working on a project, so I cleaned out the driveway, jumped in the car and headed down to the local mall. The roads are empty. There are a smattering of people out and about; others that laugh at the forced fear that we are presented with. We ban together, drive sensibly and do our shopping in peace. There’s no pushing, no shoving and ample parking. I’m considering this experience one of my Christmas presents to myself.

Now I know that shopping for the holidays should be a joyous experience. At one time I enjoyed browsing for the perfect gift for those on my list and I truly love the look in someone’s eye when I give them their gift for the year. I guess it’s the commercialism, the urgency and the lack of holiday spirit of it all that has destroyed the whole experience for me. Lights flash “sale! sale! sale!” People push and shove, all in the name of goodwill, as they grab for that last Nintendo or whatever. “I was here first”, they shout indignantly, even though they came swooping out of nowhere in their “I’m Lazy Cart”, using the basket on the front as a battering ram (they haven’t moved that fast since the cheez whiz nachos exploded in the microwave).

Not today. Today it’s me, the mall and a smattering of other brave individuals who don’t buy into the hyped up snow storm that is nothing like what we usually have around here.

I feel jolly.

Too much wild partying with great friends on a Friday night makes for a tired blogger on a Saturday night. Tune in tomorrow for something witty, creative, insightful and inspiring. (If you have said entry, please send that via e-mail.) Same bat time, same bat channel.

Ring, ring Hello?

“This is an automated message from National Grid. Due to the predicted storm for your region, it is likely that you will lose power and/or gas service during this event. Should this happen, please contact National Grid with your location so we are able to dispatch crews promptly. We can be reached by phone at (some number) or via the internet at us.nationalgrid.com. Thank you.”

While the thought is nice, I must admit that doesn’t really inspire much confidence in this power company.

Yesterday my English professor sent me her critique and my grade on the final paper for my English Literature class. The last task was to write a thematic discussion on “The Glass Menagerie”. Those that included an extra page critiquing the school production that was coincidentally showing when the paper was due received an automatic extra 10 points on the assignment. My thematic paper was on the deception that weaves throughout the play and how the characters were “fueled” by it. My subsequent critique of the stage production was well thought out and probably a little harsh. Hey, I’m a gay man that’s been in plays watching a play, I have the right to be a little nitpicky.

The grade was stellar with a comment that boiled down to the following suggestion: “abandon your current major and become a college English professor.” My ego certainly needed that boost after the chinks I took in my armour yesterday. While I think the professor might have been getting a little ahead of herself, I really appreciated her feedback and sent her a follow-up thank you note. She told me to at least consider writing for the school paper. I’m seriously considering it for next semester.

I must admit that in the past I have toyed with the idea writing in some sort of semi-professional arena. I don’t know if I have the attention span to write a novel and I’m certainly not the next Shakespeare by any inkling of one’s imagination, but I do like writing little bits here and there from time to time. When I write I want people to chuckle. I like making people laugh. I think I’ve mentioned before that I would love to be the gay man’s Erma Bombeck.

I loved Erma Bombeck. Author of the syndicated newspaper column “At Wit’s End” and several books, Erma wrote about suburban life as she saw it; a married woman with a smattering of children living in the middle of a suburban housing project that could have been an old munitions testing field. She had a good-natured, humorous outlook on life. With her work obviously geared toward the housewife, Erma talked about her trials and tribulations of PTA meetings, cranky washing machine repairmen, kids that drove her crazy and a husband that watched a dozen or football games per Sunday. I read her books as a young teen and continued to do so right up until her death. I may not have been able to relate to her situation but I really appreciated her style of writing and her sense of humor. It wasn’t something that I wanted to emulate; no, her writing inspired me to find my own way of expressing myself. I don’t know if she ever saw herself in the ‘muse’ role.

So with the inauguration of winter recess starting at 1:00 p.m. tomorrow after that last math final (but really, who’s counting?) , I think I’m going to concentrate on doing a little self-expression through writing. I don’t know what I’ll find but I know I’ll enjoy the exercise. And at the very least, there’s no grade or critique at the end of my words.

But hopefully there’s a giggle or two.