Ponderings and Musings

It’s 5:45. It’s dark outside. It’s cold. It snowed last night.

The alarm clock beeps it’s happy little tune. Trying to cheat The Man, I felt smug as my alarm clock rang it’s cursed little tune at 5:31. That 5:31 was on purpose. Score one minute for the working folks.

I am desperately trying to smile. I’d settle for a pleasant thought. I’m still trying to remember my name. The ability to speak English would be groovy right now.

“Raindrops and roses and whiskers on kittens.”

When did “My Favorite Things” become a Christmas carol? Why do the corporate destroyed commercial radio stations play that song during an “all Christmas music” sweep? It’s not a Christmas song. It’s a song about being scared during a thunderstorm.

My dreams were really good until 5:31. The content would be worthy of a hidden blog post* that would melt the tubes that connect the internet together. That’s why I’m dazed and confused right now. The dreams were good. There’s still a smile on my face.

“Yip!”

I’m starting to remember who I am. And what I do. And why I do it. I have no idea.

Pity the company that wants me to work at 7:00. I’m not really there until lunch.

Happy Friday.

*Moby does the hidden blog entry thing. I’m still trying to get it to work. Astute observers might see bits of a “test” entry from time to time. Thinking like a geek just woke me up.

I’ve tried writing several blog entries today and I find myself coming up short. So, instead I’ll just say “Happy Birthday Mom”. And yes, it’s really her birthday. 🙂

Hmmm.  What to say? Today was a beautiful Christmas day. Mother Nature made sure it looked the part. The roads were clear. Earl and I spent the day traveling to be with family and eating too much food.

Santa was generous: I have a new Flip Video Ultra, which is perfect for making videos for the blog and new Oster clippers for my barbering hobby. We also got a wonderful selection of wine (we need to have a party soon- calling all bears and bloggers!) and other great gifts.

More importantly, it was an enjoyable day all around.

Merry Christmas to all! 

I might be jinxing this by mentioning it but I do believe that Earl and I are going to have a puke free Christmas this year. Neither of us have been sniffling anywhere outside of the norm and there hasn’t been much in the way of coughing or throat clearing to raise any alarms. Perhaps the spell of someone being sick for the holidays has been broken. “Ha ha ha ha!” I yell, as I raise my fist to the air. “It’s a Puke Free Christmas!”

Keep your fingers crossed that I haven’t jinxed anything.

I said something to Earl this evening that absolutely startled him. Hell, it even startled me. I couldn’t believe the words came out of my mouth.

“I would consider moving to New Jersey.”

As I write this, I can’t believe that I just typed that phrase. You see, I have told Earl that I would live anywhere in the world with him. I’d climb the highest mountain, cross the widest sea and scale the longest desert. But don’t put me in New Jersey. That was the rule. “We will not live in New Jersey.”

I’ve been in New Jersey twice today. With Earl’s family less then five miles from the Pa.-N.J. border, it’s a natural thing for us to cross the bridge in search of cheap gas. After all, there’s a lot of diners in Jersey.

I find nothing in common between North Jersey and South Jersey. The accent is different and the attitude seems to be a little different. This evening I went shopping at Cherry Hill Mall (Cherry Hill, N.J.), while Earl played poker with his family (quick little video coming when we get back home). I didn’t find the experience unpleasant. Once I found Cherry Hill, made numerous right turns to turn left and fought a smattering of traffic, I found my shopping experience to be a pleasant one. I found that last extra Christmas gift that I hope will bring a twinkle to Earl’s eye on Christmas morning.

It was leaving Cherry Hill Mall that I discovered something very important with my acceptance of New Jersey as a potential residential destination. They have Wegmans. That’s right ladies and gentlemen, there’s a brand new beautiful Wegmans in Cherry Hill, New Jersey. Since there’s a Wegmans there, it has to be a cool place. So I have decided to allow South Jersey to be a potential relocation destination.

Earl just rolled his eyes.

When two people decide to meet, fall in love and eventually make a commitment to one another and live their life together in unionized bliss, there are some compromises that each individual must make to make the life they build together an enjoyable experience for all involved. One must agree to take out the garbage, the other must be giddy about laundry, one must agree not to spend money wildly, the other must agree to earn money wildly. Together, through discussion, rationalization and compromise, these two people because a beautiful couple that live happily ever after. However, there is one thing that Earl and I refuse to compromise on.

Christmas lights.

You see, growing up Earl and I were both the designated Christmas light caretakers for our respective families. I’ve always been fascinated about Christmas lights and fully believe that you can never have enough. Twinkling lights, large lights, small lights, it doesn’t matter. As long as I can safely connect 25 sets together in a snow storm without getting zapped, I’m happy. I might blow up the local power plant trying to Griswald the house, but by gosh it’ll look good when it’s done. I think it goes without saying that when it was time to decorate the Christmas tree during my youth, I was called upon to sift through, arrange and install the Christmas lights.

It appears that Earl had a very similar experience growing up. He doesn’t get all Griswaldy about it though. While he was in charge of the lights, he prefers to do it in his general manager of a corporation like way; he’s very methodical with the way the lights are to be arranged on the tree.

He starts at the top.

I start at the bottom.

He winds counter-clockwise.

I wind clockwise.

The only thing that we’ve been able to agree upon with Christmas lights over the years is that the older style lights are far superior to what’s been appearing on store shelves the last few seasons. I’m not a big fan of the jeweled lights. I don’t care for the buttons or the icicles or the two-tone lights that seem to include brown. The LED lights do nothing for me. We do agree that lights should compliment the tree, not overpower it.

Last night we decorated the Christmas tree and surprisingly it was good. To keep peace, we started at the top of the tree but we both held the lights together as we delicately installed them on the artificial branches. (Don’t get me started about that).

Maybe we’ve found that compromise after all.

Finding myself without lunch plans today, I phoned Earl to see if he was interested in meeting me for a quick bite to eat. Since today is a half work day for me, I was still home when I called. It turns out that his schedule prohibited him from joining me for lunch, but he apparently had some time to engage in an interesting conversation.

“Remember, tonight is the company Christmas party. It’s business casual.”

“Business casual, as in what I wear to work or business casual as in black tie without the rental costs?”, I asked inquisitvely.

“Business casual as in what you wear to work”, he replied. “What are you wearing to work today?”

“I have a pair of brown khakis on, without pleats of course, and one of my dress shirts. The belt and shoes match.”

“Which shirt?”, he asked, slightly panicked.

“The dark green one that has a suggestion of bear plaid”, I said.

“Oh that looks nice. I’ve always liked you in that shirt. You always look so good when you go to work. Don’t be surprised if I ask you to change when I get home.”

“Why? I thought you said I look nice”, I asked trying not to sound offended.

“Well I don’t want them to think that you’re a server. Remember, this is a company Christmas party.”

“I don’t think the servers will be wearing plaid.”

“I just want you to look nice,” he said.

Quick side note – I understand his concerns completely and will do my best to make a favorable impression.

“I’ll take it one step further. I won’t wipe my mouth on my sleeve and I’ll be sure to not go swimming in the punch. I draw the line at using the utensils. It’s so much faster to shovel it in with my hands.”

“Aren’t you funny”, he replied, exasperated.

“Can I lick the plate? And the plate of a person next to me?”

“I’ll see you at 4:30”, he said.

“I’ll be naked so you can dress me.”

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.