Ponderings and Musings

In 1997 I attended my first radio convention. Orchestrated by a trade magazine called “Gavin”, I flew to New Orleans to hob knob with others in the radio and records industry and to check out a few new acts. It was at this Gavin Convention that I got to hang out with France Joli (best known for the disco hit “Come To Me”) and a Canadian group called Temperance, who did a remake of the Alphaville 80s hit, “Forever Young”. We were also to meet a new group called the Spice Girls, but they weren’t feeling the whole convention thing and they never showed up for their appearance.

There was a big cocktail party during the convention where anyone that was anyone would undoubtedly be in attendance at and I found this to be rather exciting. Coming from a market that could be best described as “midget”, I was fascinated with the special effects and the costumes and the atmosphere of the whole ghastly like encounter. There was a lot of fog, it was rather dark, Pat Boone was running around in a leather jacket and a bad wig and people were doing the Kathy Griffin-say-hello-to-no-one routine. I was asked on a couple of occasions if I had passed by N’dea Davenport or if I had engaged in any conversation with Stacy Ferguson from Wild Orchard (she’s now known as Fergie)¹. The answer to both questions was ‘yes’. N’dea was quite nice but Stacy was kind of doing her own thing but she seemed nice as well. I had a very good conversation with a head of lettuce which was actually a human head dressed up as a head of lettuce sticking up through a table. No photos allowed. The lettuce will wilt.

Finding myself in a conversational vacuum of undoubtedly my own creation, I wandered over to a table that had a bunch of wooden slabs with little pastries on them. Though it was a darker corner of the whole affair, I could make out the round bits of this and that that were being presented and I took a couple, put them on a plate and started munching on them. Expecting a confectionary delight in my mouth, I was a little surprised at what I tasted. I was must have had a weird look on my face as my friend Lynda came over to make sure I was doing ok talking to heads of lettuce and the like.

“Are you having a good time?”, she asked in her southern drawl.

“I am. I can’t believe this party!”

“Oh, they convention parties are always like this. You’ll find out”, she replied with a big smile. The radio station had just been given “reporting status”, which meant that the industry cared what we played. It was something no one had thought we would achieve and being a reporting station made us very popular with the record companies.

“So much fog and lighting and lettuce heads!” I must have sounded like a country bumpkin fresh out of the cabbage patch.

“No expense when it comes to reporting stations, darlin'”.

“I’m a little concerned about these pastries, though. I think they’re bad or something. They taste like fish.”

“Honey, that’s not a cookie, it’s sushi!”

I was eating sushi and I didn’t even know it. I had never had sushi before. I thought I was nibbling at a Lorna Doone or something. The little old program director from Upstate New York couldn’t tell the difference between raw fish and a cookie.

“That’s alright, darlin'”, Lynda quickly interjected, always trying to keep me feeling at ease, “we won’t tell anyone you thought the sushi was a cookie.”

And she never did.

But it got me hooked on sushi. Imagine my delight this afternoon when Earl came home with some sushi for dinner.

Now if I could only have a Lorna Doone for dessert.

¹ Listen to me throwing around names from my radio days.

It is 55F in Central New York today. The snow is melting rapidly and the sunshine is shining brightly. Today is the cooler of the next few days, tomorrow it’s suppose to reach 60 and for that there is much rejoicing. Tomorrow night Earl, Jamie and I leave for the House of the Mouse, with our actual stay starting Saturday until the following Friday.

Life is so very good.

As the sun beams into the Jeep as I write this, I can’t help but wonder why we try to kickstart our healthy living habits and the like with the onset of the New Year, when we should be doing it at spring time. I don’t know about any of my gentle readers, but I don’t really like the idea of trying to lose weight when the snow is (theoretically) piling up outside, daylight is at a minimum and it’s very, very cold out. Trying to shed a few pounds by hitting a gym in the dead of winter is crazy. Now is the time that I want to start being healthy again. With the onset of this spring like weather, now is the time that I want to get the extraneous details of my life that I have been ignoring back in order. With the impending rebirth of life after a (theoretically) long, hard winter, now is the time that I feel like really living again.

I think part of this has to do with suffering from the winter blahs. I try so hard to not get feeling glum in the winter time, and while the winter season is in progress, I think I’m doing an ok job at keeping a chipper spirit around but then a day like today comes around and I realize that I was feeling the same sort of seasonal depression that I feel every year. No matter how much I bathe myself in natural light or down Vitamin D tablets, I just don’t feel overly enthusiastic in the winter time. Spring rolls around and then I feel enthusiasm again. I’m thinking that I’m going to try to hit the gym at Disney a couple of times. I’m going to walk more than I need to. I’m going to limit my popcorn intake to “occasional” and I’m going to make sure that I make smart choices when choosing from the delights flashing on the overhead menu. It’ll be a challenge, but it’s something that I think I can do and I feel enthusiasm about taking this approach to the vacation.

When we get back from vacation, Daylight Saving Time will be in full swing (though I despise the practice of moving the clocks around very much) and I will be able to ride my bike after work again. I haven’t done that as much as I’d like to since starting my current job a few years ago, I’m going to make that change this year.

I just heard the ghost of Michael Jackson whisper “Make that change” in my head and it was really creepy.

I’m 43 years old so I’m a realist about what I can obtain health wise, but on the other hand, I’m only 43 years old. And I’m going to start a Spring Resolution right now to enjoy life to the fullest, feeling the best I can by doing the things I want to do to make it all happen.

I think Spring Resolutions are the ticket for me in the future. Let’s see how this first attempt at it goes.

And as a quick sidebar on the resolution thing – still not buying the latest incarnation of the iPad, no matter what they announce today, unless it comes with a daily full body massage.

My mind is churning through the typical Monday mush and I can not find the means to write a coherent blog entry today, so we’ll go with a picture of some pretty clouds. I took this picture on Saturday.

The jet black hair betrayed the age shown by the rest of her outward appearance. She had leaped out of the passenger side of an old Mercury that was parked right next to the front door of my favorite Dunkin Donuts. In fairness, the Mercury sagged more than she did, but I think they both wore garments of wood grain.

The Mercury was parked in a spot that was traditionally reserved for foot traffic, but in a snowstorm such as this, anything goes. She was just getting to the counter as I came up behind her to wait in line for my turn to place an order. I could already see my iced tea being assembled by the very capable counter people.

“I’ll have six dozen donuts, mixed”, the woman with the jet black hair barked out. I realize that I say “barked out” a lot on my blog, but she didn’t have a quiet voice nor did she have a pleasant voice. Barking something out is how I hear a lot of people place orders in establishments such as Dunkin’ Donuts. To me it sounds something like the canine variety of sounds typically heard when dogs are gossiping with one another. Barking is not a condemnation, it just appropriately describes how I hear this woman in wood grain.

“SIX dozen?” the girl at the register asked.

“Yes, six.”

“Oh, having a party tonight?” Pleasant conversation is always a good path to take when trying to have a pleasant retail experience.

“No”, she said. “My husband and I are worried about the snow storm tonight and we want to make sure that we’re stocked up.”

Apparently someone had already purchased all the loaves of bread and gallons of milk at the nearby Mini-Mart.

“They say this storm could last through tomorrow.”

I stifled a knowing laugh. People think I’m critical of the folks that live in these parts. I’ve been accused of being downright ridiculous. But this blog entry was just writing itself.

“Make one of the dozen all jelly!” Ok, the bark was replaced by a bit of a squeal with that one. Delight should always be recognized.

“Is today a cookie day?” My iced tea was ready and I was being herded over to another register while the six dozen donuts were being assembled.

“Not today”, I replied. “I have cookies at home.”

We’re ready for the storm.

I have never been one to enjoy talking on the phone. I don’t like calling people. I always feel awkward when I’m on a phone call. It’s ironic, because I work for a telephone company and I spend a good share of my week on conference calls, but I really don’t enjoy the sport.

Because I work for a telephone company, there’s motivational marketing messages hung around the building showing teenagers all giddy because they’re talking on a phone in their bedroom. The ads remind me of those ads from the 60s and 70s when Mom and Dad were rich enough to spring for a second line and a princess phone for the daughter, where she could talk from her bedroom. The kids of poor parents resorted to stretching the telephone cord across the kitchen and into the broom closet, where they could enjoy privacy. I have never had the urge to sit in a broom closet and the only excitement I feel about having a phone in the bedroom is that nowadays it’s usually a gadget phone so laden with extraneous features that it could double as a bidet.

My sister and her family are currently living in Italy. We have relatively affordable international calling plans on our phone but I’d rather just exchange email messages. In fact, I’m most comfortable exchanging email messages on most occasions. Sometimes a chat on an Instant Messenger or a video chat on Skype is nice, but in reality I’d just like to sit down and type what I’m thinking and then wait for a response at the leisure of the other party. I prefer email over Twitter direct messages and I really prefer email over Facebook messenger or whatever the hell that annoying thing that pops up everywhere is called. Email is starting to become the written letter of the 21st century; it takes time to sit down and write a coherent email that is worthy of attention. I write a couple of emails to Earl everyday. I usually sign them “Fondly”. He can feel the warmth and that gets us through until we can see each other.

I’ve never figured out why I don’t like talking on the telephone, by the way. I don’t know if it’s because of too many screwed up Chinese take-out orders or if it’s because I was called “ma’am” on one too many occasions prior to puberty or what because phone calls in general feel intrusive to me, but it’s something that I do because I must, not something that I enjoy.

Don’t tell the telephone company I work for that I don’t have a princess phone in our bedroom. I’ll have to hide in the broom closet or something.

As I move into my mid 40s this year (because 43 is not a mid-40s age, it’s still an early 40s age) I am slowly coming to the realization that my completely out-of-step existence with the rest of the world is becoming increasingly apparent; not because of my somewhat different thought processes or eccentric behavior, but rather because I think I’m getting too old for the ever-young gay demands of the community.

When I got home last night there were two stereos blasting in the house. Jamie listens to music that is not really my thing; I just hear gargling, shouting and guitars, but that’s just my take on it. There’s nothing wrong with the music, I just don’t go and seek it out, and because of the age difference between the two of us, I don’t find this surprising.

In the kitchen I heard the chipper jingle of “Kiss 108 FM!” After the chipper jingle all I heard was blips and bleeps and moaning sounds that were autotuned beyond any sort of musicality. I felt like someone was holding seashells up to my ears and then making trilling noises into a hole on the other side. I refrained from saying anything about this because it was obvious that Scott was enjoying Kiss 108 FM, heck, I enjoyed the station very much when I lived in Boston from 1988-1990, and I didn’t want to impede any efforts at supper that Scott was making. The thing is, Scott is a couple of years older than me and I couldn’t understand a word the robot on the radio was saying but Scott was singing right along. I couldn’t find the necessary capabilities within my brain to comprehend the electronic gargling sounds. I felt left out, old and obsolete.

Supper was quite tasty though.

A couple of weeks ago when Earl and I went on that really long ride in the Jeep, I actually looked at my watch towards the end of our dinner and made the claim, “Wow, it’s getting late!” It was 10:00 p.m. on a Saturday night. Ten years ago I would have been readying myself for a night of DJing at the local club, where I’d do my thing until 2:30 and then possibly go to an after-hours party after helping get the bar cleaned up. I’m sure that’s what the kids do today.

When did I become so obsolete?

The other night I watched a clip (in error) of “Bionic Woman”, that awful remake of the 70s show where Jaime Sommers wasn’t really acting like Jaime Sommers. The show was dark and menacing and Jamie seemed very angry. When she jumped up onto a building using her bionics, the camera pulled back so that you could see the leap of 30 feet or. The entire leap was shown from ground to roof and it was embarrassingly obvious that there were cables and harnesses involved that had been computer-erased from the scene. What happened to using a little bit of imagination when we are only shown the beginning of the leap and the landing on the roof? Though this is a poor example, is it bad to think that it’d be better to engage my imagination while watching a television show instead of painting everything in such an obvious manner, however poorly executed that demonstration might be?

And while I’m talking about harnesses; I look at these pictures of young guys on the internet wearing leather harnesses that just go across the top of their chest and around their shoulders. All I can see an ill fitting halter top like you’d find on a beach near a trailer park. I don’t find anything hot about these new, mini harnesses. My understanding is if you’re going to be wearing a harness, you’d better be ready to be hauled up into the air by it like some sort of Cirque du Soleil Sex Act. And am I completely obsolete by thinking of Mary Lou Retton (which most people these days would seemingly say, “Who?”) because I thought of a dismount eligible for scoring if you’re engaging in a Cirque du Soleil Sex Act? If I barked out the name Mary Lou Retton while DJing in a club today, people would look at me like I have a propeller on my head. I know, if I barked out “Lady Gaga” people would either get all breathless with excitement or throw sides of beef at me (I know she does something with eggs and meat) but I couldn’t name a song of hers outside of the one where she sings her name a lot.

Maybe I’m more nuts than obsolete.

I woke up this morning feeling sniffly and run-down. I couldn’t really call off from work today because I wasn’t feeling like I was on death’s doorstep or anything; I’m just feeling like I’ve been working and playing hard and I need some downtime.

Good thing the weekend schedule looks relatively empty. And the fact that it’s Thursday makes the weekend schedule situation look even better, because we’re thisclose to the weekend. And that’s a beautiful thing.

Earl is out of town on business tonight so I am going to hit the hay early and hope that I don’t awake to a bunch of snow in the morning (forecasters are saying to expect anywhere from nothing to something with various inches in between tonight, but I don’t buy it). I read an article this morning that talked about human sleep patterns and how an eight-hour night of sleep may be contrary to our evolution. Studies and historical documents seem to indicate that our ancestors may have slept twice each night; sleep around four hours, up for an hour or two and then sleep another four hours or so. Their bodies did this naturally. I find this interesting because my body has been trying to do that sort of thing for years but I get all panicky about the fact that I’m awake in the middle of the night and I need to get as much sleep as possible before my alarm du jour starts clanging me awake. Perhaps tonight would be a good night to try the on-off-on approach to sleeping, since the bed will be empty (aside from me) and I wouldn’t be disturbing my husbear with my latest sleeping experiment.

Life is more fun when you treat it like a science experiment.

The bright side to my “I’m not sick but my body thinks it is” feeling is that I don’t feel sad or depressed, I’m a happy, sniffly person all the way. There’s always a bright side.

I’m sitting at a Dunkin’ Donuts not too far from the house, though it’s not the closest one to the house. Sometimes life is a little more enjoyable when you venture out a little bit.

There is a Lexus in the parking lot with a license plate frame that indicates they are from Larchmont, N.Y. I know that’s down near the Big Apple but I don’t know that I have ever been there. As they made their way into the store, their loud voices indicated a definite downstate accent. They are all bundled up like they’re ready to mount an Eskimo sled. None of them look husky enough to pull the sled though. They’re making the noises that people make when they brush snow off their bodies and try to stave off the cold. I find this amusing, but I’m not being judgmental. It’s not easy for me sometimes. It’s one of my weaknesses.

The weather today is actually quite nice for February, it’s just above freezing and right now we are enjoying a light snow flurry. The snow is not sticking to paved surfaces but it’s accumulating on the grassy areas. I am more than comfortable with my “trailer park hoodie” as I call it.

Quite a few folks from downstate make their way up to these parts, much more so than farther west to places like Syracuse or Rochester. I’ve always said that it’s because we are around a tank of gas away via the Thruway but that is just speculation.

Personally, I’d be more content farther west in the Empire State, where the attitude is even more Midwestern and the accent follows suit. I’m not a huge fan of this part of the state, but I am very proud to be from Upstate New York. Outside of living around Boston for three years, I have been an upstate New York boy all my life and I kind of boast about that. I often dream of what it would be like to live in another part of the country, or even in another country altogether, but the truth of the matter is that despite the ridiculous taxes, corrupt government and decaying economy, I like upper three quarters of the Empire State a lot.

It feels comfortable and I feel contentment.

Would I like to move again? Yes. I think I could further my career and be even more content farther west in state (especially in the Rochester or Buffalo areas) but that will come when the time is right.

For now, I’m just going to enjoy the contentment.