Ponderings and Musings

It was 1990 and I was living in Jamestown, New York. I had just returned to Jamestown in September, having lived in greater Boston with a really cool tech-job for what was at the time the second largest computer company in the world. I had made some unfortunate choices thinking I would find something better with the move. There was also a strong element of me trying to hold on to some good feelings from my past with that move to Jamestown and while I don’t regret any choices I have made, I certainly wouldn’t dub that era a “shining moment” of my life.

I was working in the layaway department of the long-gone Hills Department Store. The folks found that I was really good at that sort of thing and were planning on adding me to the sound and video department of the store after the holidays. I was often called up front to run a register and always ended up on register 16, the express lane. It was on the end of the network loop so it ran the slowest. My speed and efficiency as a cashier apparently helped in this situation. I wore an off-purple vest.

It was Christmas Eve. I had no one special in my life. My parents lived 275 miles away. I was scheduled to work until the store closed at 1800. I wore a Santa hat for the occasion. Along with the little beard, the get up either made me look like a young Kris Kringle or a big elf. It was snowing like hell and the express lane was populated with men buying last minute gifts for their loved ones. Their faces indicated stress. I wanted to see my family.

The plan was to leave right after work and make the trek to my folks in time for church. We closed the store and I jumped on Route 60 with hopes of hitting the Thruway. Everyone was driving slowly and and foolishly and then a deer decided he was angry because he didn’t have “rein” before that which describes his species so he ran across Route 60 to get that beat Hyundai. I slammed on the brakes and slid to the right, barely missing a sign declaring I was at a Parking Area. I spun my tires and backed up and into the Parking Area and composed my thoughts.

I look skyward and speaking to whomever I thought was god at the time, I said “I just want to go home for Christmas. Once I do that, it’ll all be better.”

With that I continued my trek up to the Thruway and headed home in crazy snow for most of the trip. What should have taken four and a half hours extended to nearly six; I made to my folks just in time to go to the Methodist church in town for the candlelight Christmas Eve service. I remember thinking a loud “thank you” in my head for making it home safely.

That is when I truly felt the Christmas spirit and that carols and the lights and the candles and being with my family made me feel like it was all good. I can’t tell you what I got that year for a gift, save for a videotape of Madonna’s “Justify My Love” because I always remember dirty things, but shortly after that holiday I left Hills when I was hired full-time as a house manager for the local ARC. With that I found my path again and was able to make the move to where we live today.

It was in 1990 that I found my path and found myself back where I belonged. And it was the Christmas spirit that put me there.

So a while back I was doing the “inside work routine” thing at work, which involves walking at a high speed pace around what I refer to as the ‘racetrack’ since the it just goes around the outside of the middle of the building, which is square, and I was walking along minding my own business when I was walking by the ladies’ room. A woman was coming out of there and I looked away because I didn’t want to see anything that was going to make me blush. At least I tried to look away but I caught a quick glimpse in the door and was shocked at what I saw.

The ladies’ room has a lounge. I found this perplexing and when I mentioned it to my friend Sandy, she confirmed what I saw and added that they have a couple of chairs, a couch and a television in this little area of their rest room suite. This lounge is completely separate from the actual bathroom (a desire to call it a ‘relieving station’ came to mind and I have no idea why). The ladies can ‘rest’ in comfort with their favorite show and then kick back on the couch to recover from the whole ideal.

Wow.

Sandy asked about the men’s room, which I confirmed is one room with a small vestibule that contains an overflowing garbage can. The men’s room has “four standers and four sitters”. There is a telephone truck hazard cone in one of “the sitters”. Someone was generous enough to supply us with a can of Lysol air freshener and a stern note advising us not to drop bits of paper towel on the floor has been added to the decor. There is no air ventilation, no clock, no muzak and no ambience. It’s not horrible as far as men’s rooms go; the last place I worked at rarely had toilets that actually flushed and the men’s room was so small that you had to back into the stall to get a good seat, so I am quite grateful for the men’s room we have at work but why this disparity in rest room arrangements made me ponder a few things.

1. Do women actually enjoy socializing in the ladies’ room before or after their business? Once in a while one of the higher level management guys will continue a conference call on his cell phone whilst doing his other business and if you’re in there at the same time I guess it’s rude to do a little toot-toot serenade.

2. Why is there a television in the bathroom? There’s also a television in the cafeteria, which makes sense because people like to sit in there and watch tv whilst on their break and/or working on the big puzzle on one of the tables.

3. Why do the ladies get two rooms versus the one room (with hazard cone!) for the men?

Now I could get all high and mighty and start screaming about battles of sexes, inequality and become indignant about the whole thing but I really don’t want to. This isn’t a rant, it’s an observation.

I’m just going to sit down and ignore the conference call.

I know I have mentioned this during past holiday seasons, but I get really angry when I hear “My Favorite Things”, usually the recording by Barbra Streisand, presented as a Christmas tune. It’s not a Christmas tune. It’s a show tune. It’s sung during a thunderstorm in the cinematic presentation of “The Sound of Music”. Quite frankly, Julie Andrews sings it better than Barbra. It works during a thunderstorm but it does not work being blared into your ear by a low-fidelity PA speaker made by Dukane, said speaker being designed to bark out a price check for tampons.

I have been told that “My Favorite Things” is considered a Christmas tune because it talks about “brown paper packages tied up with string”. Where I come from that means porn. And even if it doesn’t mean porn, this would indicate to me that Christmas is about presents, gifts and gettin’ some loot under the tree. There’s that whole “snowflakes on noses” business going on but that could anytime in the winter and in the 42 years that I have been on this planet I can’t once name a circumstance where I saw “raindrops on roses” during the Christmas season.

For the love all that we purport is holy, please stop playing “My Favorite Things” and then claiming it’s a Christmas tune. It’s not a Christmas tune. It’s not even a generic holiday tune. It’s a show tune. And one to be sung during a scary thunderstorm, and only if you’re a nanny that’s been a nun.

It was a while back, August of ’09 to be vaguely exact, that I declared that I would never drink again. This declaration seemed to rattle some people but it was something that I felt I needed to do. Many would ask why I had given up drinking any alcohol and I was always honest with them: “I enjoyed getting buzzed and I foolishly tried to drive a fairly expensive sports car (the RSX) while buzzed.” Curious that I never drove the Jeep whilst buzzed. Anyway, I have never been stopped for drinking and I have never had a “close call” but I fully recognize that my daring act was stupid (to put it mildly) and therefore I needed to stop doing what was prompting me to be stupid. I’m not a stupid person, why should I act so stupidly? On the couple of occasions that I have had a beer since this declaration, Earl or Jamie has been the designated driver and I haven’t tried to drive the Acura whilst buzzed. However, the couple of times that I have drank alcohol since my declaration, I made the realization that whilst a buzz feels good (I once remarked that it quiets down the noise in my head), I don’t really miss getting buzzed at all but I do miss the taste of beer.

I like beer. I like the taste of beer. I like holding a beer bottle at a summer barbecue or at a street party or, on the very rare occasion that I go to a bar these days, at a bar. I like sitting in a pub, eating bar food and drinking beer. I like hanging with the crowd and kicking back with beer. I like all that. However, I don’t particularly enjoy the buzz anymore, but I do miss the occasion and good times that I associate with drinking beer.

So I’m on the hunt for a good NA (non-alcoholic) beer. I have tried a few, mostly while in Toronto earlier this year and quite frankly I think the Canadians could do better in that department, and I have to say that the look I got when I asked for a NA beer was a little disconcerting. This could be my own hang up, because while I mention that most ask why I stopped drinking, some folks got downright surly at the fact that I would not be getting drunk with them. Looks of shock and disbelief would pepper the conversation at a family gathering or at a holiday party or what have you but in those circumstances I just got obstinate, dug my heels into the floor and refused any alcohol although frankly I would really have enjoyed a beer because of my liking for the taste. When one tells me that I should do something contrary to what I want to do, I’m sure as hell going to do exactly what I want to do and not budge on it. And I’ll probably be a bit cranky about it.

But I digress.

So if anyone can recommend a good NA beer, I would love to hear from you. As we march through “the most wonderful time of the year” (with the craptastic music blaring to remind us that it’s just what they declare it to be and we MUST be happy about it), I will not be drinking any alcohol whatsoever, including wine, egg nog (which I find to be disgusting), champagne or some girly drink like a mai-tai, a foo foo or a chocolate martini with Ready-Whip on top. And for the record, I like making love at midnight and I like getting caught in the rain but I do not like pina coladas.

Near Beer. Tell me what to get.

^**For the record, I have no issues with those that want to get drunk responsibly, in fact I’ll help out with the driving. And if you want to use whip-cream at a bar, go for it. Just let me watch.

I am writing this blog entry after just getting out of bed and throwing on a pair of pajamas to come down stairs and do the “it’s a holiday morning” thing. This got me to thinking ; this quite normal activity for me might actually be strange for others because I put on pajamas when I got up. I call them my “yuppie pajamas” because the top and bottom match, in lieu of wearing a t-shirt and sweat pants. I feel like I should be matching someone else in these things, kind of like I’m ready for a Christmas morning photo because they’re plaid. Pajamas always seem to involve plaid. I don’t know if it’s because of the flannel or because plaid makes people happy, but here they are, plaid.

I have mentioned before that I enjoy sleeping in the nude. Even if it’s 40 degrees outside and I’m in a tent in a sleeping bag. Wearing clothes to bed seems quite foreign to me. I remember as a kid I would always get out of my clothes in some manner during the night and then have to put them back on when I went downstairs to join the family for the morning. When I was 16 I spent the night with my grandmother and my aunt at the house while the rest of the family was at a cabin at the beach and my grandmother came in to check on me and made some noise about “my bare ass hanging out”. (I don’t like to think that my ass “hangs”, by the way, since some have said that it is one of my better attributes.) I just don’t want to get all knotted up in some clothes that are going to be covered by blankets anyway. And I like a lot of blankets; usually about 7, not including the sheets but definitely including at least two quilts.

So here I am in my matching pajamas which are keeping me warm after getting out of bed. I am ready for the holiday festivities to begin.

In plaid.

Earl and I have a vacation today tomorrow. Actually, later today, because it’s after midnight as I’m typing this blog entry. I am stoked because we have a vacation day on the same day and in the same city. He’s not in Buffalo, I’m not in the J-town. The jet set life has brought us to our lovely home at the same time.

We enjoyed a nice dinner together earlier this evening at one of our local haunts, a Greek restaurant called Symeon’s. The food was as good as always, though one does feel a tad bit rushed when they are there. They like to keep the people moving, I suppose. I had the fasolakia. I didn’t even have to look that up in order to spell it correctly. The iMac is complaining that I’m spelling it wrong, but I’m not. Okay, I’ll admit that the Greek appetizer platter was quite nice as well. I enjoy bits of eggplant and grape leaves.

Earl and I have no plans for the weekend. I have been wanting to find time to write because I haven’t been doing it enough lately. I find it a little bit frustrating, because I commute a total of about 2 1/2 hours a day but I have no way of writing down all the thoughts that are jumping around in my head. I commented to Earl today that I enjoy blogging during my lunch time, but I’m not completely comfortable with typing a blog entry on my iPad (even when I use the aluminum keyboard) because it just feels slightly awkward to me. The iPad is the bees’ knees for content consumption but it’s not quite there, yet, for content creation. I was thinking that I was going to make a case for some sort of laptop again but then I remembered that I already have a MacBook Pro and it’s currently in Buffalo with Jamie, who is DJing a party with it this weekend. My short term memory works like that lately.

I can’t really put my finger on the reason as to why I’m awake at the moment. I’m actually really tired, but the idea of being able to sleep in an extra day on this three-day weekend has me giddy with excitement. I have been doing some reading on a few tech journalists that I admire and trying to figure out how they do their thing so easily. I know they don’t blog on their iPads for the most part, they go the notebook route. I will probably have to do the same. Our friend Scott has one of the new 11-inch MacBook Air notebooks and I’m setting it up for him. It’s quite sweet but might be a tad small for my tastes. Jamie used to have a 13-inch MacBook but he gave that up for the iPad route. My MacBook Pro is a 15-inch model with the older style case (like my old PowerBook G4) and I really like it but sometimes it feels a tad big in the Acura. I wish the J-town had something like Panera where I could sit down for my lunch hour and be creative. The weather in these parts isn’t conducive to sitting at a picnic table. The snow drifts get in the way.

As I’m typing these random thoughts into this entry I’m reflecting on the blog entry I wrote earlier this afternoon, the one about giving thanks and not glossing over the Thanksgiving holiday in favor of the more popular Christmas season. During dinner I was quite excited to share some news about my work with Earl and he did the same. I told him that for the first time in a long while I have been able to come home and say without a trace of sarcasm in my voice, “I love my job”. I really do love my job and it’s a gig I hope to have for a long while. With Earl having his new career opportunities all over Upstate New York (they call him the Duke of the Thruway because of his offices being along the Thruway corridor), we have been having some thoughts as to how we are going to accommodate two careers in four different cities. It’s a challenge that we are both looking forward to come spring.

For now, I think it’s time to go to sleep, because this blog entry went in a different direction than I intended it to be.

Especially when my forehead bounced on the desk as I finally fell asleep.

With the constant reminders of the impending arrival of the holidays blaring in our ears and assaulting our sight, it stands to reason that I’m feeling kind of crabby with all of this frivolity. People wonder how one can be so cranky when it’s soon to be the most wonderful time of the year. I’m going to throw my two cents out there on the subject and then you won’t need to irritate me with such mundane questions about my mood.

I was taught that a good person is thankful for what they have in their life. In the New York State educational system of the 1970s I was also reminded of how important it was to be patriotic and thankful that we live in such a wonderful country. The pilgrims made a very dangerous voyage to this new found land and through their hard work, I am lucky to be enjoying turkey as a yankee doodle dandy. I was also reminded that in case the air raid sirens go off, grab your nap carpet and get under your desk, but that’s another blog entry.

This morning I decided to see what “terrestrial radio” has to offer these days. I have limited such listening delights to the sounds of “little radio station” in the city in which I work, but even this little treasure is guilty of what is irking me so. As I jumped around the dial, I landed upon three radio stations that are playing nothing but Christmas music (and don’t start telling me it’s holiday music, because ‘O Little Town of Bethlehem’ is Christmas music). I believe today is something like the 18th of November. Said stations went to all jingle bells on the 1st.

People, it’s not that time of year yet.

Driving through the little towns along my commute I see lit up snowflakes, blinking sleigh bells and tin soldiers bolted to telephone poles.

I have recently read articles, and I’m too lazy to add a link for your perusal so you’re just going to have to trust me on this, that mention that the retailers want to move the Black Friday sales to something earlier, like the 1st of November. Perhaps it was the 4th of July. Nevertheless, they don’t feel they are getting enough holiday traffic soon enough so what the retailers want to do is extend the holiday shopping season so that they can rack in more bucks. So the Christmas message is this – skip that whole Thanksgiving thing, it’s not important. Don’t be thankful for what you have, just run out and get more, more, MORE!

I don’t like that.

You see, I’m spoiled. I know I’m spoiled. I heartily admit that I am very fortunate that we are in a comfortable financial situation but in the back of my mind I know that it can be taken away at a moment’s notice at any time. I don’t take any of it for granted; I could give it all up if I had to and most importantly, I am very thankful for what we have. There are times that I don’t seem very thankful for that which we have, both materialistically and in other ways, but by gods, don’t skip over the importance of my opportunity to sit down with family and friends and tell them how thankful I am to be part of this whole life experience with them. I learned long ago that filling your home with expensive gadgets is a fleeting joy at best and that spending the entire day under the covers with your lover, ignoring the world outside of that moment, is much more preferable. I figured out that buying your mom an expensive serving set will make her smile, but singing her a song at the piano will make her heart fill with happiness. I know that sitting down and listening to a person tell you why they’re thankful, and then reciprocating, is a precious moment.

In today’s society we are all about what we can obtain. I think we should focus more on what we can celebrate, even if it’s celebrating that we are just getting by with what we have. And by glossing over Thanksgiving Day (or as we now call it in respect to our Canadian friends and family, “American Thanksgiving”) and force feeding us the Christmas holiday earlier than intended, you’re telling us that giving thanks is not that important anymore.

For the record, our holiday shopping is already under way (online shopping allows us that luxury without being subjected to the barrage of low-fidelity Christmas wails full of static). Our plans for our yearly shopping trip have been made. We know where we are going and that will take place in November. But in contrast to the neighbors that have their flashing icicles lit, the Santa Claus that randomly inflates and deflates over a blow up baby Jesus and a lit up reindeer that flashes faster than a Studio 54 disco ball, we are going to take the time to properly decorate our house in a tasteful, respectful manner for Thanksgiving. Menus will be planned, off-the-grid moments will be celebrated and good times will be shared.

And I will be thankful that we are able to do so.

I’m really good at spending money. I’m like really good at it. I have my suspicions as to where I learned this fantastic trait of mine, but I enjoy a certain je ne sais quoi when it comes to spending money. There’s a certain amount of excitement when one finds that next goodie on the Christmas tree, decides to buy it and then feel a bit of excitement as the new found treasure is revealed.

Ironically, I don’t enjoy shopping. It makes me yawn.

While I am really good at spending money, there are times when I like to do the responsible thing and feel like I’m saving money. And I have started a plan that will save me $270 a year. $270! That’s like three tanks of gas and five gallons of milk! Just think of the things I can do with that kind of dough in this economy. Where has my new found savings come from?

I drive thru McDonalds instead of Dunkin’ Donuts now when purchasing my daily dose of unsweetened iced tea with lemon. Dunkin’ Donuts price? $2.70. McDonalds? $1.69 (and I think the cup is bigger).

I’m quite delighted with this little find. I think I’ll celebrate by buying something shiny.