Ponderings and Musings

So today I went for my annual physical for the first time in two years. Dr. Lance, as we like to call him, is looking as good as ever. He was cordial and friendly and more importantly, very prompt as he entered the examination room. I had only been waiting one or two minutes. It’s a nice change of a pace from today’s lazy state of affairs.

Basically I’m holding up pretty well. My pulse is good in all my extremities. (He checks my pulse in my ankle like Dr. Bombay!) My reflexes kick well (I hate getting my reflexes tested for some reason) and my tongue still allows me the ability to say “ah”. He took my blood pressure twice, it’s a little high this time around. He wants me on blood pressure medicine for a little while. I was on blood pressure medicine back in the early oughts and it did fairly well. Earl kind of treats it like some sort of distemper shot as he says I’m calmer when I’m on it. My numbers were 134/94. Not overly high but a little high. It runs in the family so I guess that’s to be expected. On the other hand, Dr. Lance is rather hot so that could be a reason for having high blood pressure.

I have to do the usual fasting and ensuing blood work on Monday. I have to have a chest xray just to be sure of something, but I don’t know what it is. He said everything sounds good. I opted to do the non-fasting required blood work today. I’ll have those results in a week. I hope the black and blue mark from the lab tech is gone by then. The rest of the blood work involves cholesterol and sugar levels. He says that runs in the family and he expects my numbers to be high. Such the optimist.

The bionics upgrade from 2005 is holding well and he is pleased by that. Well he seemed pleased. I certainly am. That problem that hung around for 30+ years is well behind me now. Now things just hang nicely.

When I first moved to the area in 1991 I wore a flattop. I know that is hard for some to believe, what with me being bald for the past 12 years or so but once upon a time I had enough hair on top to wear a respectable auburn flattop. I complimented the look with a moustache.

Maintaining a flattop is a bit of a chore. If you go too long without getting it cut it starts to look all out of proportion and then you’re just a few short steps from parachute pants and exclaiming “Yo Hammer don’t hurt ’em”, so when I got settled in these parts I had to find a barber that could execute the precision my flattop required.

After a couple of missteps and bad haircuts, I finally found a barber that could do the job well. The barbershop is a standalone unit located on a side street downtown; it’s flanked by two empty buildings. There are two chairs but only one barber. The other chair was Sam’s station but he had passed away a couple of years before I discovered the shop. The front chair belongs to Carm, a jovial older Italian man. He’s tall and thin, his name has many vowels. I thought of him as “older” back in 1991, I still think of him as “older” today, 17 years later.

Carm is a pleasant man. I’ve never heard him speak ill of anyone. His shop is populated by all sorts of men; workers from the state and county office building, lawyers and police officers and construction crews getting cleaned up for the weekend. While not overly busy, I suppose he does a respectable business. I sometimes wonder when he’ll retire.

Though my visits to Carm became more sporadic as time marched on and my hair vacated my head, he has always remembered various stops along my career path: radio DJ, restaurant co-owner, computer man. I was last in his shop in August 2006 where he carved out my first incarnation of the “wide” moustache that I wear from time to time. He is located close my work and occasionally I’ll pass by on a wild attempt to get some exercise during my lunch hour. He always waves and smiles.

During my last visit to the shop I noticed that he had slowed down a little bit. I mean, he’s getting on in his years and that’s to be expected. I noticed two winters ago there was a sign in the window saying that he’d be closed for a few weeks due to illness. He came back and resumed his schedule a short while later, I’d still pass by and wave. He’d wave back.

Carm’s shop is still open today. Since that bout with illness I decided to drive by on my way home from work once in a while to see if the shop is still open. I have little reason to go into the shop: I don’t have much hair on my head and I wear a beard most of the time. I’d glance in the big window as I passed by and occasionally see him sleeping in the barber chair closest to the window; the task of reading the newspaper apparently turned into an afternoon nap that probably went a little longer than expected. So I developed the habit of giving a quick little beep on the car horn in an effort to remind him that it was quitting time. I’d then go around the block again to see if he woke up. By the time I went by the shop again, I’d see him stirring and making motions to close up for the day.

I don’t know if Carm knows what wakes him up on the days he falls asleep reading the newspaper near quittin’ time but I don’t think I’m doing any harm. His shop is one little piece of Americana in this fast paced world that I cherish.

Here’s a picture I snapped the last time I was in his chair. It was August 2006.

I called in sick for the first time in around 15 years today. I’ve been fighting a bit of a cold for the past 48 hours and this morning I just couldn’t get my head off the pillow. I was up most of the night with the sniffles. I’m hoping that a day at home resting will help the situation so that I can get back to work tomorrow.

I’m not a fan of calling in sick. I don’t really believe in it. However, I felt that I would be doing more harm than good by going into the office: I would prolong whatever it is that I have and I would not get any better due to being in the office. The new landlord of the building has decided that the lease agreement with the company I work for is unfair to him. Said lease agreement includes utilities. He thinks they should pay extra for utilities. To make his point, he has decided to not turn on the heat until November. It has been between 55 and 60 in the office all week. Thank goodness for sunny afternoons, it has allowed the office to warm up to a generous 62.

I don’t mind working in cool environment, but it’s probably better to be moving around to keep warm. My job involves sitting at a desk, talking on the telephone and troubleshooting various components of networks that span hundreds of miles. Aside from the brain power, there’s not a lot of moving around. I can’t help but think sitting in the cold allowed whatever wanted to make my body ill to make it’s move on my system. Therefore, I have sniffles.

Hopefully the company (and it’s team of lawyers) will win the skirmish and we’ll have heat soon. Today, I lie in bed, lie on the couch or lie in the sun in an effort to keep warm.

This is one of the reasons I am not a fan of daylight saving time. It is currently 6:46. I am to be to work at 8:00. My body is saying “but it’s dark and therefore we must sleep!” But no, we must drag ourselves out of bed, going against nature because we all know better of course.

I wonder if the world would be a happier place if we lived in harmony with nature instead of railing against it all the time.

I had a three day weekend but I’m not feeling particularly rested. The house is oddly quiet. I guess I got used to having my sister and the baby in the house. We drove them to Toronto Thursday night in anticipation of her flight to Switzerland this weekend so that she could join her husband in Biel-Bienne. We weren’t even in Toronto for 24 hours. I like Toronto. I wish we had time to go into the city and do our thing. But no, the schedule didn’t permit that this time.

Saturday night Earl and I played hosts of another bear night here. It was the busiest yet. The bar was packed and we had no food left. The theme was “OctoBEARfest”. We served brats and bavarian pretzels. Sauerkraut too. The night was a lot of fun. The bear nights are going well. We are going to do another one in December. We also raised a nice chunk of change for a local charity that helps those with HIV and AIDS. I fear that the younger generation forgets about HIV and AIDS. They shouldn’t.

Yesterday I knew it was autumn as I went into some weird happy homemaker mode, washing the sheets on all the beds, organising very odds and ends. I also contemplated baking cookies but then the sauerkraut from the night before started catching up with me and I figured that we had done enough cooking for the weekend. Even though sauerkraut shouldn’t have anything to do with cookies.

I’m not feeling inspired tonight. I want to write something engaging, thought provoking, witty and awe inspiring.

Instead I think of things like the pimple on the inside of my nose and the fact that I enjoyed “going commando” in my jeans all day on Saturday. It’s not the things that blog entries are made of.

I could go on and on about the progress of the U.S. elections, the threat of World War III and the dismal state of the U.S. economy, but then it would seem like I’m depressed. I’m not. That’s hardly the case. It’s just that many of written about these subjects much better than I ever could so why put forth the effort.

Today is the first day of autumn. I love autumn. It is my favorite season. I think I’ll go outside and embrace the magic I feel in the autumn wind.

Then I’ll have something.

Earl is sound asleep next to me. I’m snuggled up in the covers, refusing to turn the heat on even though the weatherman has issued a frost warning for tonight. It’s easier to add another blanket instead of forking out a lot of cash to Niagara Mohawk (utility company). I have the computer and a cat in bed with me (in addition to Earl) The cat is not Xena, though she let me pet her once before hissing today. We are making progress. As a kind gesture I made a little cat bed with an old comforter for her. She enjoys resting on it, paws crossed in a pristine way.

My sister is asleep with her son in the back bedroom. He is growing like crazy. At three weeks old he’s discovering his sight and looking at various toys with interest. The miracle of life is truly amazing. My sister has a good sense of humour. I tell Dylan (her son) that the milk truck is coming and I call my sister Byrne Dairy (local dairy company). It’s all in jest. She laughs. My sister has always laughs at my jokes. Even when we were little.

My aunt and cousin came to visit this evening. They brought along a casserole that my uncle made. He’s recently retired. Apparently he’s becoming intimate with the ways of Rachel Ray. The casserole was good. The company was enjoyable.

Lying in bed I’m chatting on the computer and sending text messages back and forth to dave and greg. It’s what I do. The internet has afforded me the opportunity to make important connections in my life. Most don’t understand. I cherish those that do.

I’ve never written those blog entries that I formulate in my head whilst on my bike. I should really sit down in a quiet corner and write them all down and then post them when the mood strikes. So many things to blog about: spirituality, love, monogamy, sex, exploration, politics. Are we sick of politics yet? I believe I am. It’s not a game I enjoy watching. Few take it seriously. So much at stake.

Today began the experiment of recreating the Big Bang in Switzerland. Particles whizzed in one direction at seven per cent of the capacity of the machine. When we reach one hundred per cent and send two particles in opposite directions, only to collide with one another is when it’ll get interesting. But today they learned that what they’ve spent 30 years building works. Let’s hope there’s not another Big Bang as a result.

Earl is still sound asleep, oblivious to the soft clicking of the keyboard on my Mac. I look at him and smile. He still gets me. Few do. He gives me room to grow. He encourages me to explore, to seek, to spread my wings. It’s something I’ll always cherish.

Earl and I were talking about how bewildered my relatives must be by living with us here at our happy little home. I like to think that what I write on the blog is accurate as to what our life is like, but I could never write about everything that we do. I guess what I write about are little glimpses into our habits and lifestyle.

We are used to the two of us and the routine we’ve tweaked over the past 12 or so years. My relatives must find it odd that we spend hours in our basement pecking away at our computers or that I talk on my iPhone in the woods behind the house (where the cell reception is best).

No one has said “how odd” as Earl and I have progressed through our routines with a little audience, but it has made me step back and take a look at how we get through our daily life.

I like what I see.

I haven’t been as chatty as usual in my blog. We’ve been busy enough: this weekend we went to the New York State Fair on Saturday (as evidenced by my ‘Top Spin’ video), yesterday we went to a weekend barbecue at our friends’ Al and Mike’s, which was quite delightful. Of course, Earl and I have had my relatives in and out of the house since the little guy was born two weeks ago. There’s a lot going on and all of it is good, I just haven’t felt inspired to write about it.

One thing about the New York State Fair: whomever came up with the idea of renting out those little motorized scooters to lazy fat people should be flogged and not in a pleasant manner. Broken limb? Handicapped? Maimed in a war? You should have all rights to one of those monstrosities. Eat McFat and smoke too much? I say walk or stay home.

I’ve been doing a lot of bike riding. I’ve ridden at least 25 km a day for the past week. I can confirm that it’s best if cyclists stick to the trails because motorists don’t give a fuck anymore and will just hit you whilst they chat on their cell phone, eat a McBomb and balance a cup of coffee in their crotch. I don’t know how bikers manage with their motorcycles¹; in fact, a car pulled out in front of my father this past weekend (car didn’t even stop as he pulled out of a gas station parking lot); Dad went down with the bike trying to avoid the car that pulled out in front of him, the motorcycle landed on top of him. He came out of the ordeal o.k. (aside from a “good sanding” as he called it), but he was still rushed to the hospital. Drivers just don’t give a shit anymore. I feel it’s an accurate reflection of a shocking number of Americans. People don’t give a shit.

I feel like my blog should be something more than a journal of what I’m doing. There is some heavy stuff going on in the world today. This whole Anastacia Beaverhausen thing as McSame’s running mate is ridiculous. I could go off on that whole freak show but many others are doing it and I don’t want to just write “what he said!” I’m afraid that the sheeple are just going to lap it up along with all the other shit in Washington, D.C. these days. At least Obama talks about hope. Perhaps there is hope after all.

My sister came home from Wal*Mart (which is apparently WalMart* now but is still ‘Always White Trash, Always’) where she had to show her driver’s license to return something. The last thing I want to do is give my driver’s license to some surly WalMart* employee so they can record the information into their computer. People are entirely too cavalier with their personal information. Ironically, I talk about my life pretty openly right here on the tubes so what do I know.

¹ Moby, dude, I’m glad to see you’re recovering seemingly well.

When my sister moved in with us a couple of weeks ago she brought along her cat Xena. Xena is around seven years old and very set in her ways. She’s nearly the direct opposite in demeanor from our cat Tom; she’ll think nothing of swatting at you while you’re feeding her or hissing at you if she doesn’t like your boots.

I’ve always been a cat person (perhaps I was meant to be a lesbian or something) and I have always been able to tame the wildest of the feline beasts. Folks would tell me that their cat hides from everyone but I’d always manage to get them into my arms and perhaps evoke a purr from the whole ordeal.

Xena, on the other hand, hates my guts.

Because Tom doesn’t let along with other cats and Xena isn’t diggin’ the new digs all that much, she is living in the basement. She has quite the set up; sleeping bags to hide in, cat toys to bat about, a litter box that is cleaned daily and several servings of “treats”.

She still hates my guts. She screams and hisses at me every chance she gets and once in a while she’ll come batting at my feet. I once laid down on the floor to get her to cozy up to me and she acted all innocent and then when she got within a foot me she started screaming and hissing and coming at me with her (lack of) claws. I usually speak to her in a stern voice when she does this and she’ll go running up the stairs and into the rafters between the basement and the first story floor.

She just hates me.

I’m not giving up the challenge though. I’ll still make sure she’s well attended to and keep trying to get on her good side until we ship her off to Switzerland with my sister and the baby (my brother-in-law is playing hockey on a Swiss team this season).

But it’s obvious that there is no love lost from Xena to her Uncle J.P.