Ponderings and Musings

Techno Bed.

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.

Witness.

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.

Direction.

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.

Catty.

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.

Observations in the Sun.

I am sitting at the Marina along the Erie Canal on an abbreviated lunch hour. Work is very crazy today in that I’m getting a lot of “dumb customer” calls. One woman asked if cat pee would hurt the keyboard. The answer would be “yes”. I remarked on Twitter that perhaps licensing should be required to own a computer.

I am listening to a DJ Feel mix on my iPod; the mix is a gift from dave in Toronto. We are both fans of the work of DJ Feel, a Russian Trance DJ. This mix decidedly different than the other work I have heard from him but equally as enjoyable. His work inspires me to look for more gigs as DJ SuperCub.

A large 747 just flew over the car, it’s headed for the old Air Force base. This 747 has a large radar dish on the top of it, the dish rotates as they fly. How impressively high-tech!

The clouds are giving way to blue sky. My bike ride tonight should be quite enjoyable. The breezes are cool, autumn is warning us of her arrival. I welcome the impending debut of my favorite season of the year.

Life at the Manor has been interesting this weekend. The baby is doing well but Earl and I are definitely not used to a house full of people. It’s all working out but it’s definitely a different experience.

Hold On Tight.

The week is flying by at an incredible rate. Earl and I just got back from another trip to Syracuse, where we saw my sister, brother-in-law and the two boys (Dave’s first son and the new little guy). He is doing splendidly for being three weeks early, but his mum and dad haven’t had much time to sleep in the hospital this week. Apparently people are in and out of the room on a 24 hour basis so they catch little catnaps here and there. I think Jennifer might be discharged early tomorrow or Friday.

I’ve been keeping busy taking care of Earl, who had to have a tooth pulled instead of the planned root canal yesterday and trying to keep peace between the cats. Tom doesn’t like having another cat in the house and Xena, Jennifer’s cat, doesn’t acclimate well to a change in her surroundings. She buries herself between the covers on the spare bed and hisses at things. A bird will fly by the window, she hisses. The phone ring, she hisses. We try to make the bed and she throws a damn hissy fit. The only time she isn’t hissing is when she’s eating a treat I gave her. Instead she growls between swallows. She refuses to come out of the bedroom, so she has a litter box, food, water and familiar toys in there. Does she bat playfully at the toys? No. She wedges herself behind the computer and hisses.

I have no idea what to do to get her to calm down. I guess it’ll just take time.

Meanwhile, we are going to have a selection of houseguests for the next month or so. This should all be very interesting.

Well hello Little Man.

Earl and I were driving home from Toronto along the QEW. It was around 1 p.m. that a very special call came from my aunt.

“You’re an uncle. He weighs 6 lbs and 13 ounces and he’s healthy. Your sister is doing very well.”

Mom and Jennifer had said yesterday that they were heading to the hospital. My sister said there was no reason to come home from Toronto early, so we didn’t. The Little Guy was due on the 9th of September. He decided to do things his way and make his grand entrance on the 18th of August instead.

Earl and I stopped at the hospital on our way through Syracuse and visited with my sister and the little guy’s grandparents. I got to hold him for a while. My life changed a little bit at that moment. He looks like his Dad with some of my sister’s touches and was sleeping peacefully as he laid in my arms.

We planned our trip to Toronto early in my sister’s stay at our house figuring she had a few weeks left before she would be heading to the hospital. I guess the Little Guy had different plans for us all.

Tick Tock.

When a first-time visitor arrives at our house it usually only takes a few minutes for them to notice a “click-click” sound in the background household noises once a minute. That’s when I show them my collection of school clocks wired throughout the house.

I don’t talk about my clock collection very much here but I have a collection of school clocks made by The Standard Electric Time Company. These are the type of clocks that were found in most classrooms throughout the 20th century and are characterized by that familiar click-click sound that advances the time each minute. Thousands of students have watched these clocks over the years, waiting for that minute hand to click to dismissal time.

I’ve been fascinated with these clocks since my first day of kindergarten. I remember sitting on the floor of Mrs. Mosher’s1 room in a big circle. Apparently we were waiting for a bell to ring to announce the start of the day. We watched the clock. It clicked, causing the hand to move backwards slightly, and then it clicked again. The minute hand landed on 9:10. A bell was heard and then the principal, Mr. Bellardini, welcomed us to school. The minute hand continued it’s trick throughout the day, stepping back slightly before moving on to the next minute. The really neat thing was that all the clocks in the school did it at the same time. It didn’t matter if the clock was round or square, had a speaker or not attached to it’s casing, all the clocks said the same time and marched ahead through the day in unison.

I found this very fascinating.

When Earl and I moved into our first house back in 1997 I decided that I wanted to start collecting these clocks and via the internet I found that there were others that shared the hobby as well. In fact, that’s how we met our friends Tim and Gordon in Cheyenne; Tim and I both share an interest in these clocks.

Some find it unusual that a high tech geek like me enjoys the simplicity of this system of clocks. The clocks in the house actually don’t keep in time; as slave clocks they just jump ahead via a magnet, some gears and a short electrical impulse from the master clock in the basement. Most of these systems were controlled by pendulum clocks that resembled industrial grandfather clocks. As progress, um, progressed, the pendulums were replaced by motors, and later, electronic circuit boards. The master clock in our house is from a hospital in Bennington, Vermont. It’s an electronic clock made by the same company, dating 1985. It doesn’t like thunderstorms and occasionally needs parts replaced. This is where the high-tech geek in me kicks in, I have the master clock wired to the internet so that it’s always in time with the atomic clock in Boulder.

I find it relaxing to work on my clocks. Some are nearly 100 years old and they continue to do as they were designed, move ahead once a minute as ordered by an electrical impulse. No two clocks in the house are alike but they are all made by The Standard Electric Time Company. I sometimes marvel at how many times that minute hand has jumped ahead each minute since the clock was built.

And time just keeps marching on.

1 Mrs. Mosher was the same teacher that told my parents that I was “mentally retarded” because I wouldn’t color between the lines and I jammed my papers into my book bag each day. Even back then I didn’t sweat the small stuff. I like to think she just didn’t get me. Later achievements (and multiple IQ tests) proved that she just didn’t know what to do with this little red headed gay boy.

Crack.

After work I treated myself to a little 100-calorie pack of chocolate chip cookies. They were delicious and hit the spot after a long day at work. Unfortunately, I also broke a tooth on one of the cookies. I now have a sharp piece of tooth on the tooth that has been declared a candidate for a root canal. I’m trying to hold out until my dental insurance returns in 60 days. I think I’ll be o.k., it doesn’t hurt me at all.

We didn’t make it to Saranac Thursday tonight as my sister drove in from Toronto to move in for a couple of months. She is in the ninth month of her pregnancy. Her husband is playing hockey in Switzerland this season. She and the baby will join him in Biel/Bienne in late October or early November.

Here Comes The Rain Again.

We woke up to brilliantly sunny skies this morning. It is now lunch time and it is pouring once again. I haven’t been able to mow the lawn because the lawn mower would sink. It looks like the trend will continue.

Oh well, no sense in getting depressed over it. I think I’ll go park myself in a sunny corner of my mind and hum a bit. That will make people think I’m completely crazy.

I go for that at times.