Ponderings and Musings

I’m sitting at an auto service center. It’s one of the few of such establishments that I trust. I’ll walk into a downright filthy diner and slurp down some chow but I won’t think of bringing my vehicle to a garage that doesn’t meet my personal gold standards. These guys are good. I trust them.

I’ve just handed the keys to my Acura over to a service man who I have to admit is quite woofy (I tend to notice these things). It’s time for an oil change, tire rotation and yearly inspection (for the car, not for me). It’s difficult for me to hand the keys to my beloved vehicle over to another person regardless how much I trust them; I’ve only let a handful of people drive my car and Earl is the only one that has been trusted to repeat the experience. I’d let my sister drive my car again. She has the same zest I have behind the wheel.

Some folks find it surprising how much I love my car. On the flip side I don’t understand how someone could not love their car. I do not get the whole “it’s only a car” mentality. My car is an extension of my body when I’m behind the wheel. It’s not a car, it’s a friend. We’ve had good times together.

One of these days I’ll get around to changing my own oil and doing my own maintenance again. It’s an exercise that I enjoy. Earl and I were only a month or two into our relationship when I drove my Hyundai into the garage and changed the plugs and wires, changed the oil and did other maintenance while he watched. I don’t think he expected that from me. I was fortunate growing up; one of my best friends was the youngest of an auto mechanic that owned a junk yard. Like his father, he could get an engine started while it was still sitting on the floor of the garage. The inhalation of exhaust fumes probably kept me away from the drugs. That could explain a lot. We spent hours and hours rebuilding the engine in his ’69 Dodge pickup. He also helped out when my Dad and I moved the engine from my ’74 Chevy Vega to my ’76 Pontiac Astre.

Now that’s a car for a young driver: a 1974 Chevy Vega. It reached 55 in no less than five minutes, wouldn’t start unless you had your seat belt on and you could see and hear the rust do it’s work on the top side of the fenders.

I still loved it though.

You would think that being a full-time college student with minimal work responsibilities would afford me the opportunity to do the grocery shopping in our merry little home. Yet somehow I get out of it week after week. When Earl opens a cupboard and sees nothing but emptiness, I bark out “I’ve got homework to do!” by reflex and open any random book that happens to be close by. I may be a Civil Engineering student but by god if I have to write a paper on the Betty Crocker’s cookbook to get out of grocery shopping, then that’s what I’ll do! I wonder if there has been some sort of Pavlov’s dog training in my past.

I really dislike grocery shopping. I’ve tried all sorts of tactics to make it a pleasant experience. Earl and I have sung cereal commercial jingles from the 70s in the appropriate aisle. I’ve recited the “Here’s his ancient Chinese secret, Calgon!” commercial verbatim. I’ve juggled the returnable cans. I’ve made obnoxious dump truck back-up noises while moving my cart through produce. I’ve even tried the whole experience nearly passed out drunk. Nothing. I find no joy in the grocery shopping experience (not even the nap in the cart next to the deli counter after I did pass out drunk).

The only time I enjoy going to the market is when we are able to get to Wegmans. Grocery shopping at Wegmans is nearly a religious experience. The food is fresher, the tempo of the store is livelier, the asses are cuter. There’s more interesting potions in the Health and Beauty Aisle and there’s more intoxicating natural freshness in the Nature’s Way arena. Anyone that claims that a non-Wegmans store is “like Wegmans” or “nearly the same thing” gets a prompt slap across the face in the name of blasphemy. Unfortunately the closest Wegmans to us is 50 miles away. Our noodles go limp when they have to travel that far to make it to the cupboard. So we settle for second rate freshness and premium prices.

Looking through the cupboards tonight, I have a horrid feeling that we are going to need to go grocery shopping before the week is out. Perhaps Earl is in the mood to dine out.

Or at least read my paper on how to make a good cupcake.

During a recent conversation I was asked, “As you grow older are you finding yourself less tolerant of stupid people?” My answer was an undeniable “yes”.

I can’t decide if I have a growing impatience as I grow older or if society in general is setting standards to a lower level. If the reason is the latter, is it the nanny approach of government these days? It seems like no one has to think for themselves anymore. “Wear your seat belts”. If you don’t we’ll annoy the hell out of you with a reminder buzzer until you do as we say. Here’s the thing, If I don’t want to wear my seat belt that’s my choice. It might not be the smartest move in the world but my demise from such an act would contribute to a thinning of the herd, so to speak. A product of insurance companies going wild, a startlingly litigious society and greedy people.

“Don’t eat trans-fat”. Again, this is common sense as it’s been proven that it’s bad for you to do this.I know it’s probably not good for me to eat fries cooked in trans-fats but if I want to eat that food then that should be my decision, not some nebulous government society that doesn’t know me personally. Why the ban on trans fats and not the tobacco companies? Oh that’s right, there’s probably not a Crisco lobbyiest group.

In recent history it seems like government and ‘do-gooders’ (as my grandfather would call them) have immersed themselves in the business of protecting people from their own actions. In doing this it seems like people are having to think less and less, and in turn this is sort of dumbing down the sheep. When does it stop? Isn’t there a sci-fi novel floating around out there where people became so dumb that a man returned to Earth and was worshipped as a God because he could think for himself?

Of course, my perceptions could be fueled by an increase in crankiness as I get older. Perhaps I’m getting set in my ways as I approach 40 and have less tolerance for different points of view.

Now that spring has finally sprung in these parts I have to say that I’m getting out of my funk. It would be even easier to get out of the funk if I wasn’t wrestling with school so hard this semester. I’ve always enjoyed wrestling with something challenging but I’m used to overcoming the challenge quicker than this.

I love it when I use metaphors.

Even though the birds are singing and the sun is shining and I’m feeling good, I have to admit that I’m still in a bit of a hermit mode. I don’t know that hermit is quite the right word; it’s that loner side of me that is always present and it’s something that I honestly revel in. Few understand this, but those that do know how I feel.

I’m looking forward to a bike ride either today and/or tomorrow. I’m ready to hit the road and get some exercise. I have lofty dreams of having the body of a Marine. Maybe I should just get a summer job working road construction or something where I have to do something other than type on a keyboard. It would be good for me.

Earl commented to me last night that I haven’t been very feisty in the blog lately. I have to admit that life has kept me busy for the past several weeks and I haven’t focused on blogging as much as I have in the past. I don’t know if it’s a lack of inspiration, laziness or a lack of creativity that’s been plaguing me when it comes to blogging but something hasn’t felt quite right for me and therefore I haven’t put as much time into the process. Perhaps it’s this latest bout of the sniffles that I’ve been dealing with.

Speaking of the sniffles. I occasionally hear or read comments from others about the “supposed Global Climate Change” (i.e. Global Warming). “It’s snowing here, where’s this Global Warming they’re all screaming about.” Global Warming/Global Climate Change refers to a relatively drastic CHANGE in our climate. Snow is Las Vegas, for example, would be a result of Global Warming/Global Climate Change because “something” has affected the weather patterns enough to make it snow when or where it shouldn’t. I’ve quipped before that people aren’t going to believe that “something” is changing with our environment until one of the Great Lakes evaporate or Syracuse becomes a desert resort, but I don’t think it’s working that way. What does this have to do with the sniffles? There’s a lot of people sick in these parts and I think it’s because it never got super-cold this winter. While it got chilly with temperatures down around 0 (fahrenheit), it never fell below that and I think that is what kills many of the germs that make us sick. The flooding of the planet isn’t going to wipe us out; the germs that hang around when they shouldn’t will.

Now that I’ve talked about the environment and have thrown out my theories, let’s see what else is rattling about in my mind. I’ve lost complete interest in the Presidential election. Hillary continues to shoot herself in the foot (I agree completely with Sean and her usage of ‘gay rights’), Barack rings hollow to me and McCain is an antique. ‘Nuff said. Call me when it’s time to pull a lever.

I recently learned that Driver Educators in this area are not teaching their young students to turn right on red because it’s “too risky”. They say that said drivers should wait until they’re more confident behind the wheel before they turn right on red. What a completely assinine approach to teaching drivers; said teachers are teaching _habits_ and students should get in the habit of turning right on red when it’s legal to do so. It keeps traffic moving; if it was a risky move a prohibition would be signed. By the way – in New York it’s legal to turn LEFT on red if you’re turning from a one way street to a one way street, so don’t get angry when I honk at you to snap you out of your ignorance.

Last rant: my math class is still out of control. Professor Frightful and his cast of voices can not complete the material before the end of the semester without tacking an extra five minutes to each end of the class. He’s now moving so quickly that I have no idea what my notes mean as I write them and when I ask a question (which is rare for me, as I’m usually a silent observer), he says that we have to move on. I’m not the only one that gets this response; we all do. “You’re going to fast!” “We need to get through the material.” I chant nightly, “five more weeks, five more weeks, five more weeks”.

I’m sitting here on the couch in the “great room”. Tom is curled up next to me, he has two paws resting on my leg for comfort. Otherwise he’s sound asleep and having quite the dreams because he’s twitching and thrashing about. He’s like his dad when it comes to restless dreaming.

Our new computers have been shipped and should be here by the end of the week. Thank goodness. I will have three Macs for sale, let me know if you’re interested in a first generation Mac Mini, a last generation iBook or a G3 blueberry iMac. I’d rather sell them to a reader before I throw them up on ebay and I’ll deliver to within 300 miles if it means I get to meet a reader. I’m not getting rid of my PowerBook G4 that I’ve loved for the past 42 months; he is getting reassigned to exclusive DJ duty. I think it’s better to have a separate computer for my DJ gigs.

Our midterm grades are announced tomorrow and I have to admit that I’m a little nervous about my calculus class with Professor Frightful and his cast of voices. The adjoining classroom has been populated by a professor with a LOUD computer this week and Professor Frightful keeps thinking it’s someone asking him a question so he stops the class to talk to the computer in the other room. It’s a little weird.

Other than that, it’s a typical week in the life of iMachias. This weekend I’m off to Connecticut to be the “sound designer” for the Connecticut Gay Men’s Chorus. I’m looking forward to the experience.

So a popular (and I believe relatively new) game here for slot machines fans is the “Wheel of Fortune” game. Eight players are seated around a big wheel just like Pat Sajek spins on television. Everyone has a video slot machine at their station and they feed money into the thing, play 45 lines six ways from Sunday and win an assortment of cash and prizes. If you hit three “bonuses”, you get to spin the big wheel.

There’s a lot of fanfare when it’s your turn for the big wheel. Vanna comes on and gives a very dignified speech about being a good player and other cheerleader-like statements without the rah rah. She’s looking slightly away from you as she reads her cues, but her heart seems to be in it.

Last night at The Mirage I hit the big wheel three spins in a row. On the first spin I landed on the big money, “1000” which of course means 1000 coins. Since I have a hard time keeping track of how many coins equals how much (especially after three martinis), I ended up walking away with a little over $300. I had fed the machine $50. I guess that’s good.

When a bonus comes up, the video screen instructions you to stand up and yell like you were on the real “Wheel of Fortune” game show. I had three drunk women to my right at their terminal. They were sharing $10 and playing one line. On the other hand, I always hit Max Bet, because Earl taught me long ago, you either lose big but hopefully you win big, so always max the machine. It’s a fairly credible theory.

The three drunk women shrieked when they saw that I got to spin and started yelling like they had just been given a White-Westinghouse Washing Machine from behind door number three. None of them were dressed as a carrot. Oops, wrong game show.

It was good to have a cheering squad, including Vanna’s dignified soliloquy. And the winnings went into the geek bank for future gadget purchases.