Ponderings and Musings

Last night Earl and I made the trek to nearby Rome to return the Malibu to the dealer. The lease is up and Earl’s company is providing a new company car (funny how that works), so the folks at the Chevy dealer were a little disheartened to not be selling us a new vehicle. The Malibu was a good little workhorse and we had a couple of road adventures in it. It served well as Earl’s company car for the past three years.

We hadn’t been to that part of Rome in quite a while, which is now called “Little Italy”. (You’d think all of Rome would be considered Italian, but that’s another blog entry). On the way to the car dealer we noticed a barbershop had opened up in a store front that had been a barbershop up until the mid 90s and had since been abandoned. It was good to see the shop busy once again and we noticed that the hours were a little more lifestyle friendly for today’s hectic pace: open until 7 on weeknights and until 4 on Saturday.

Earl has not had a haircut in a long while. He wasn’t satisfied with his last visit to his (now former) barber and was trying to figure out where to get his hair cut without driving to the always popular Shoppingtown Mall Barbers near Syracuse (it’s quite a drive for a haircut). So this morning, after we picked up his company car, I drove us to the barbershop we had spotted last night. As we walked in I noticed that Todd, the new owner of the shop, had kept the shop as traditional as possible while still keeping it comfortable for contemporary times. The old sink in the center of the shop was cleaned up and standing proud. The old chairs from the 40s have been given the attention they deserved and the wood floor has been restored. Various bottles of potions, lotions and such, remnants of the shop that used to occupy the space, lined the countertop. With the addition of a flat screen television and a comfortable couch, it’s a nice slice of tradition in this neighborhood that is finally getting itself back together.

Being bald and all I just sat in the shop and shot the bull with the few guys that were hanging out whilst Earl got his haircut. Todd told us that he had opened up in January after working with another barber across town for the past eight years. He was happy to strike it out on his own; his former boss was 92-years old and was apparently getting a bit much to handle.  When all was said and done, Earl was quite pleased with his haircut.

I think it’s safe to say that Earl has found his new barber. 

I found myself in a bit of a quandary this morning. As I tried to grab a few more moments of shut-eye and an incredibly fun dream I was having, I had a bedmate of the feline persuasion thinking differently of the situation. He chattered and chirped and ran around the bed like a maniac. I pushed him away a few times, he persisted. When that didn’t work, he jumped off the bed and then back onto the bed by leaping onto my back from the floor.

I now have a cat scratch across my back.

Our beloved son is tipping 14 years old and has all the energy of a cat less than half that age. How in the world do I train him when Daddy is sleeping not to go crazy? I suppose I could lock him out of the bedroom but then all I would hear is the destruction of the bedroom door.

In the meantime, I’m an obedient adult and I get the tuna out of the cupboard and into the dish on cue.

I decided to do a little sprucing up around the site today. If you’re not using an RSS reader, you’ve probably noticed that the appearance of the site has changed drastically. I decided to go with something a little more neutral. I think it’s a little easier on the eyes.

Speaking of eyes, it seems that something has irritated the hell out of my right eye. It’s not swollen or anything but it is quite red. Throughout the day I found this makes people a little nervous. I heard a lot of this: “Do you have pink eye?”  I’d laugh manically and give them the evil eye with the red eye. “YES! YES! You’re going to catch it by looking at it!” and then I’d laugh like a loon again. I’ve had pink eye before. It’s how I celebrated my 13th birthday. It was swollen and itchy and red (well, it was more than pink) and it made everyone nervous. To make the occasion more joyous my parents took me to an airshow in the ‘burg of Weedsport where EVERYONE could see my pink eye. They asked questions, lots of questions. A woman named Trix (don’t call her Trixie) thought she’d catch it by gazing into my pink eye. I don’t think she did. Nevertheless, this eye irritation is nowhere near what that felt like so I’m not sweating it. I’m pretty sure I had something stuck in my eye last night when I went to bed and it just made it’s mark while I was sleeping. If it doesn’t go away in a day or two, I might consider medical treatment. 

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”.