Ponderings and Musings

Addressee Unknown.

Earl and I have lived at our current address for over four years. The previous owners and builders of our home, apparently unable to afford their dream home any longer, temporarily moved to the house next door when they sold us their house. They were going to stay there until they could find another house to move to. I think they find us creepy or something because they don’t wave when we wave to them in a neighborly way, nor have they ever asked for a cup of sugar. But I don’t care about the sugar part.

So they’ve lived next door for four years. Is it unreasonable for me to have the expectation that they would have changed their address by now? The post office stopped forwarding their mail years ago, and now we get all their tax documents, magazine subscriptions and various other doo-dads. Like a good neighbor I’ve trotted across the yard and delivered their mail for them. They’re usually not home so I wedge it in the front door. I guess it’s the right thing to do but it’s becoming a pain in the ass. I think I’m just irked by the fact that it’s been over four years and we are still getting their mail. How hard can it be to change your address, especially on your financial accounts including your investments, checking account and health insurance forms?

I’m tempted to just throw it out with the rest of the junk mail but my conscience won’t let me do that.

Time to take another walk across the yard.

Hibernation.

My body is instinctively kicking into hibernation mode these days. There are times when I like to embrace my loner side and this seems to be one of these times. I don’t know if it’s the cold or what but I’m feeling content just doing little things around the house and losing myself in my schoolwork and projects.

I’m enjoying my school semester so far, though I have a bunch of tests coming up in the next week or two so that may change my outlook a little bit. I feel confident that I’ll do fine though, so far everything is ‘clicking’. I’m struggling a little bit with Professor Frightful and his cast of voices in the chalkboard, as he seems to be speaking in circles around calculus, but close attention to the text and intensive googling seems to remedy that little obstacle.

All in all life is quiet, but life is good. I think I’m ready for spring. In the meantime I’ll just sit back, relax and quietly enjoy my own little realm.

Weekend Merriment.

Earl and I have installed ourselves in the local Panera for some brunch. Even though it’s not officially lunch time yet (it’s before noon), I’ve already enjoyed a cup of tomato soup and half of a tuna salad sandwich. I’m not much of a tuna fish fan but this was rather tasty. It was a pleasant surprise.

Our weekend has been rather uneventful thus far. I worked at the bar Friday night. It was an odd night; there were a lot of young folks there (as observed by Grandpa J.P. in the DJ booth) and these young whippersnappers can not hold their alcohol at all. I worked at this bar almost every Thursday, Friday and Saturday night from 1992 to 2001 before starting up again a couple of weeks ago. I’ve never had the pleasure of: 1. not being able to use the men’s room because there were people getting sick all over the place and 2. not being able to use the backup plan, the ladies’ room, because there were two lesbians going to town over the single toilet in there. You think they could have locked the door or something.

Frightening.

I ended up holding it until the bouncers got the bathrooms under control. And the beat of the music went faster and faster until my chance to hit the head came.

I was then asked by a patron when I was going to start playing dance music. That does not amuse me.

Nevertheless, I shut the door on the DJ booth, switched over to beer and enjoyed the evening.

Yesterday Earl and I went for a little road trip. We ended up at EastView Mall in Rochester. I wanted to go to the Apple store since we have tax returns in our possession and we haven’t seriously upgraded our computers in three years or so. Earl and I looked over all that the world of Mac has to offer and have decided on what we are going to buy. We are going to sit on the decision for a week before making the purchases, but I’m going to be adding a 24-inch iMac to the stable (for audio and video editing), which will allow me to move my day to day computing to the Intel Mac-Mini currently in the studio, which in turns allows me to retire my PowerBook to mobile and DJ computing only. Earl will be moving to an iMac as well, which will allow us to move his Mac Mini into our “recreation room” in the basement, which allows us to move the Dell out of the house and probably into my mother’s arms. Earl will continue to get mobile on his iBook, which now lives in one of our spare bedrooms (we call it the boy room for the rotating houseboys we have).

Whew, it’s tough keeping track of all these things geeky.

After our window shopping at EastView, we made our way to the Cheesecake Factory and after a 70 minute wait we had a delicious meal and some cheesecake before heading home. I had my first Cosmo last night and it knocked me on my ass; Earl drove us halfway home while I snoozed and then I finished the drive.

Today is a maintenance day; on the agenda we have homework, laundry and grocery shopping, as well as video and audio editing and whatnot. So much for a day of rest.

Private Broadcasts.

It was a number of years ago that the US FCC (Federal Communications Commission) considerably relaxed the rules of radio station ownership. These changes resulted in large corporations buying up a ton of the Mom and Pop stations in our area. They held onto them for several years, using the stations to simulcast broadcasts from larger cities and then after discovering that the audience felt alienated by this approach which in turn caused them to lose money, the stations were then sold off to the highest bidder.

The highest bidders on these stations turned out to be religious-based companies in many circumstances. Driving from Albany to Utica today I scanned the dial and hit three religious stations between 99.1 and 102.1. There were others, many of which were duplicates/simulcasts of the three different stations I heard in that span. I think in all I stumbled upon seven stations broadcasting religious programming within a 75 mile radius of any given point along my journey.

That’s a whole lot of preachin’.

I find the concept of a religious radio station to be odd (and it certainly helps boost iPod sales). Growing up in rural Upstate New York being a God fearing Christian was assumed. You went to church on a regular basis (even if that regular basis was twice a year), you put money in the offering plate and you learned the Lord’s Prayer (even if it involved singing the Top 40 version in your head to recite it properly). In my family, religion wasn’t something that we talked about. At all. Ever. Once in a while I’d pose a question to my mother and she’d answer it in her best “mom-ism” (i.e. “God can hear all telephone calls at the same time”) but other than that religious discussions were kept at a minimum.

I guess there was an unspoken code in my upbringing that stated that to be preachy of your religious beliefs was tacky. Your religious beliefs were a personal connection between you and your chosen deity. They should be quietly and privately celebrated. The loudest you should get is with a hearty “Amen” at the end of the supper prayer. To inflict those beliefs on another was rude. I don’t think this approach was a bad thing.

I recognise that everyone has their own (or lack thereof) religious beliefs. I don’t care what people believe. If you feel your just reward is earned by worshipping a bottle of ketchup then get crazy with the ketchup, I’m certainly not going to stop you. However, don’t infringe on my territory by telling me that I have to worship a bottle of ketchup. You’ve got your way, I’ve got mine. It’s a bit of a leap for me to admit this but while I have my own spiritual beliefs (which would be considered to be part of “the fringe”), I don’t subscribe to the whole organised religion thing. I believe to pigeon-hole “God” into a “He” that gets cranky from time to time and sends his children to eternal damnation is utter rubbish. To me the idea of throwing more money into the collection plate during one hour out of 168 (and then be mean as hell the other 167 hours in a week) just so you get in the express lane to “heaven” is crazy. Organised religion makes it too complicated; I believe the message is simply “live a good life, do good things, show respect, share your love”.

But that doesn’t really make people money, does it? Fear is what makes those in power money. “You can’t eat meat on Friday. You can’t masturbate. You can’t love someone of the same sex. If you do any of these things, you’re going to hell.” I remember asking my mother what hell was. She looked around nervously (because we didn’t talk about these things) and then cautioned out this answer. “I believe this is hell. If we survive this, we get into heaven.”

In many ways, I think Mom had it right.

Anyway, so when I stumble upon the evergrowing number of religious stations on the radio, my first thought is “how rude!”. That thought is quickly followed up with a “they must not believe what they’re saying if they have to say it so much.” Then I hear “Blah blah blah Hallelujah!” It doesn’t even sound as friendly as Charlie Brown’s teacher voice.

A number of years ago I hired a man that was quite religious. I knew it going into the employment contract; he mentioned his church a LOT on his resume. However, his qualifications were unparalleled and his religious beliefs were none of my business. Until he told me, on his second day of work, that I would be burning in hell because of my relationship with Earl. That’s when I smiled and sweetly said, “You can read your Bible all you want. You can believe your Bible with every ounce of being. You can go to church every waking moment and you can give your entire salary as an offering for the fast track to your heaven.

“Just don’t beat me over the head with your Bible.” He never said another word on the subject.

The Dublin Thing.

Dublin

So I’m busying myself around the house working on various projects: editing video for Earl’s workplace, editing music for Greg and the Connecticut Gay Men’s Chorus, tweaking computers, playing with wires.

As I busy myself around the basement I have a streaming radio station on courtesy of LiveIreland.com. I’m listening to Channel 2, which is contemporary music from Irish artists. LiveIreland.com broadcasts live from Dublin City along the River Liffey.

Listening to the music, the talk of Dublin and the delicious accent easily transports me to our all-too brief (but overwhelmingly enjoyable) trip there last October. I can almost feel the energy of the city. The key word is “almost”.

During my rant the other day I mentioned that few understand my desire to move to Dublin, as I’ve only spent 48 hours in the city (out of seven days in the Republic of Ireland) and have only seen the city through the eyes of a tourist. Since that trip in October, I’ve done a huge amount of reading on Ireland and nothing that I’ve read has deterred my feelings on the subject. Practicality tells me it’s a dream.

It’s a good thing that I believe in dreams. In the meantime, technology allows me to experience the city from afar.

Enough Speaking.

I guess I’m in a little bit of a ranty mood today. Am I the only one that is sick and tired of hearing the antics of Britney Spears and her clan of idiots? I’ve never found her to be exceptionally talented and back when her first song came out I was very hesitant to play it on the radio. I believe my comment was “Wow, technology can do wondrous things!”

I realise1 that a good chunk of the American sheep have become obsessed with all things Hollywood. I know that it’s apparently very important to know which celebrity showed her cooley as she staggered out of the limo last night. Personally I believe that Paris Hilton is the anti-Christ that the wingnuts are always shrieking about.

Here’s my take on this Britney thing. Who cares if she shaved her head months ago. Did the country go whacko years ago when Tyne Daly did the same thing? Of course not. Is Britney a responsible mother? Probably not. Neither is a good chunk of mothers out there today but we don’t see everyone losing2 their mind over it. There’s always going to be good mothers and there’s always going to be bad mothers. It’s just the way it is. Crimminy.

The newest five alarm fire is that she’s speaking in a British accent. Big whoopin’ doopin’ doo. Has anyone thought that she might have wanted to reboot her life or even just a change of pace? I know that if I grew up with that southern accent that she’s had all her life I’d be out making a change too. Truth be known if I could pull of a believable Irish accent I’d do it full-time. “The British accent shows that she has a personality disorder.” Give me a fscking break. Maybe she was just sick of sounding like a hick.

I realise1 that the media wants us to pretend that there’s no war and all is rosy in the United States. Celebrity deconstruction sells ad time much better than world annihilation. But enough already with the Britney talk. Let her be.

Bollocks!

1 Since I can’t speak with a convincing Irish accent, I type with one.

2 As long as I’m ranting, for the love of god please note that ‘lose’ is spelled with one ‘o’. “I’m losing weight so my jeans will be loose.” Loose as in “loose change” = two ‘o’s. Lose as in “lose the sidekick” = one ‘o’. Thank you.

Moby gets credit for inspiring me to superscript my numbered notes.

Good Morning, Captain.

Before starting this blog entry I briefly wondered how many times I can write about the fact that I’m not a morning person and then I decided that I don’t really give a shit, it’s my blog and I can write about whatever I damn well please.

This should be an indication of my mood this morning.

There is nothing responsible for putting me in a less-than-sunny mood this morning other than the fact that it’s not even 7 a.m. and here I am up and about. This idea of offering only one section of a required course at 8 a.m. is ridiculous. I wonder what the folks that work during the day and go to night school are suppose to do about getting this class onto their schedule.

I wrote a letter to the president of the college asking him to have someone please fix the clocks. None of the clocks in the creatively named “Academic Building” work properly. The time displayed in the hallways is nothing close to what we consider real time in these parts, but I do know what time it is in Guam, Halifax and Moscow in case you’re wondering. None of the classrooms have clocks because it depresses the students. I’ve heard that theory from a couple of folks but I believe it’s because the school is cheap and they didn’t want to go to the expense. I get depressed when the instructor starts on time and people come wandering in for the next ten minutes because they don’t know what time it is.

Earl was out of town last night and that has me somewhat cranky as well. As I burrow under the covers I think about the fact that It’s cold in our house because our energy costs have gone through the roof again. I think I’m ready for winter to be over. I’m ready for warmer weather and wearing as little clothes as socially acceptable. I hate bundling up. I wish I could wear shorts all year ’round.

I am so tired of this presidential election I could scream. People are rampantly hating Hillary and few know why they hate her, they just know they have to hate her so they do. I guess I can’t really complain though because I have no basis for my complete distrust for Obama but there’s something that just doesn’t add up right for me when I listen to his speeches and his other plans for a better tomorrow. And don’t even get me started on the other side of the fence, all I see are cranky old men doing cranky old things that will at the very least undoubtedly cost Earl and I more money to prove that we are still human beings because after all, if it ain’t fear sanctioned love, it’s not love. If the truth were to be known, none of the presidential candidates really do anything for me and this is all going to boil down to the less sucky choice.

I know no one takes me seriously when I declare that I want to move to Ireland but it still holds true. It’s my own fault for voicing my dreams out loud for most of my life. If you dream it and don’t follow through with it, people think you have no sense of direction.

Truth be known, my direction is usually different than everyone else’s. And that doesn’t bother me in the least. They tell me look at the big picture. They don’t get that I’m looking at a completely different painting.

Elementary Inspiration.

Back when I was in elementary school, I was one of the first selected to be in the “Enrichment Program”. I was the only one in my fourth grade class to be selected for the pilot program, which was designed to inspire students that showed an interest in the less-traditional elementary scholastic subjects such as math, social studies and spelling. My interests included maps, roads, power lines, clocks, cash registers and acting.

Yes, I’ve been a square peg in a world of round holes.

“Enrichment” took us out of the ordinary classroom and into a seldom used alcove off the library where we were encouraged to explore our interests with the guidance of teachers that were trained to handle geeks like us. I guess the job didn’t pay well though, because in the three years that I participated in the program we had three different teachers. The first was Mr. Hazard who organised a tour of the local nuclear power plants. Other than that I don’t remember much about him, though I thought his field trip was nifty and a glowing success. The second teacher, Mr. Rayburn, was my first crush and I suppose there’s a hidden side of me that wonders what that bear of a teacher looks like today. (He was 6′ 2″, had a crooked smile and auburn hair and a bushy beard to match). My crush went to crushed when I discovered that he wasn’t around my third year of the program. The name of the third teacher escapes me, but I remember him being somewhat of a hippy with his long hair, liberal attitude and out-of-the ordinary beard/goatee combo.

I decided to give that last teacher’s beard style a whirl today. I’m liking the look, it’ll probably stay around for a while.

sideburns and goatee

Vanity Wins.

So I have an appointment with our family physician tomorrow. He’s not really family in the FOD sense but he is your typical piece of hunk family physician. I haven’t seen him in a while so I thought I’d schedule an appointment and stir up some conversation. I like to call him “Dr. Lance”, what with Lance being his name and all. He’s scruffy. Maybe I should call him Dr. Scruff. I doubt he would answer.

Actually I’m going to him for a specific reason other than lively conversation about cholesterol, lipids, heart disease and whatnot. I have a rash on my forehead. This rash has come and gone for the past two months or so. I had a similar rash a couple of years ago. He gave me some meds, I paid, I wiped and and voila the rash was gone. Before our trip to Ireland it came back so I socked it with various lotions and potions. It’s made occasional appearances since. It’s a little itchy and more importantly, it’s on my face where all can see so I need to get it taken care of. It’s most likely dry skin that’s beyond the help of anything I can buy in a drug store hence the visit to the doctor.

On the bright side it hasn’t spread and it’s not contagious so it can’t be anything too serious. I’m betting on the dry skin run amok theory. Hopefully I’ll be pretty again by the weekend.

Maybe.

I am sitting in our local Panera enjoying a late lunch and some surfing. This is the perfect time to come to the otherwise “alternate reality” Panera as it’s between typical meal times and rather empty. I’m able to sit in a strategically placed corner and watch people, one of my favorite pastimes.

A rather handsome gentleman just came up to me and asked if my name is Ron. In the right circumstances, it could have been. It’s funny but I’ve never considered whether I look like a Ron or not. My mother wanted to name me Christopher John but my father thought it sounds too gay. He wanted to name me Wesley Walter. I’m glad they compromised on the easier to remember J.P. after famous foul-mouthed comedian Jaye P. Morgan.

The weekend has been a whirl of activity aside from sleeping at odd hours. Last night we went to Albany for their semi-monthly bear night. It was “Gear Bear” and I wore gear that would make a bear and hundreds of Village people fans proud while simultaneously making my family blush. We opted to not spend the night and got home around 3:15 this morning. We would have been home sooner but we stopped for a quick nap at the desolate “Pattersonville Service Area”.

Last night I met a few people that I’ve only chatted with online in the past, including fellow roadgeek Mike. The usual suspects were out as well, including the D-List bears from Albany. We’re rounding up a bunch of people for bear night on March 1. We tried to get Eric to tag along with us last night but he was busy being a homebody.

As I type my way through this blog entry I’ve just had a group of senior citizens plop down at the next table wear they are discussing the futures of this “new electronic mail”. They are apparently going to their country club afterwards because they’re all discussing the upcoming vote regarding women wearing slacks at club functions.

Our latest adventure at the house has been a leaky toilet. I just completed my third run to Lowe’s to fix it. I told Earl the next time we are looking for a place to live we are not buying a home that has trap doors installed in the ceiling under the second floor plumbing. We should have seen the signs before. When we are done with this toilet project we will have fixed all three toilets, the washing machine connection, three out of five sinks and the dishwasher connection since buying the house in December 2003. So much for good plumbing, considering the house is only 10 years old.