Ponderings and Musings

Here it is Monday afternoon already. Many people have a hard time getting going on Mondays and I am among those people.

This past weekend was about relaxing. Earl and I had many different activities to choose from: we were suppose to go to New York for GB:NYC5, we were suppose to go to Albany for Bear Night, there were other places we could have gone. Instead we stayed close to home, worked on the house a little bit and played with our new Wii. Earl had wanted a Wii for a long time and this past week was the first time they were available in this area. So now we have another gadget in the entertainment center in the Great Room. I already like it more than our old Xbox 360. I think the spirit of the games are more lighthearted and that’s what I’m looking for when I’m relaxing. Once we figure out our Wii number we’ll share it.

We also saw “Iron Man”. I wasn’t familiar with this particular superhero but I thoroughly enjoyed the movie. I followed what I had read on the internet and we stayed through the credits until the very end of the movie. I think we’ll do that from now on because this is another in a growing handful of movies that had some interesting tidbits at the end. Robert Downey Jr makes a delightful superhero and I even enjoyed Gwyneth Paltrow as Pepper Potts. That Stan Lee has the whole superhero thing down pat.

This morning I worked myself out of a temp job by completing a two day project in four hours. All the numbers balanced at the end of my data entry so I know I was accurate. I’d rather get the job done at my own pace rather than stall and work slowly just so I can get a bigger paycheck. At least I’ll get a glowing recommendation for my new job interview.

Earl has business meetings tonight so I’ll be on my own for supper and amusing myself for the next couple of hours. I’ve been working in the basement on various projects; perhaps I’ll head out somewhere for supper and write a blog entry in public.

I desperately need a haircut. It’s been a long time since I’ve uttered those words and it’s been longer since it’s been true. Nevertheless, it’s a fact.

I need a haircut.

Earl and I took my Mom to brunch for Mother’s Day today. Per our annual tradition, we went to brunch at the local casino. They have a really good spread and a band playing and the whole works. It was a good time. 

While Earl and I were eating at the table I noticed that it took her a little longer to get back from the buffet; she had struck up a conversation with the woman behind her (or vice versa). My mother has the gift of gab and could talk to the refrigerator if she had to and I seemed to have inherited that trait from her. I think that’s a good thing.

Earl snapped a photo with Mom’s camera; I thought it came out well. 

I wrote this a couple of years ago, but it’s still true.

She’s a little whacky. She hears her own drumbeat. All the kids in school wanted her as a chaperone, because she was the cool mom. When we were kids, she could rattle dishes in a two-mile radius when she said “no”. She was and is always there to listen. She’s always has accepted me as I am, regardless of my age. Yeah, she’s pretty neat. Happy Mothers’ Day, Mom.

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.