Ponderings and Musings

I said something to Earl this evening that absolutely startled him. Hell, it even startled me. I couldn’t believe the words came out of my mouth.

“I would consider moving to New Jersey.”

As I write this, I can’t believe that I just typed that phrase. You see, I have told Earl that I would live anywhere in the world with him. I’d climb the highest mountain, cross the widest sea and scale the longest desert. But don’t put me in New Jersey. That was the rule. “We will not live in New Jersey.”

I’ve been in New Jersey twice today. With Earl’s family less then five miles from the Pa.-N.J. border, it’s a natural thing for us to cross the bridge in search of cheap gas. After all, there’s a lot of diners in Jersey.

I find nothing in common between North Jersey and South Jersey. The accent is different and the attitude seems to be a little different. This evening I went shopping at Cherry Hill Mall (Cherry Hill, N.J.), while Earl played poker with his family (quick little video coming when we get back home). I didn’t find the experience unpleasant. Once I found Cherry Hill, made numerous right turns to turn left and fought a smattering of traffic, I found my shopping experience to be a pleasant one. I found that last extra Christmas gift that I hope will bring a twinkle to Earl’s eye on Christmas morning.

It was leaving Cherry Hill Mall that I discovered something very important with my acceptance of New Jersey as a potential residential destination. They have Wegmans. That’s right ladies and gentlemen, there’s a brand new beautiful Wegmans in Cherry Hill, New Jersey. Since there’s a Wegmans there, it has to be a cool place. So I have decided to allow South Jersey to be a potential relocation destination.

Earl just rolled his eyes.

When two people decide to meet, fall in love and eventually make a commitment to one another and live their life together in unionized bliss, there are some compromises that each individual must make to make the life they build together an enjoyable experience for all involved. One must agree to take out the garbage, the other must be giddy about laundry, one must agree not to spend money wildly, the other must agree to earn money wildly. Together, through discussion, rationalization and compromise, these two people because a beautiful couple that live happily ever after. However, there is one thing that Earl and I refuse to compromise on.

Christmas lights.

You see, growing up Earl and I were both the designated Christmas light caretakers for our respective families. I’ve always been fascinated about Christmas lights and fully believe that you can never have enough. Twinkling lights, large lights, small lights, it doesn’t matter. As long as I can safely connect 25 sets together in a snow storm without getting zapped, I’m happy. I might blow up the local power plant trying to Griswald the house, but by gosh it’ll look good when it’s done. I think it goes without saying that when it was time to decorate the Christmas tree during my youth, I was called upon to sift through, arrange and install the Christmas lights.

It appears that Earl had a very similar experience growing up. He doesn’t get all Griswaldy about it though. While he was in charge of the lights, he prefers to do it in his general manager of a corporation like way; he’s very methodical with the way the lights are to be arranged on the tree.

He starts at the top.

I start at the bottom.

He winds counter-clockwise.

I wind clockwise.

The only thing that we’ve been able to agree upon with Christmas lights over the years is that the older style lights are far superior to what’s been appearing on store shelves the last few seasons. I’m not a big fan of the jeweled lights. I don’t care for the buttons or the icicles or the two-tone lights that seem to include brown. The LED lights do nothing for me. We do agree that lights should compliment the tree, not overpower it.

Last night we decorated the Christmas tree and surprisingly it was good. To keep peace, we started at the top of the tree but we both held the lights together as we delicately installed them on the artificial branches. (Don’t get me started about that).

Maybe we’ve found that compromise after all.

Finding myself without lunch plans today, I phoned Earl to see if he was interested in meeting me for a quick bite to eat. Since today is a half work day for me, I was still home when I called. It turns out that his schedule prohibited him from joining me for lunch, but he apparently had some time to engage in an interesting conversation.

“Remember, tonight is the company Christmas party. It’s business casual.”

“Business casual, as in what I wear to work or business casual as in black tie without the rental costs?”, I asked inquisitvely.

“Business casual as in what you wear to work”, he replied. “What are you wearing to work today?”

“I have a pair of brown khakis on, without pleats of course, and one of my dress shirts. The belt and shoes match.”

“Which shirt?”, he asked, slightly panicked.

“The dark green one that has a suggestion of bear plaid”, I said.

“Oh that looks nice. I’ve always liked you in that shirt. You always look so good when you go to work. Don’t be surprised if I ask you to change when I get home.”

“Why? I thought you said I look nice”, I asked trying not to sound offended.

“Well I don’t want them to think that you’re a server. Remember, this is a company Christmas party.”

“I don’t think the servers will be wearing plaid.”

“I just want you to look nice,” he said.

Quick side note – I understand his concerns completely and will do my best to make a favorable impression.

“I’ll take it one step further. I won’t wipe my mouth on my sleeve and I’ll be sure to not go swimming in the punch. I draw the line at using the utensils. It’s so much faster to shovel it in with my hands.”

“Aren’t you funny”, he replied, exasperated.

“Can I lick the plate? And the plate of a person next to me?”

“I’ll see you at 4:30”, he said.

“I’ll be naked so you can dress me.”

The news has been screaming about this storm for the past five days. Always looking to scare the daylights out of the public for any reason, the news has been talking about little aside from the ice and snow and sleeting rain that is going to cut off our power, our gas supply (aside from baked beans consumption) and clog up the roads so badly that we won’t be able to move until the good grace of a snow plow rescues us.

Chicken Little wasn’t even this hysterical.

So while 90% of the population stays at home, snuggled up to their milk and bread, I figured this was the perfect time make the dubious task of holiday shopping part of my past. Earl is home working on a project, so I cleaned out the driveway, jumped in the car and headed down to the local mall. The roads are empty. There are a smattering of people out and about; others that laugh at the forced fear that we are presented with. We ban together, drive sensibly and do our shopping in peace. There’s no pushing, no shoving and ample parking. I’m considering this experience one of my Christmas presents to myself.

Now I know that shopping for the holidays should be a joyous experience. At one time I enjoyed browsing for the perfect gift for those on my list and I truly love the look in someone’s eye when I give them their gift for the year. I guess it’s the commercialism, the urgency and the lack of holiday spirit of it all that has destroyed the whole experience for me. Lights flash “sale! sale! sale!” People push and shove, all in the name of goodwill, as they grab for that last Nintendo or whatever. “I was here first”, they shout indignantly, even though they came swooping out of nowhere in their “I’m Lazy Cart”, using the basket on the front as a battering ram (they haven’t moved that fast since the cheez whiz nachos exploded in the microwave).

Not today. Today it’s me, the mall and a smattering of other brave individuals who don’t buy into the hyped up snow storm that is nothing like what we usually have around here.

I feel jolly.

Too much wild partying with great friends on a Friday night makes for a tired blogger on a Saturday night. Tune in tomorrow for something witty, creative, insightful and inspiring. (If you have said entry, please send that via e-mail.) Same bat time, same bat channel.

Ring, ring Hello?

“This is an automated message from National Grid. Due to the predicted storm for your region, it is likely that you will lose power and/or gas service during this event. Should this happen, please contact National Grid with your location so we are able to dispatch crews promptly. We can be reached by phone at (some number) or via the internet at us.nationalgrid.com. Thank you.”

While the thought is nice, I must admit that doesn’t really inspire much confidence in this power company.

Yesterday my English professor sent me her critique and my grade on the final paper for my English Literature class. The last task was to write a thematic discussion on “The Glass Menagerie”. Those that included an extra page critiquing the school production that was coincidentally showing when the paper was due received an automatic extra 10 points on the assignment. My thematic paper was on the deception that weaves throughout the play and how the characters were “fueled” by it. My subsequent critique of the stage production was well thought out and probably a little harsh. Hey, I’m a gay man that’s been in plays watching a play, I have the right to be a little nitpicky.

The grade was stellar with a comment that boiled down to the following suggestion: “abandon your current major and become a college English professor.” My ego certainly needed that boost after the chinks I took in my armour yesterday. While I think the professor might have been getting a little ahead of herself, I really appreciated her feedback and sent her a follow-up thank you note. She told me to at least consider writing for the school paper. I’m seriously considering it for next semester.

I must admit that in the past I have toyed with the idea writing in some sort of semi-professional arena. I don’t know if I have the attention span to write a novel and I’m certainly not the next Shakespeare by any inkling of one’s imagination, but I do like writing little bits here and there from time to time. When I write I want people to chuckle. I like making people laugh. I think I’ve mentioned before that I would love to be the gay man’s Erma Bombeck.

I loved Erma Bombeck. Author of the syndicated newspaper column “At Wit’s End” and several books, Erma wrote about suburban life as she saw it; a married woman with a smattering of children living in the middle of a suburban housing project that could have been an old munitions testing field. She had a good-natured, humorous outlook on life. With her work obviously geared toward the housewife, Erma talked about her trials and tribulations of PTA meetings, cranky washing machine repairmen, kids that drove her crazy and a husband that watched a dozen or football games per Sunday. I read her books as a young teen and continued to do so right up until her death. I may not have been able to relate to her situation but I really appreciated her style of writing and her sense of humor. It wasn’t something that I wanted to emulate; no, her writing inspired me to find my own way of expressing myself. I don’t know if she ever saw herself in the ‘muse’ role.

So with the inauguration of winter recess starting at 1:00 p.m. tomorrow after that last math final (but really, who’s counting?) , I think I’m going to concentrate on doing a little self-expression through writing. I don’t know what I’ll find but I know I’ll enjoy the exercise. And at the very least, there’s no grade or critique at the end of my words.

But hopefully there’s a giggle or two.

I’m calling for a law to be written immediately. I can not believe that somebody, somewhere has not called for this but I’m demanding for a regulation that requires owners of a public restroom to install Mandatory Muzak.

The company I work for part time recently moved from an aging building with a fairly nice men’s room into a not so aging building with a men’s room the size of a broom closet. In said new men’s room there is one urinal and two toilets squeezed into a tiny, tiny space, along with one sink and a monstrous paper towel dispenser.

I don’t mind using a public bathroom. I zip in, unzip, do my business and leave. I don’t want to chat with anyone. I don’t want to discuss the weather. I don’t care what others are doing. I just don’t want to listen to any of it. Not only do I not want to listen to chatter, I don’t want to listen to someone else attending to their business, and this includes any random moans or groans.

There is something very disconcerting about utter silence when you’re squeezed into a broom closet posing as a rest room with another man. As I’m standing at the urinal, doing my business, someone else walks in, shimmies around the paper towel dispenser and makes their way into one of the two stalls. It is then that I start praying for continuous intercom announcements, a random vacuum cleaner, jingle cats or a thunderstorm to cover up the lack of noise in the room. There isn’t even a fan to add to the white noise. I’m not going to pursue other issues associated with the lack of a fan.

The only drawback of having music in a public restroom is if a really good song comes on. You’re sitting and doing your business and “You Spin Me ‘Round” by Dead or Alive comes on. The music grabs you and the next thing you know you’re tapping your toe to the beat and viola! a Republican Closet Case is in your stall. I hate it when that happens.

We have suffered long enough with the trauma of a silent public rest room. It’s time to get our groove on.

I have sat down in front of the computer several times today to write a blog entry. Every time I hope to write something clever, witty or at the very least intelligible, I come up blank. I guess I just don’t have a lot to say today and I have no idea why. It’s not that I feel blue. My mood is actually quite the contrary, if anything I feel exceedingly giddy.

I laughed out loud at a comment to the blog someone left today on the “Flashing Jesus” post. I changed some contents of the comment to protect those that feign innocence, but whoever sent it to me (and I’m confident it wasn’t who they said they were) is one cool cat. It made my afternoon even brighter.

I just finished a DJ SuperCub mix that I will share as soon as I can get it loaded up on the server. I’m starting to get into practice again as I’m negotiating spinning at the local club on Wednesday nights to help generate some business and if all goes well to earn a little pocket cash too. I’m not sure of the details yet, though. (*02 Dec 2007 update: The latest mix is up on the DJ SuperCub page)

One of my favorite relatively recent dance tracks is “Moving Into Light (Freemasons Mix)” by Black Fras. I could play and listen to this song over and over and not complain about it. The lyrics resonate with me and it’s a track that actually fits comfortably in my vocal range. That doesn’t happen a lot in today’s pop music world.

When I’ve given up my body
When I hand it into your care
You tell me ‘friend,’ let go your fears
And fly with me somewhere

Earl and I have been recording classic movies off the satellite for the past week or so. We kicked off the holiday season with “White Christmas” on Thanksgiving night and we both decided that the classic movies are much more compelling to watch than what’s being puked up on the multiplex screens today. I have to admit that I’m looking forward to Johnny Depp and Helena Bonham Carter in “Sweeney Todd”. That movie shows promise.