Ponderings and Musings

Sometimes I sit and wonder what the world is going to be like in 30 years. I don’t know why I get all pensive about this sort of thing and I don’t know why I try to look 30 years into the future, but there are times when Professor Frightful is talking to his chalk and my mind starts to wander in math class. And these are the things I ponder.

For one thing, in 30 years I’ll be approaching 70 years old. I have no doubt in my mind that my folks will still be alive, they’re both wired that way. I wonder if the flying cars that we were suppose to have by the year 2000 will be here in the year 2037. Will I still be using my PowerBook?

Earl and I will be celebrating 41 years in 2037. If the history of my family is any indication and I follow their lead, we’ll still be traveling and exploring. What does one buy for their lover on their 41st anniversary?

Whatever the future holds, it sure looks bright to me.

Tom and I had some friends over for lunch today. I like it when friends dropped in unannounced. They didn’t have much to say while they were here and they were seemingly quite content while we hung out in the lawn together.

They come by from time to time. Lately they’ve been visiting quite a bit. Perhaps I’ll throw some seed around tonight after work so they can have a bedtime snack.

They were happy I wasn’t serving turkey sandwiches today.

This was posted on Barry Manilow’s site yesterday:

A message from Barry…
Hey guys,

I wanted to let you know that I will no longer be on The View tomorrow as scheduled. I had made a request that I be interviewed by Joy, Barbara or Whoopi, but not Elisabeth Hasselback. Unfortunately, the show was not willing to accommodate this simple request so I bowed out.

It’s really too bad because I’ve always been a big supporter of the show, but I cannot compromise my beliefs. The good news is that I will be on a whole slew of other shows promoting the new album so I hope you can catch me on those.

Love,
Barry

I have to admit that I find this quite humorous. How very Alicia of him. I commend him for sticking up for his beliefs.

One could probably tell that I’m not a fan of the pretentious “Elisabeth with an ‘S'”, and I have not watched ‘The View’ since Rosie’s departure.

Earl and I are sitting at our local Panera surfing the internet face to face over a couple of pastries and iced tea. Our internet connection at home has been down all day, preventing us from making phone calls (our phone goes over the internet), preventing me from completing my online course work without an extra visit to the campus (to borrow some wi-fi from the library) and keeping me from blogging and more importantly, stifling my daily pr0n intake.

It’s surprising what one can accomplish when there’s no internet in the house. I didn’t vacuum though, let’s not get crazy, the dust bunnies aren’t barking yet.

Today was my first major exam in that math class with Professor Frightful and his group of friends that live behind the blackboard. He provided us with a practice test yesterday, which I completed last night and did surprisingly well. I’m glad I took the time to do that because the practice test was nothing like the actual test. The practice test was a little skim of the material, the real test got down and dirty and surprisingly harder than I thought it would be. Still, I feel cocky and confident and I think I did well. That probably means I failed.

I decided to take a different approach to exams this semester over last semester’s approach. First of all, I’m going to continue to study and make use of the preparation aids (sounds like I have butt problems) that students are provided. However, every book you read about how to be a successful students decrees that you should take your time and review all your answers before submitting the exam. Take all the time that’s available to you. Unfortunately, that’s not how my brain works. I work in hyperdrive and if I don’t know it right away it’s not worth knowing so I’ll work at my own hyperpace, review as I go along and then submit my test when I’m done, without going through a secondary check. My testing stumbles last semester were because I second guessed my original answers when they were right. I’m not taking that risk twice.

Keeping in line with this “I Did It My Way” theme, I’ve decided that if that several of my fellow students can go out of their way to be depressed then I can go out of my way to embrace my personality and be as chipper as I really feel. If I see you and I know you, I’m going to wave at you and perhaps even say hello or stop for a moment to talk to you. I won’t mind if you run in the other direction, it won’t deter me. “Oh God, here he comes again!”

I’ve always had this notion that I have to blend in with the crowd. As I grow older I discover that the notion of doing that is utter bullshit. Each and every person should embrace who and what they are and celebrate it. If people don’t like it, well then screw them. I think I learned that from my mother. Back when I was growing up she was rather outspoken and was always just herself. It’s a trait to be admired. I guess in the world of “J.P. and Earl”, I’m “Dharma”.

After my exam was completed, I decided to jam in the car and make a video in the process. There’s probably a dead singer spinning in his grave after hearing me sing today, but I don’t care. I wasn’t trying to be showy, I was having fun.

One of the things that I’m noticing about this bumper crop of freshman at school this year is that they seem to be depressed. I don’t know if it’s because I’m a hyper chatty Cathy at times or what, but I find it a little melancholy that many students choose to walk the campus completely zoned out and tuned into their iPods, with a frown or maybe even a depressing look on their face.

What gives?

Now I’m obviously a music lover. I’ll belt out show tunes, I’ll crank up dance tunes, I’ll airband with some rock and I’ll even sing along with Karen Carpenter and I am eternally grateful that I can carry my entire music collection on this little marvel of technology, but I don’t feel the need to listen to it 24/7. There’s too much out there to enjoy! I enjoy walking through the walls and seeing my fellow students of all ages. I wave hello to those I recognize from previous semesters, I hang with the guys in the hall and collectively we bitch about Professor Weird in Math 121 (I think the class is close to a mutiny, but that’s a blog entry in itself. I am bringing my camera along regularly though, just in case I get the opportunity to sneak a movie for the blog.) But there are so many that look down, iPods in place and just stumble along. The sun could be shining, the sky crystal blue and the changing of the leaves breathtaking, but they don’t notice.

I find that depressing.

I hope this isn’t the way of the up and coming generation.

I’m a geek to the bone and I’m proud of it. But c’mon, there’s a time and place for technology, and sometimes, you just have to get out there and enjoy life, no strings attached.

Last night I finished a science fiction novel called “The Demu Trilogy”. Originally three stories entitled “Cage A Man”, “The Proud Enemy” and “End Of The Line”, it was written by F.M. Busby. With last night’s completion it is the 36th time I’ve read the book from beginning to end.

Some might find this odd.

I discovered this book when I was 12. It was buried in a box of books from my Uncle Pete, sandwiched between two copies of “Everything You Wanted To Know About Sex But Were Afraid To Ask”. (I’ve wondered why Aunt Bea and Uncle Pete had two copies of that book, but I was afraid to ask). It had apparently been passed over at a garage sale and was subsequently shoved into this box, along with a bunch of other science fiction books and the aforementioned sex books. The sex books weren’t that informative. I had questions that others would be afraid to answer.

One would think that reading a book for the 36th time would be a chore in monotony but believe it or not, with each reading I find nuances that I haven’t noticed before. I see symbolism that I hadn’t realized in the past 27 years. As a child, my interpretation of the images painted by Busby were, well, child-like. As an adult, I’ve noticed more and more depth to the passages with each subsequent reading.

The basic story goes somewhat like this. Barton, the lead character, is abducted by an alien race called the Demu. The Demu believe that they are the only true people in the universe, all other races are animals. When a non-Demu learns their language, this confuses them as only Demu should be smart enough to speak Demu. So they do their best to make the “animal” look Demu through some pretty rough cosmetic surgery. By the way, the Demu are exoskeletal and like “intelligent shellfish”, much like humans evolved from apes. Barton escapes, leverages his way back to Earth, along with a woman from another humanoid race, the Tilari. I really like the Tilari. Their differences from humans (lack of STDs, conscious control of ovulation, among many other things) make for some very interesting relationships. Earth joins up with Tilara (by the way, we’re called Earthani, not Earthlings, which I find cool) and they go after the Demu, which turns out is just a small part of a big puzzle. I won’t go into further detail, but it’s a great read for any science fiction buff.

It’s amazing how some of the small details of this novel have contributed to the molding of my libertarian beliefs. Sometimes I wish my English Literature professor would just say “write a thematic paper on your favorite novel.” I’d have a field day with that assignment.

I am somewhat sick for the second time in as many months. For a person that doesn’t get sick and refuses to get sick, I find this to be quite startling.

I am trying to determine why I am getting sick. Right now I’m blaming the measles vaccine I had to get at the beginning of the year so that I could go to college. I think there’s something inherently wrong with purposely injecting a person with a little measles. “Here, have a little dab of measles, it’ll do you good.” It’s the same reason that I’ve never gotten a flu shot and I won’t get a flu shot.

Aside from beer consumption, which has been cut drastically in the past two weeks, I eat relatively healthy. I’m wondering if I’m not eating enough calories in the hopes of losing weight again. My Monday schedule dictates that I eat lunch at 10:15 a.m. as I have classes from 11 straight through until 5 p.m., so that probably didn’t help the situation last night. I’m going to have to find a better way of dealing with that. Ideally I’d like to drop that infernal math class (love the class, not so wild about the teacher), but I need the course to stay in my engineering classes so I guess I’ll have to come up with another plan.

Last night I slept 11 1/2 hours in one hour increments. God bless Earl. He put up with the tossing and turning and the bouncing around (not in a good way) in bed last night and he seemed quite chipper this morning. But I’d really like to know what’s going on.

Maybe I’ll feel better tonight. I’ll just think lots of positive thoughts.

Over tired, slightly cranky and feeling a little stuffed up today, I plodded through my longest day of the week of classes. I’d write more but I’m just hoping tomorrow will be a better day.

I’m going to bed.

The unofficial end of summer is now a memory. The youngsters head back to school tomorrow. Mother Nature is readying her paintbrush to give us a vivid display of reds, oranges and golds. You know what that means.

Football season is upon us.

I have become quite accustomed to being a football husbear. For the past 11 years social calendars have been modified, satellite dishes have been installed and TiVos have purred as every minute of every Philadelphia Eagles game is documented, analyzed and mulled over.

I even ask Earl if he wants a glass of “wooder” to go with his snacks to keep the whole Philadelphia spirit alive. He’s so proud of his hometown team.

The transition to football season is particularly interesting this year, because Earl has been giving poker the same amount of interest for god knows how long. We sat down for a little evening snack just a few moments ago when he flicked on the television set. The channel of choice was GSN, the hip name of the Game Show Network.

“Oh, are we going to watch ‘To Tell The Truth’?”, I ask excitedly.

He mumbles something that shouldn’t really sound like “would the real idiot in the room please stand up” and lo and behold there’s the beginnings of a poker game.

“Where’s Peggy Cass?”, I inquire as … “Wait a minute, what is Welcome Back Kotter doing on the screen? I thought he was a distant memory.”

There he is Gabe Kaplan, sans bushy mustache but with a retro-chic Miami Vice thing going on, whining about the poker proceedings.

I can’t follow poker. I’m not good at cards. While others at the table are doing their best poker face, I fall victim to things such as yelling “Oh goody!” when I get an Ace. Or maybe it was a four. I don’t remember. What I do remember is a Royal Flush, which was demonstrated to me in seventh grade when the mean boys in gym tried to flush Peter Vida’s head down the toilet. That was called the Royal Flush.

So Welcome Back Kotter is talking with another unshaven man about a woman named Harman and her strategy for poker. Earl goes into his poker trance, studying every nuance and stragedy exhibited on our set in technicolor, his lips silently moving as he makes mental notes. There’s no yelling of “Yeah!” or “Go!” like during an Eagles game. I find this unnerving. He just sits there, studying. Me? I don’t get the attraction and I decide to blog instead.

At least football has hot looking uniforms.

Has anyone notice that the expiration date on foods has started running out of control? Earl and I went grocery shopping a week and a half ago. We picked up the usual fare; bread, milk, orange juice, etc. It’s been 10 days and everything is still good. This seems rather unnatural to me. For example, I’m looked at our bread wrapper and it still has four days left in it, making it good for a full two weeks before it goes bad. I don’t trust this. It just doesn’t seem right. As I make my sandwich I’m constantly inspecting the crust and non-crust part (is that just called ‘bread’?), looking for the tell-tale signs of mold. There’s none to be found. I think this bread was engineered to last longer than a piece of wax fruit.

I have to admit that I have a bit of a phobia about food going bad. I can’t stand to clean out the refrigerator. Leftover gravy makes me weasy. I panic when we have bananas in the house. On the rare occasion that we buy them, I end up eating bananas like nobody’s business, overdosing on potassium in cosmic proportions lest the bananas turn brown. I mean, I seriously stress over the bananas turning brown, waking up in the middle of the night to get high on another hit of banana.

I remember the first time I saw mold. I was nine years old. I had grabbed a plain donut out of a box of donuts from the P&C, having devoured Grandma Country’s homemade donuts earlier in the week. I didn’t even glance at the donut, I just shoved part of it in my mouth during Scooby Doo on a Saturday morning. It tasted kind of odd. I turned it over and there were little pieces of green fuzz on the donut. I shrieked, startled the cat and hurled the donut into the fireplace. My father burned it the next day when he built our occasional Sunday fire. No one knew the donut was in the fireplace except me, and I watched that mold burn. Mwah ha ha ha ha ha ha.

To this day I won’t buy a box of donuts from the grocery store and I don’t trust any “sell by” dates stamped on packaging. I subtract one day from the “sell by” date and chuck it out.

I’d rather make multiple trips to the market instead of risking another fuzzy donut.