Ponderings and Musings

Alumni.

Originally uploaded by macwarriorny.

Well Earl and I survived my high school’s 117th annual Alumni Dinner this evening, followed by a the presentation of scholarships and other alumni association business in the auditorium afterwards. The food was delicious and the whole program was quite interesting.

I graduated from high school 20 years ago. I thought that I would run into some classmates at the alumni banquet this year, but no such luck as I was the only representative from the class of 1986.

One of the more interesting things I noticed about the high school involves my handwriting. The summer between my junior and senior years of high school, I worked for the district cleaning and painting the classrooms to prep them for the new school year in the fall. That same year, Room 102 was divided into two smaller classrooms. Instead of numbering the new room as Room 101A or Room 102A, I took a heavy black magic marker and renumbered the existing Room 101 as Room 100 by making the trailing “1” into a “0” on the room number painted on the molding over the door. I then wrote “101” over the new classroom, doing my best to mimic the other painted room numbers throughout the school.

My room number is still posted in faded magic marker over the doorway to Room 101. I found this quite exciting.

Coupled with the work I’ve done as a hobbyist with the clock systems in the school, my legacy lives on at Pulaski Junior-Senior High School.

Earl and I are going to my high school’s annual Alumni Dinner this evening. I figured this year would be a good year to go for a couple of reasons. First of all, my Dad is being installed as the president of the Alumni Association this evening and I’d kind of like to be there for that. Secondly, and quite honestly I can’t believe this, I graduated from high school 20 years ago this weekend and I thought it’d be a nice round number to go and see if any of my fellow classmates are around.

The Alumni Dinner is an interesting experience in that it’s held in the high school cafeteria, using the school’s table settings and served and prepared by the school’s kitchen staff. Tonight, Earl and I will be enjoying a fine roast beef dinner served a la fifth period with mashed potatoes that have just the right amount of “plop” when placed on a melmac plate.

I have to admit that I’m not really that nervous about the whole affair, in fact, I’ve kind of been looking forward to the experience. It’ll be fun to walk the old hallways again.

I think the woods out back have become home to a gang of very feisty squirrels. A couple of days ago I noticed that our new cedar bird feeder was lying around the ground. I figured it was a victim of the storms that blew through over the weekend and really didn’t think much more about it, until I went out this morning to hang it back up.

Upon closer inspection, our National Geographic bird feeder looked like it had been run over by a truck and then beaten to death for extra good measure.

The little stopper that keeps the rain away from the feed had somehow been relocated to the inside bottom of the feeder. The little stands for the cute little chickadees to use as a booth at their favorite diner were ripped out of the plexiglass. And the nylon rope that held the whole affair together had been shredded into a purple mess.

Either we have some birds that are telling me to buy them some better seed or we have some squirrels telling me to put a squirrel feeder in and don’t go light on the mounted corn cobs, bucko. While I was making this discovery early this morning, as I was staggering around the lawn trying to pretend I’m a morning person when I’m really not, I had a fleeting thought that perhaps the birds were mad because the feeder didn’t have an orange roof on it. Years ago my grandfather had painted his bird feeder, quite massive in size now that I think about it, to resemble one of those fine Howard Johnson restaurants. It sat right outside the dining room window, where it provided hours of entertainment by watching the birds come in and out and seeing a few make a wrong turn and consequently smacking into the window. That feeder was always quite busy with many bird families having to maintain a holding pattern until those eating had cleared their dishes and left.

Now that I think about it, Ho Jo’s had some pretty feisty waitresses back in it’s day. Maybe the squirrels are learning something from them.

This evening I made the trek to Syracuse on one of my computer excursions, this time the lucky family member was my mother.

My mom has been cranking along on an old Pentium II running Windows ME with a dial-up connection for a long while. I told her enough is enough and it was time to upgrade, so tonight I installed a respectable refurbished Pentium 4 we had found for her at a great price and it came with Windows XP Professional pre-installed. I’ve been getting it ready for her over the past couple of weeks, installing anti-virus and Mozilla Firefox and Mozilla Thunderbird for web browsing and e-mail. She picked up a Roadrunner DIY high speed connection kit so tonight was pretty easy as far as dabbling in computer land goes. With the right tools, Microsoft Windows XP can be pretty acceptable.

We took the opportunity to go to dinner beforehand with my sister and her boyfriend and his little toddler of a son. It was all good. We went to a restaurant called “Plainville Turkey Farms” where they serve, well, turkey. I ate entirely too much at the buffet, especially since I had worn a pair of my “really skinny” shorts on purpose to keep my food consumption in check. I did manage to make it through the evening without my pants exploding off of me, so I guess I did show a small bit of control.

One of the nice things about living a little bit of a distance away from my relatives is that it makes getting together that much more special. It’s a shame that Earl couldn’t join us tonight because of work obligations. My sister told me that she’s caught up on my blog and that she skips over the parts when I rant about the president, since she already knows how I feel about that subject. See? I have a big mouth in person too.

So now I’m online and I see Mom is logged into several different instant messaging clients. I guess I need to keep my clothes on if I’m going to use the webcam.

As I was crossing the street from my office building to the municipal lot we use, I was formulating an absolutely brilliant blog entry in my head. I was mentally grabbing a clump of ideas, scattered amongst the organized chaos that floats around my gray matter on a minute by minute basic, and I was just putting these clumps together into a dialog that would be witty, spontaneous sounding, engaging and entertaining. I was so impressed with this blog entry that I was actually chuckling to myself, as I often just crack myself up, being zany and all.

Apparently this superb blog entry floated right out of my head because I have absolutely no idea what I was going to write about. No sir, as I sit in front of my PowerBook, I have not one shred of a clue as to what I was going to write about.

Could it be that I was distracted by the construction workers working on the theatre across the street? Did I get sidetracked when I listened to “Fresh Air” on NPR while driving home? Is it because I’m feeling cocky today?

That’s it! I was feeling cocky! When I got to the parking lot, there were two young guys checking out my Acura. I don’t think they were going to steal it or anything; they had that look that guys get when they admire a vehicle. It’s not quite the same as the look straight men get when they look at a well endowed chest, but it’s close. They have an eye for appreciation, just two steps back from salivation, and they are just wishing they can just put their hands on it and call it their own.

Not to be a braggart but “it’s mine, it’s mine, it’s miiiiiiiiiiiine!”

I love my car.

As they saw me walking up to the car, they nodded their head in approval as they walked away. I noticed the older of the two was rather handsome with his beard sans mustache. He had a cocky air about him that I appreciate.

I nodded back with a hint of a smile. I feel cocky today too.

Be careful what you wish for, isn’t that what they always say? When Earl and I got home from Philly this afternoon, it was 98 degrees in the front yard. That’s a whole lot of hot.

It’s one of those sticky, sultry summer nights. The air isn’t moving and the humidity is high. In a house with no air conditioning whatsoever, it makes for an interesting night of sleep.

I went for a ride through the local area to run a few errands and to strut the Acura around a bit. Every ice cream stand had a line to the road. I didn’t stop for ice cream; instead I opted for some all-natural unsweetend iced tea from the local grocery store. It had a touch of lemon-lime to it to make it interesting. I’m hoping the scale will agree with my choice in the morning.

Local citizens are getting fired up about a proposed run of power lines from our area to downstate. Everywhere you look there’s a front yard sign prominently displayed, silently voicing the concerns of area residents. I can’t figure out why the company that’s building this line is not simply adding to the existing corridor of lines that already go to the same location instead of following a set of railroad tracks right through the center of many towns. Talk about alienating the natives.

Tomorrow it’s back to work. That’s not a bad thing, after all there’s air conditioning there.

Yesterday I thought about one of my friend from my teenage years. I hadn’t thought about him or his family in a long while, as we lost touch long ago when I moved out of the area and followed a different path than he. His family lived down the street from us and we had spent many evenings just hanging out, shooting the bull and working on our bicycles, and later, our cars.

His father was the owner of a repair garage and junk yard and was incredibly talented in that he could figure out anything that was wrong with a car. In fact, I once saw him hook up a gas can and a battery to a V8 sitting on the garage floor and he got it running. The engine wasn’t in a car, it was just sitting there on the floor, running as if it didn’t know any better and incredibly loud. His son had inherited his ability and taught me a great deal about the inner workings of an engine. He fixed up an old Dodge trucker and later an early 70s Dodge Charger hotrod. He once helped my dad and I swap an engine out of my second car in high school, a 1976 Pontiac Astre (we called it the Disastre). He was a good friend and I was thinking about the times that we would drive around in his truck, thinking we were big bad asses in a really small town. We didn’t do any harm, just pumped our egos a little bit.

When I woke up this morning, I realized that in addition to the fleeting thoughts of yesterday, I had dreamed about my friend and his father and mother last night. There was nothing spectacular about the dream, it was just basically reliving a summer night such as last night, when we would sit on the porch, watch television and shoot the bull a little bit. I didn’t think much of it, I thought that the fleeting thoughts were just lingering a little longer than usual.

My friend’s father passed away on Tuesday at 91 years old. I guess he was just stopping by on his way to the other side to say that he remembered the geeky red-headed boy from down the street.

It is currently 9:50 p.m. I have worked a hard day’s work and the day’s activities are now coming to an end.

I’m fully awake for the first time today.

Sometimes I think it’s a shame that my co-workers don’t get to experience the “J.P. Experience” when I’m fully awake. While I have been accused of being full of energy at work, imagine what they would say if they saw me at full throttle, like I’m feeling right now.

I ran a few errands after work and came home to start supper before Earl got home. I sat down on the couch for a few moments to myself and promptly fell asleep for 45 minutes. It’s a good thing I hadn’t fired up the stove or anything. Who in their right mind takes a nap at 5:30 in the afternoon? I guess that would be me. Needless to say, supper never got made as I awoke when Earl got home from work and we went out to a local pizza joint. He’s winding down for the day and I just took us for a ride through the countryside and I’m still full of energy, looking for an adventure.

If it was a tad bit warmer, I’d go out for another ride, crank up The Eagles on the CD player and enjoy the summer night sky.

Life. It’s all good. Especially when I’m awake for it.

Sometimes it seems like I have an opinion about anything and everything. “My that’s a nice computer.” “I think guys in pink compromise their masculinity.” “Boy, these roads suck.” “Wow, our president looks and acts like such a dumb ass.” The list goes on and on.

Since the birth of my blog almost five years ago, I’ve become increasingly outspoken about how I feel about any given topic or scenario. While I occasionally go on and on here about whatever has irked me for at any particular moment, I’m finding that I’m becoming more vocal about how I feel about things. It’s a trait that I had kept buried within my psyche for a very long time and has only begun to surface in the past five years or so.

I think part of the reason for my big mouth is because of an old job, where the person that yelled the loudest was the person that was right. Or maybe it’s because in the early 90s a program director was hired for the radio station I worked at and he tried to throw me under the bus, claiming I didn’t play enough Rod Stewart on our Top 40 station (Rod mixes well with Nirvana, I guess) and I wasn’t going watch some nitwit destroy what I had just built the foundation for.

Part of my outspokeness comes naturally, I suppose, courtesy of my paternal grandfather. You always knew where you stood with him on any given topic and he always told you at full volume. While this can be quite obnoxious, I think it’s good to have people know where you stand on things. That’s one of the things that would drive me crazy in my single days and the dating scene; I didn’t want to dance around the issue with a prospective date; batting my eyes, stealing glances, buying each other drinks, etc., I liked keeping it simple: “Do you want to go to dinner or better yet, you wanna f*ck?”

A representative from a local politician’s office called in for internet support today and was quite rude. She didn’t like being put on hold, she didn’t like the fact that I didn’t know who she was and she wanted a tech to come over and fix her internet connection RIGHT NOW. I really wanted to tell this woman that the person she represents had lost my vote simply because of her rude attitude. But, in the effort of remaining professional, I bit my tongue, bounced my feet up and down in frustration and gave her the spit shine polish. She didn’t appreciate the fact that I had a tech out to her location in 30 minutes and that the problem was actually on her end, she called back wanting to speak to customer service for a refund on her downtime. (It would be about 67 cents, in case you’re wondering).

I still held my tongue.

But I won’t vote for her candidate in November. All because of that one phone call. Maybe sometimes a silent opinion is best.

As I type the title of this blog entry, I realize that I could take this narrative in so many different directions. Random freedom. Freedom really is random once you think about it.

My friend Terry would be so proud of me this afternoon; I am writing from the closest internet cafe to our home, our local Panera Bread. After my lunchtime entry (which for some reason I deleted by mistake. It was just a rant about the stupidity of “Tab Energy Drink” and the fact that I’m not trendy at all.) I figured I would do something that could really be called trendy and that involves sitting at Panera, typing away on my PowerBook and enjoying a Chai Tea Latte. In an effort to keep it butch, I’ve added a Bear Claw as the pastry of choice. With the often mentioned “on-call” coming to an end this morning, I am enjoying the freedom of being able to leave the house with my pager turned off and left on the nightstand. The internet connection here is not nearly as speedy as the one at home, but I don’t care, I’m enjoying a little bit of freedom and shaking the worries out of my brain. The change of pace is good.

As I was driving over I was listening to the news reports about the recent suicides of detainees at Guantanamo Bay. How sad. I realize that they are prisoners and that they have done heinous things to fellow human beings, but to be pushed to the point of taking one’s own life is just sad. No matter the reason for deciding to waste the gift of life, it is just that, a waste. And don’t get me started by the administration’s response, I’m just going to file it with the rest of it, in the “assinine column”.

I’ve mentioned before that I’m a big fan of Rosie O’Donnell and her blog. One of her regular features, “Ask Ro”, is very interesting in that the questions that people ask her are so ecclectic. For example, today:

iyanne writes:
my church is treating me from my gayness. It is not working. I am doing it for mom and her very special priest “friend”. what should I do?

To which Rosie responds:

pray for ur mom
and her friend

I find the question very, very frustrating on many levels. First of all, the church is trying to scare the wits out of this person and most likely damning them to hell for following their instincts. So much a God that’s all-loving. Secondly, the church is trying to cure the person from themselves. What if some nut back in the day decided that instead of homosexuality, blue eyes were evil and wrong. If you had blue eyes, you were sick and needed to be cured. Would we be gouging out all the blue eyes and tell those that refused to submit that they were going to hell for gazing upon others with their deficiency? No, of course not. That’s ridiculous. It’s a shame that lyanne’s church won’t allow her the freedom of being herself.

And lastly, I suppose it’s a good thing that I am sitting in Panera while this thought dances around my head. Thank goodness for the few shreds of deceny I have left. For while we’re told that as Americans we are free, there’s a chance that the government is watching what I type, what I say and what I do on the internet and on my telephone. For if I was not sitting at Panera right now, I would be expressing my freedom of expression, by sitting on my flat bed scanner and mooning whomever happens to be spying on me right now.