Ponderings and Musings

Time, keeps flowing like a river
To the sea

Whomever sang that song in the 70s was a nut. Time does not flow like a river. Time flows like raging rapids with the waterfalls just ahead and no life jacket in sight. But would we rather have it any other way? Sometimes I feel like you just need to grab on and go for the bumpy, twisty, intense ride that we call life. Where does the time go? It seems like it was just yesterday that I spotted a very attractive man staring at me from across the bar. The was back late in 1995. Why it feels like we just moved into this house. That was December 2003. Tom is just a kitten. He’s tipping 12.

Where does the time go?

Because of my fascination with time; my collection of synchronized school clocks, my internal clock constantly reminding me of upcoming events (i.e. “only 2 3/4 hours left in the workday today!”), the fact that I have a clock within eyeshot at all times, it feels like time is just speeding along at an outrageous pace. Am I really 37 years old? I certainly don’t feel 37, I feel like the young man that was ready to take on the world who decided college wasn’t really right for him. In fact, I feel younger now than I did three or four years ago. All my body parts are working properly and aside from my constant mixing up of words punctuated with my usual stammering and stuttering, my mind doesn’t feel cluttered. I feel like I’m on my game right now. I don’t want that feeling to end. I refuse to let time take over.

But where does the time go? It seems like yesterday that Earl and I were looking at the holiday season with lots of time to do everything we need to do. Now he’s trotting around the eastern seaboard on business and I’m dreading that one last trip to the mall to pick up last minute Christmas gifts. On Saturday we’re sitting down to send out our Christmas cards, going grocery shopping for the party we’re hosting on Wednesday for Earl’s co-workers and clean the house from top to bottom, in between the two Christmas parties were are attending this weekend.

When do we get to sit down and catch our breath?

I was recently asked why I feel the need to have a blog. Why do I basically live my life out loud on the internet, eternally framed in bits and bytes forever and ever amen. I couldn’t come up with a definitive reason when I was asked this question, but the various reasons have been among the multitude of thoughts jumping around my head as of late, so I thought I would write it all down.

One of the reasons I have a blog is because I enjoy telling a good tale and I enjoy writing. I’m not the world’s best writer by any stretch of the imagination (perhaps I could win a junior high writing contest by a slim margin), but I feel that I make up for it with proper capitalization, enhancing adjective use and a judicious use of commas. One of my favorite writers of all time was humorist Erma Bombeck. She always had a unique flair to her words and a quick wit to act as the cherry on top of a delightfully delicious novel or newspaper column sundae. If I was a stay at home lazy bear, with lots of time to do housework, I would probably aspire to be the gay male version of Erma. I’d also probably clean the living room drapes by setting fire to them.

This space also serves as a way for others to know what’s going on with the both of us. Earl and I like to think we live life as an adventure, whether we’re exploring a new diner, throwing some bucks around an out of the way mall or walking up to the edge of Area 51 in Nevada. I like to share our experiences with the world.

I like to think that those that read this blog find Earl and I to be two guys that are very, very much in love, committed to one another in every possible sense and are as close to married as the current laws will allow two men to be. I don’t want our relationship to be a role model, as every relationship is unique in it’s own way, but I do like to demonstrate that there are gay couples out there that stand the test of time and really mean it when we say “it’s forever”.

You may have noticed that the world map/reader counter that was in the sidebar is gone. It was a little trinket I had added to the site for a couple of months. Initially I was curious as to how many people actually visited the site on a daily basis. The number was never consistent and quite frankly, I don’t really care how many people stop by. It’s not that I don’t care. I just don’t have to be at the top of the charts. There are some wonderful, engaging bloggers out there that have hundreds or thousands of readers a day. These folks win prestigious blogging awards and have comment lists longer than our grocery list and computer inventory list combined. And I’m very happy for them. They are great writers and have very interesting blogs. But I’m content to have my little corner of the internet here and whomever stops by does and those who pass me by do.

I could go on and on and on but then it would get boring to read this and you’d invariably click the back button. I’d just like to thank you for stopping by my little corner here. I hope it didn’t scare you too much.

One of the most challenging things I find about your typical work week is the need to fall asleep when I’m not really that tired. I’m proud to proclaim that I am a “night owl”. I burn the midnight oil. I could work all night on an any given adventure, while others are in bed dreaming of their next adventure. On my ideal schedule, I’m awake until 3:30 a.m. or so and then sleep ’til noon. It just the way I’m wired.

Tomorrow is a vacation day, so normally I would indulge myself in my natural sleeping habits, but I need to head up to my grandparents’ house early in the morning to meet the movers to move my grandparents’ piano down to our house.

I just tried to force myself to sleep with no such luck. Usually I can lie in bed and sort of imagine myself someplace else; another city, another time, another outfit, and then I’ll eventually fall asleep with my recent imagination segueing into my dreams.

Tonight I had the urge to shake Earl awake and discuss a myriad of topics with him. I didn’t do that of course, as he was snoring loud enough to make the cattle in the barns two towns over restless. (“Elsie, what the hell is that noise? Is your milker clogged up again?” “No, it’s Earl snoring again.”) Normally Earl’s sounds of slumber are like music to my ears. Well, at least the noise masks the constant ringing in my ears that I have from too many ears wearing headphones as a DJ.

It’s not easy to carry on a conversation with someone that snores.

“We should talk about the Christmas shopping we have left.”

“honk honk gurgle gurgle honk honk [sound of sucking up pillow off the bed].”

I love him with all my heart but what kind of conversation is that?

So I’ll try to tire myself by surfing the internet and working on my little road geek projects and what not. Thank the Universe everything in the computer room is bolted down.

There’s nothing more important, actually more satisfying, then getting through the stack of paperwork on your desk and finding the bottom of the frivolity. Of course I’m referring to the stacks of rebate submission forms and lottery tickets stacked next to my computer.

I go crazy over rebates. I don’t know why. I find they’re more satisfying than coupons because you get something back several weeks after the purchase. Often you completely forget the arrival of your rebate check so it’s like a little bonus on a dreary day. So you had to buy an overpriced laser printer that was completely out of your budget. Big deal. You’re getting a free toner cartridge in the mail simply because you took the time to make a photocopy of your receipt, circle the item you are referencing, cut the UPC code out of the bottom of the box (complete with packing staple that was in your scissoring path), recorded the serial number of the actual printer, completed the form in impossibly legible, yet tiny letters across the thermally printed form that is no larger than 2 3/4-inches across and stuffed all that fun into a business sized envelope with made out to a business address that contains seven lines and a just a few words short of a novel.

After all the fun with the rebates, I came across the lottery tickets that haven’t been checked. Why, Earl and I could be millionaires right now and paying someone union wages to fill out our rebate forms! So off to the New York Lottery website we go, comparing and cross checking our lottery numbers with the numbers listed on the tickets. No luck though, we’re still your average bears.

Better increase our wealth with more rebates.

I was settling down during my lunch to write a clever, witty and stimulating blog entry. I was interrupted by the unmistakeable sounds of purring and the eyes of a cat who was looking for a clear landing path to my lap.

The blog entry loses. The cat wins.

I’ll write tonight.

One of the things that I’ve noticed over the past couple of years is that there doesn’t seem to be in any “holiday spirit” amongst the shoppers that are doing their Christmas shopping. I don’t know if this is confined to this area, where people are generally surly to begin with, or if this is an epidemic that has taken over the country as a whole. Nevertheless, I find it all quite depressing.

First of all, I refuse to shop on “Black Friday”. I find these pre-dawn specials quite idiotic and I’ve heard too many horror stories. Super Wal*Mart (Always White Trash, Always) advertises laptop computers for $299.99 between 5:01 a.m. and 5:36 a.m. on Black Friday. People start milling about these 24hour behemoths around 3:00 a.m. or so, awaiting the magic time when a overworked, underpaid and uninsured Wal*Mart associate croaks over the loudspeaker, “Wal*Mart associates, it’s time to remove the paper”, referring to the brown paper that is wrapped around all these bargains for the “specials hour”. Now mind you, they’ve been shreaking in newspapers, on the radio and on the tube about how wonderful all these sales are going to be for the prior two weeks, so there’s probably a couple hundred or so people awaiting their chance to pick up a $299.99 computer. They’ve been dreaming, scheming and salivating over this opportunity to get this deep-discounted computer. They’ve been wandering the store for two hours in the middle of the night waiting for this Golden Opportunity, this one chance to get the computer their rug rat has been whining about since the middle of August. They’re tired, they’re cranky, but more importantly, they’re ready to join the other folks and get this computer.

Except there’s only six of them.

And one of them is damaged.

(And I won’t mention that they run Windows. Unpatched.)

Natually, all mayhem ensues, men are making fists, women are tripping others, people in wheelchairs are getting herded away from the “fun” by ambulatory people using shopping carts as battering rams, children are crying. I have to ask, is it really worth it?

How does the song go? Oh yes, “All I Want For Christmas Is My Two Front Teeth.” Chance are you won’t have them if you go shopping on Black Friday. They’ve been knocked out by some holiday shopper, undoubtedly spreading holiday cheer, who saw you grab the laptop they had their eye on.

Earl worked late tonight so I took the opportunity to head over to my Mom’s house for supper and to fix her ailing computer. I hadn’t seen her in a while, so it was a little visit to look forward to, even if I did have to fix her Windows computer.

She recently when through some boxes of her stuff left over from when my parents separated a number of years ago, and came across a our family picture from December 1978. Since I’ve somehow become the unofficial family historian, she gave it to me. I haven’t seen this picture in a long while. I have to admit it brought a little lump to my throat since it reminded me of the rush of the holidays when I was a kid. I thought I’d share with the class.

I was 10 years old at the time.

The first day of December is marching right by. It’s starting to feel like winter with the overcast sky and the colder temperatures. It should be a lot more snowy up here in Central New York, but right now everything is a dull brownish green.

Earl and I took a drive last night through the really snobby sections of town to see their holiday decorations. It must be a little early in the season or something because there didn’t seem to be a lot of them up. Perhaps people are lazy. There were some decorations that were downright tacky. I was hoping that icicle lights fad had died down, but no such luck yet. I have yet to see a real icicle flash in unison with the other icicles along the roof. And such color! I was always taught not to eat yellow snow, why should I admire a yellow icicle?

What I find really depressing are these gigantic blow up characters people are putting on their lawns. First of all, they’re tacky. Very tacky. Secondly, they look absolutely awful when they’re deflated and lying all over the lawn like a bunch of discarded laundry. What’s even worse is driving to work at 6 a.m. and seeing these ugly things slowly deflate and fall down in a crumpled heap as you’re driving by. I don’t want to see Santa or Rudolph literally fall to pieces in front of my eyes. It makes the kid in me sad.

What happened to the days of some nice colorful Christmas lights wrapped around the poles holding up the porch roof? Maybe a lit up snowflake or two. Perhaps a wreath. It seems like people are trying to outdo the crash commercialism found in the mall decorations. “This baby Jesus brought to you by Wal*Mart.” And don’t get me started on mixing up Christmas symbols and themes. Newsflash: Mary did not get it on with Frosty and then give birth to Santa Claus. They shouldn’t all be standing in the same manger.

Good gravy, I’m just full of holiday spirit.

It’s Tuesday, November 29, 2005. As I look at my weather station on my desk, I notice that it is currently 67.8 degrees fahrenheit with a strong wind out of the west. 67.8 degrees. 67.8 DEGREES! It feels like spring here in Upstate N.Y.! Too bad it’s just a diversion from the winter weather that undoubtedly lies ahead.

I don’t care. I’m going to celebrate by driving back to work with all the windows down, the sunroof open and “La Vie Boheme” from the Rent soundtrack cranked. If the song ends before I’m at work, Madonna’s “Jump” from Confessions On A Dance Floor is next.

This morning I awoke at 4:00 a.m. wide awake and ready to take on the day. Not being a morning person, I was completely baffled by my body’s decision to become an early bird, so I tried moving from the bed to the futon to fall asleep.

That didn’t work either.

On the rare instances I wake up in the middle of the night, I usually jump on the computer and read some obscure trivia, like how old Phyllis Diller was when she became a comedian or something like that. (By the way, she was 37). However, I always get a headache from the shock to my eyes from the monitor so I decided to just close my eyes and see what thoughts drifted in and out of my head.

First of all, I had “Never Ending Story” by Limahl stuck in my head, playing over and over. Just the chorus including the “whoa oh oh whoa oh oh whoa oh oh”.

I think I was all nerved up because my pager has not gone off in the middle of the night during this entire run of on-call. That’s unheard of. There’s always some sort of telephone crisis in the middle of the night, but not this time, the on-call gods were kind to me and kept it easy.

Now if the paranoia gods would show me the same kindness, I’d be all set.