Ponderings and Musings

I’ve mentioned many times over the years that I love music, more specifically dance music. When they were handing out the gay, I took a big ol’ helping of disco bunny for myself.

“Pure Imagination (Wonka Trance Edit)”, Ford.

The problem with listening to dance music off my iPod or my PowerBook is that I can’t do anything else while I’m doing it. Let’s face it, I can barely make a a cohesive sentence in normal life ambience, let alone type something witty while I’m jamming with my iPod buds in my ear.

“Come Rain Come Shine (Radio Edit)”, Jenn Cuneta.

I can not begin to relay the difficulty I’m having typing this blog entry while I’m listening to music at the same time. That aforementioned big helping of disco bunny is having a hell of a time keeping his fingers on the keyboard, let alone managing to type something intelligible. If you left a disco bunny in front of a computer long enough and fed him lots of music, would he be able to type out the complete works of Erma Bombeck, given enough time? It reminds me of the monkey that could bang out a manuscript on an old typewriter, while throwing his poop at the same time.

“Let The Sunshine In (Hot Tracks Mix)”, Army of Lovers.

I downloaded this song from, well, somewhere other than iTunes a couple of weeks ago and then played it up when I DJ’d in Buffalo. Surprisingly enough, the crowd loved the song. The hook is from the 5th Dimension’s song of the same name. While it is missing Marilyn Mc Coo, it’s still a very enjoyable song. If I still controlled a radio station, it would be one of those obscure tracks buried between two Top 40 songs that you wouldn’t hear on any other radio station.

“No Regrets (Almighty Definitive Mix)”, Quartzlock feat. Lonnie Gordon.

This track came out in the mid 1990s. It was a reworking of the same track from the late 1980s, which was very popular at a bar I used to go to on the Massachusetts-New Hampshire border just south of Nashua. That bar was called “DiRocco’s.” Good fun. This version sucks though, which brings us to …

“Come To Me (Extended Disco Mix)”, France Joli.

Did you know that this song originally had TWO verses featuring the male vocalist, Tony Green, who also produced this record. I met France Joli back in February 1997 in New Orleans. I should find that picture and share it.

Oh well I couldn’t find it but I did find an old picture of Earl and I standing in our restaurant! This was taken summer of 1999.

Earl without a mustache! Wow, I don’t remember that. It must not have lasted very long.

“The Visitors (Hot Tracks Remix)”, Abba.

Why do you suppose Abba turned down an obscene amount of money about a year ago to do a reunion concert? Do they know how many people are waiting for them to do something together again? Oh well. They must be happy with their current projects.

I’d come up with a witty way to wrap up this blog entry, but I’m too busy dancing around to “The Visitors”. Crackin’ up!

“Save A Horse, Ride A Cowboy (The Remix)”, Big & Rich.

There’s a certain feeling of adventure when you tackle your morning routine with an unbridled sense of urgency. I’ve mentioned that I enjoy my sleep very much. I try to sleep until the last possible second before getting ready to take on the day. It’s not because I’m dreading getting up or anything, I just enjoy my sleep.

Jumping onto IM before taking a shower is always dangerous. You see one of your friends online, say hello, and then the merriment starts. When you’ve slept until the last possible moment and then hit the ground as a social butterfly, instead of a productive member of the American workforce, you can run a little late. So you slap two pieces of turkey between mustard laden bread, give the cat his piece of turkey, drink a glass of cranberry juice, eat a bowl of raisin bran while taking a shower at the same time (kidding), shave and brush your teeth while sitting on the john (still kidding), iron your clothes while you’re wearing them (am I kidding?), kiss the cat, put on the pager and then jump into your car and fly down the expressway at 80.

I love mornings.

For it being Monday and all I’m am quite surprised at what a positive, upbeat mood I’m in today. The sun is out, work is going well for the most part and best of all, “I feel pretty”.

I might have to make this a Kodak moment later tonight.

Jumping in with the cool kids today, I’m following fellow blogger Terry’s lead and posting a sample of my handwriting. I don’t think my penmanship is terribly bad, but its not as good as it would have been had I continued my pursuit of a career in education.

I tried to follow Terry’s lead and write something dirty, but I kept blushing.

I have this bad habit of spewing things when I’m in a bad mood. It’s not like my head is exploding or puke is shooting out of mouth or something equally horrendous but I tend to say things that I don’t really mean. I drop f-bombs. I get very demonstrative. For example, a customer was not very nice to me on the phone today. She wanted her problem resolved RIGHT NOW and wanted to know if I was going to do something about it, when in fact, I had already sent someone out to resolve the problem she was having and her assistant couldn’t find the key to the telephone equipment room. She was a bitch and I wasn’t in the mood for it, trying to dress me down on the phone like I don’t deserve respect or something because after all, I am a “service worker” at the telephone company. So after getting off the phone (which I surprisingly didn’t slam down) I told my co-worker that there are some women that just don’t deserve to be working or in positions of power.

Now I don’t know why I said that. It was very rude of me. I don’t really feel that way about women per se; I believe that there are many people, regardless of their sex, in positions of power that don’t deserve to be there. There’s all sorts of idiots, men and women, in high places around the world. In low places too and in every place in between.

Every single person on this planet has their place in the world; good people, bad people, those that contribute to society and those that take from society, every single person has a contribution to the this thing we call the human equation. I truly believe that. I believe that we can learn something from every person that we have contact with, and I believe that today, this woman showed me that I can say things in the heat of the moment that I don’t really mean. Then I write about it, think about it, share it on my blog and chalk it up to experience.

Now don’t cross me.

Starting late last week I’ve fallen into the habit of having to take my shoes off during my lunch break. For some reason I just can not relax unless I am barefoot and feeling the freedom of prancing around the house as nature intended. I’ve always loved to be barefoot, but felt that the lunch hour is too short to enjoy the luxury. Last week I decided the heck with it and threw my shoes aside while I typed in my blog and enjoyed my lunch hour.

My blog friend Thom seems to have a concern for clean, presentable feet and I can confidently say that my feet are winners in that department. As long as you don’t look on the bottom. Running around barefoot all the time can result in some dirty feet. However, as I discovered when I was still in my single digits, that’s why Mother Nature gave us dew on the grass; so that we could run around and clean our feet.

I’m such a kid at heart.

Except for commuting to work I tend to drive barefoot. I’ve been told by people that I’m going to be stopped for driving barefoot but I don’t really see how that can happen since my feet are inside the car and the cops tend to be outside the car. It’s not like I have a neon light over the Acura yelling “bare feet!”.

There is also something very relaxing about having your feet rubbed. Even if it’s just your loved one rubbing your feet gently, I find it very soothing. Little lotions and whatnot are a wonderful thing too, but I’m content with just getting the knots in the bottom of my feet rubbed out.

When I was a kid, I paid the price one time for running around barefoot. We were at the baby sitter’s one summer afternoon running around in the yard. I was seven or so years old, running around chasing someone somewhere when all of a sudden it felt like my feet were on fire. I looked at the bottom of my feet and they were all gray and puffy. Turns out the sitter had dumped the coals out of her barbecue grill the night before and didn’t bother to pour water on them to cool them off, and they were still hot. I had burned the bottoms of both my feet. My mother is probably tearing up as she reads this. But nevertheless it didn’t slow my desire to be barefoot down, once my feet healed I was off running through the cow pastures and corn fields, meadow muffins and all, barefoot and loving every minute of it.

If you want to see a picture of my feet, look no further than the introduction page to our web site. Earl and I had our portraits taken a couple of years ago. Barefoot, of course.

In the past I have sort of secretly enjoyed Earl’s business trips because it meant that I had the whole bed to myself and could get a good night’s sleep. There was no tossing and turning nor triple-digit decibel snoring coming from the other side of the bed, just myself curled up enjoying the quiet of the night as I slept peacefully.

After over 9 years of living together, I’m finding I miss the big lug when he’s out of town. I can’t get a good night’s sleep when he’s gone. My dreams, which I usually remember quite vividly, are just a hazy bunch of mismatched images. The room is exceedingly quiet, to the extent that I leave the radio on with NPR whispering BBC news and commentary into my slumber.

When Earl is home, he can be restless and have difficulty sleeping, so he usually retires to another part of the house; checking out what’s on television, messing around on his computer, whatever. I sleep through all of this activity because I subconsciously know that he’s nearby.

I don’t know who had the idea that married/partnered/shacked up/whatever couples need to sleep in the same bed all night long. In the past I’ve believed that you go to bed, get all wild by doing everything short of swinging from the chandeliers (though that could be fun too) and then roll over to your extreme sides of the bed so that you could get a good night’s sleep. As I get older, I’m finding that I’d rather follow up the wild part with just snuggling and settling in for the night, like two bears getting ready for their long winter’s nap.

Earl is in Asheville, North Carolina as I type. He’s taking a flight late this afternoon to Charlotte and then hopping a plane to home. I’m hoping that Hurricane Ophelia holds off long enough so that his flights will bring him home safely.

I don’t think I can sleep again tonight in an empty cave.

It’s amazing what a change of pace can do for one’s psyche. There are those that have to have everything a certain way; they follow a set daily schedule, they eat certain foods and they do specific things. Try as I might, I just can’t subscribe to that philosophy when it comes to living my life.

For example, today I had the opportunity to go to our Syracuse office for work. I had never been there before and though I interact with just about everyone in that office on a regular basis, there were many that I hadn’t met face to face. After getting my little project done, I wandered through the cubicles introducing myself to put a face to a voice. It was a nice diversion and it gave my workday the little kick that it needed. When I returned to my cubicle at my home office, I found myself more focused and ready to take on the rest of the day. Here it is 3/4 of the way through the day and I’m finding the positive feelings lingering. It’s all good.

It’s amazing what a change in the routine can do.

For example, I think I worry about sleep too much. “Oh my God I need to get to bed at 10 so I can get up at 6 in the morning.” Maybe I should just go to bed when I’m tired and then deal with it the next day. Perhaps forcing myself to sleep when I’m really not tired is making me more tired the next day.

I tried to set a weekly cleaning schedule so that the house remained inhabitable. It never works out the way I want it to. Sometimes I feel like a Domestic God and run around cleaning and washing and polishing and shining. Sometimes I feel like a lazy slob. If I notice Earl putting a saddle on a dust bunny or Tom using the plants as a litter box, then of course I need to do something, but if I’m not in the mood, I’m not in the mood.

Perhaps I need to drop the anal retentive routine and engage in more of a controlled chaos.

Big Screen Television. Check.
DirecTV. Check.
Pizza and Wings. Check.
Constant Flow of Pop or Beer. Check.
Lover making himself busy elsewhere in the house. Check.

Football season has officially begun in our merry little household with the Eagles at Atlanta on Monday Night Football. Earl has installed himself in front of the television, I’ve heard few profanities and a couple of rousing cheers.

It’s good to see him so happy.

With Earl out of town on business, I’ve had quite a bit of time to myself for the past couple of nights. I’ve been keeping busy getting ready for my first club DJ gig in about 3 1/2 years downloading music and whatnot, but before diving into the project for the night I’ve gone to the mall to pick up a few things and grab a bite to eat.

Now I like malls. I find them fascinating in a very geek way. For example, there are three malls within 150 miles of us that are identical to one another. Same floor tiles. Same layout. Same anchor stores. Same style food court. I find this very intriguing though I’m sure the mall developer found it more economical than interesting.

That all being say, I must say that I hate the mall.

It’s actually not as bad as it used to be as far as being overrun by teenagers. The movie theatres moved out about a year ago so that whole crowd has moved to one of the big box plazas that have cropped up. In addition, after a huge brawl between warring schools, the mall company wiped out the food court, taking away all the trees, ledges, steps and anything else that contributed to the ambiance and replaced it with lighting brighter than a baseball stadium. You need sunglasses to sit down and grab a bite to eat. It’s quite revolting to see what the food court eateries are actually serving, it’s better to be left in the dark on some things.

Nevertheless, I found a couple of things tonight that piqued my interest. First of all, I noticed this younger guy walking through the food court with fierce sideburns, pointed shoes and a very high PING on the gaydar. He was totally out of my range of interest but I instantly recognized him and immediately felt old. He won a contest on one of the radio stations I worked at back in 1993 to be a “guest DJ” on my night show. He was 13 at the time. I found him quite frightening in that his parents just dropped him off at the radio station and took off. As I recall he was a nervous wreck, smashed a piece of equipment and stomped on several CDs. He was odd and the whole experience about sent me over the edge. He just walked on never noticing my stare. That was good.

As I was enjoying my Chinese food, two younger ladies sat down to my left and starting yammering in a fast-paced, hyper-extended version of American English that I had never heard before. There were words that were beyond my comprehension, though I tried my hardest to eavesdrop with accuracy. I sensed that they were dishing a third girl (that wasn’t present of course), something about her shorts were bitchin’. Maybe rippin’. Maybe shittin’. It was hard to tell between the gum snaps.

One of the things that I did notice is that it’s wardrobe transition time here in Upstate N.Y. Men were in shorts and sandals, women were in long slacks and sweaters. One woman had a parka and bright pink sweat pants on with flip flops, but I think she was from the local “Psychiatric Facility” as its so noted on the sign outside. Oddly enough, she blended fairly well.

I did have one mid-20s-ish man make a comment to me while I was waiting for my Chinese food to be dished up. He smiled, rubbed his chin and said “nice beard”. Since he didn’t have one, I assume that he was referring to mine. I smiled and said thanks. He glanced away nervously and I went back to living in my own little world oblivious to any sort of pass that was being attempted at the moment. I must have had “bachelor mode” written on my forehead. Earl says my name should have been “John Nyuland from St. Olaf”.

Earl will be glad to know that I made it out of there with nary a skid mark on the credit cards, having only picked up a CD cleaner and a pack of blank CDs. Good thing there isn’t an Apple store here.