Life Is Such A Sweet Insanity.

As I try to find the Christmas spirit this year, I can safely say that the exercise of shopping in the mall is not going to help me in this endeavor. Several elements of today’s day off did help though, including wishing each service person I had contact with a genuine Happy Holidays combined with a sincere smile. Most were quite pleasant. This was nice.

I had lunch with our friend Mike. We have known him for several years, he is the one that first approached me as we walked through a mall several years ago and he recognized me from the mall. Having a friendship result from this is quite cool. We are only a month apart in age and we share several similar interests, so the conversation at lunch today was effortless and incredibly overdue. We are looking forward to getting together again after the holidays.

I can say that I have about 98% of my shopping done. I am looking forward to reaching that definite 100%. Once that is done I will be able to truly enjoy the holiday spirit.

Until then, I’ll just do my best.

– Posted using BlogPress from my iPad

I have mentioned before that my commute to work takes place on back roads for the majority of the ride. I pass by many farms and through many fields along the way to work and quite frankly I like this for a couple of reasons; it reminds me of the area where I grew up and where Earl and I had our first home and more importantly I don’t feel as rushed to get to work. Driving the Thruway to work is like a battleground lately as I opt to drive right around the speed limit while others run up to the back of the Jeep and then swoosh around me in a flurry of hyperactivity as they urgently dash off to where they need to be at 20 miles per hour over the posted speed limit, usually while gabbing on the phone or sending an urgent text message while driving in the left lane for as long as possible. A year ago I would have been among their number, but a lot has changed for me in a year.

Right near the county line along the open hilltops is a rather large farm. There is a large, two-story red brick house that looks like it was built around 1900 or so. The house is flanked by a couple of barns, a small, fenced off cemetery area and a scattering of farm equipment. Behind the house is a drop off down into the Mohawk Valley, across the street is a small mobile home situated on a lot in the middle of a field. More farm equipment flanks the mobile home and there is usually a one ton pickup truck with dual wheels on the back sitting in the driveway. At least one day per week a farmer is walking from the mobile home to the main farm across the street when I pass by the property. I say he’s a farmer because he has a farm machinery company hat on (he’s a John Deere guy by the looks of it), he wears a Carhartt when the weather calls for it or else he is wearing a pair of work jeans that are being held up by suspenders. He just has that farmer ‘look’ to him.

Now I’m going to admit that I noticed this farmer the first time I saw him waiting to cross the street after I passed because he’s bearish. Unlike a good majority of the gay population, I’m not attracted to those that spend an inordinate amount of time trying to look a certain way and go out of their way to defy their natural age and the resulting evolution of their body as they age. I like to hug or be hugged by a guy that’s going to give or reciprocate with a big ol’ bear hug. While others may mock those that aren’t physically fit or muscular as manicured by spending way too much time at the gym, I dig guys that find their fitness naturally, in their own way and have a comfortable feeling to them. “Farmer Bear”, as I have dubbed him in my head though I have no inclination as to whether he would even know what a bear is, is a guy that just looks like a hard working guy in his late 40s or early 50s. The thing I instantly noticed about him is that he is almost always smiling. If I pass him on my way to work, usually around 7 a.m., he is smiling. It’s not a crazy, wild man smile, but just a pleasant grin that’s surrounded by ample beard. If I pass him on my way home, he’s smiling then too as he heads in the other direction.

Now some would wonder what he’s smiling about because he works on a farm, probably smells a little bit like manure or some other fertilizer and he lives in a small mobile home (quick guess would be that it’s probably a 12’x55′ from the 70s) on an open lot that has little in the way of vegetation surrounding it. The farm is in the middle of nowhere, the closest town being at least 10 miles away. Since I drive by this place almost every day, I have ascertained that he doesn’t have satellite or cable television since there’s no evidence of either being connected to the small mobile home; all that I see is a television antenna mounted to the side of the trailer. The big house across the street has been lit up every night since the transition back to Standard Time in November, occasionally others from the farm will be walking in the direction of the main house. I like to think that this family, whether biologically related or just through the camaraderie that results from working a farm together, dines at around 6:00 p.m., much like many of the farmers I’ve known over the years do every night after the chores are completed.

I think I know why Farmer Bear is smiling. He’s obviously happy and while others may decree that his life is simple, what with working a farm, driving a tractor, living in a small mobile home and the like, he’s apparently found what he wants in life. When we do this, we smile without even thinking about it. And hopefully, that smile becomes contagious and others are prompted to smile, either involuntarily or through thinking about what would make them smile and the finding the reason to do so.

Farmer Bear will probably never know that he’s made me smile when I see his smile and that I admire the little life he apparently has going there on his little plot of land, all based my assumptions from passing by repeatedly at 55 MPH. But whatever his life circumstance is, I hope he continues to find a reason to smile everyday.

His smile has given me the drive to continue to find a reason to smile myself.

– Posted using BlogPress from my iPad

We had recently received a gift certificate for one our favorite local diners, “Sharyn’s Place.” We call it Betty’s Diner because that’s what it used to be called but Sharyn owns it now and someone owned it between Betty and Sharyn but that’s not really relevant to the story. What is relevant is that “Sharyn’s Place” was closed on a Saturday night at supper time. This is slightly alarming, since I’m sure that people would like to eat out on a Saturday night. I decided to continue the trek down River Road to the next eatery, a local installment of the chain Applebee’s.

I will say that experiences at this Applebee’s has been uneven at best over the years. A few months ago we went in and they were on a new kick where the server had to shake the hand of each person seated at the table and get to the first name of each member of the party. They then used your name in ways that turned out to be uncomfortable for everyone involved for the rest of your visit. What was meant to be friendly was ultimately creepy, so I was happy to see that when we arrived they couldn’t care less about our names.

The hostess looked stoned. She acted it too. She informed us that there would be a five minute wait. She asked my name, I always give them “J.P.” instead of my last name because despite the fact that my last name has only four letters, people like to add extra vowels to it and make it sound like “Wayne”. Cute people like to see “howdy, partner” when they think my last name is “Wayne”, but the cute fades fast when I glare and/or kick them in the nuts. When I informed the waitress with the eyes narrowed down to slits that my name is “J.P.”, she asked how to spell my name. I fleetingly thought of spelling it out “Jaye P.” just to be uber gay, but I decided against it and said that it was spelled like sounded, two letters. I don’t know why she was asking because she didn’t write anything down.

Fifteen seconds later she asked, in an uncomfortably loud voice, if we were the Patterson party. I indicated that we weren’t and in fact the other five parties that were waiting five minutes or less also stated that they weren’t the Patterson party either. We don’t know who the Pattersons were, but I’m sure someone in the room thought a fond thought about them.

The hostess then decided to write down the names of everyone due to the absence of the elusive Pattersons; but she didn’t remember the order of each party’s arrival. She then just randomly bellowed out “J.P.” I made a hasty appearance at her elbow, where she was mumbling and struggling with the assembly of the menus. She then motioned towards the dining room. We followed her and sat down.

The waiter came over and offered us a Bud Light or a “tasty cocktail”. I wonder what people in recovery think of these offers. We both ordered unsweetened iced tea.

Rule #1 of this Applebee’s: “Conserve your beverage.”

When Mr. Waiter came back, he asked if we were ready to order, where we asked for the twisty potato chip appetizer, a salad for each of us and the same exact food for both, the sizzling steak thing, medium rare and the accompanying mashed potatoes are fine.

Mr. Waiter asked in what order would we like our food brought out or did we want it all at once.

Rule #2 of this Applebee’s: “Some assembly required.”

We asked for salad, appetizer, entree, in that order, figuring the salads would be the easiest to get together and bring to the table. As Mr. Waiter made his way around the hostess that was now flailing her arms like some sort of turkey trying to fly as she sat another party near us, we settled in with our drinks and awaited some grub. As we conversed, we overheard murmurs from parties around us. The murmurs were not indicative of a pleasant nature. Two bears and a Mom (maybe that’ll be a new show for the 2012 television season), indicated that they didn’t think the hostess could find her way out of a circle. Earl and I chatted a little bit when a woman came flying out of the kitchen with our salads and our appetizers all in one load.

She threw them down on the table and departed. The twisty potato chip things were really, really brown. Actually, they kind of had that charcoal look to them. They smelled burnt. We tasted them and confirmed that they were burnt.

Mr. Waiter made his way to the table to check on us and I spoke up, something that I usually don’t do at a restaurant, and I politely said, “I’m concerned about these potato chips as they seem to be overly done.”

“Okay”, was his only response.

“You might want to let the kitchen know that they’re burnt so that other people don’t have to eat them like that.”

“Would you like more? It’ll only take a minute.”

Rule #3 of this Applebee’s: “Time is fluid and shall not carry definition.”

Mr. Waiter made a hasty departure as we nibbled on our salads (which, to be fair, were just lovely). Two bears and a mom left. One bear gave me the “good luck” nod. Not a good sign.

Mr. Waiter then came back and asked Earl if he would like more iced tea.

Rule #4 of this Applebee’s: “Thinking you’re getting a refill on a non-alcoholic and therefore non-chargeable drink, is not only whimsy but it is also folly.”

I could see Mr. Waiter walking around from table to table and heading into the kitchen in a concerned manner once in a while but he never came back to the table. A surly woman that could only have a name like Ruth or something walked by with more burnt potato chip things, but she was a decoy that headed to another table, because two seconds later, an ornery man came with our sizzling entrees.

“Careful, these dishes are very hot.”

Rule #5 of this Applebee’s: “There is no such thing as hot.”

Sometimes Applebee’s wants you to check how well the meat was cooked, but this was not one of those cases, because the departed couldn’t careless. Had he asked, the answer would have been “well done but not as bad as the chips.” I wasn’t shocked, since we had both ordered medium rare.

Earl cut into the mashed potatoes on his very hot skillet and they made a clinking noise because the center was still frozen. Luckily, mine had a suggestion of heat to them so I could eat them.

Rule #6 of this Applebee’s: The iced tea will never arrive. Ever.

Mr. Waiter came by to check on us and said the potato chips would be right up. We told him to skip them. The original version still sat in the middle of the table. We suggested he should take them. On his way out with them, he told the skillet delivery person that we just didn’t want them.

We made our way through this entree experience that I had instantly dubbed “Fire and Ice” (I thought that was quite witty). Mr. Waiter came by and Earl brought him up to speed as to where we were with the dining experience. Earl was even nice about it.

Rule #7 of this Applebee’s: “Conversations regarding the status of your meal are meaningless.”

Mr. Waiter came by with the bill and offered to take the payment up when we were ready. The only problem was, the burnt potato chips were on the bill. When he came back to take payment, Earl told him we weren’t paying until the chips were removed from the bill. He seemed shocked that we would ask such a thing, but he went off to the kitchen where they probably then spit into some random entree and came back with a little lighter bill.

We paid, left a suggestion of a tip and made our way out. The stoned hostess waved to us as we left, but she was looking out the window when she did so, a complete 90 degree turn from where we were. There was no one by the window.

Rule #8 of this Applebee’s: If you really want to eat in the neighborhood, drive to another neighborhood.