A little Saturday morning fun. Click on the big “play” button to watch the little movie.
Shhh! A Little Late.
Still recovering from last night’s iPod earphone debacle, I jacked into the gym’s entertainment system for my 60 minutes on the spazzmaster machine. You know, there’s not much on television on a Friday night. Then I discovered a show that I really enjoy.
“The Ghost Whisperer”.
At first I thought this show was a knock-off of the very popular “Medium” on NBC, sort of like “I Dream of Jeannie” was a knock-off of the very popular “Bewitched” back in the day. But there appeared to be little else appealing so I thought I’d give it a try.
I love this show! First off, Jennifer Love Hewitt’s character as woman who sees dead people is believable. I wasn’t expecting that. Secondly, Vanessa Lengies, who played Roxanne on “American Dreams”, was guesting starring and I’ve always enjoyed her performances. Thirdly, Vanessa’s character’s father was played by ever present guest star Daniel Roebuck and he always gives a good spin on whatever character he’s playing whether it’s as a lawyer on Judging Amy, a doctor on Lost or Cody Bank’s father.
I really wasn’t expecting to enjoy this show, but watching “The Ghost Whisperer” tonight made the 60 minutes on the spazzmaster fly right by. Unfortunately, it was followed by the crappy “Close To Home”, which I refuse to watch since it knocked “Judging Amy” off the air last fall, tanked horribly and moved to Friday nights where it has enjoyed moderate success. I must admit I tried to watch the first few minutes of “Close To Home” but I found that it didn’t grab my interest at all (my bitterness about the cancellation of “Judging Amy” still lingers), so I opted to watch “America’s Funniest Videos” instead. That should tell you how much I didn’t enjoy “Close To Home”.
Looks like I’m going to have to catch up on “The Ghost Whisperer” with reruns this summer. Thank goodness for TiVo.
Plastica.
Did anyone catch American Idol this week? It was country night and the chosen superstar to guide our favorite musicians of the moment was Kenny Rogers. So they ushered Kenny Rogers on the screen. Now mind you, I was watching this from across the gym while burning off hundreds of calories on the spazzmaker machine. So I didn’t get a super close, clear view of the man that walked on to the set. I heard in my headphones that it was Kenny Rogers.
But who the hell was that man?
Now Kenny has admitted to having some plastic surgery in the past. Well apparently he’s having it in the present too because you could bounce a quarter off his face it was so tight. I’m surprised that they didn’t introduce the very vital assistant to Kenny who’s sole job is to mist his eyes with water from time to time, since it’s very obvious that Kenny no longer has the ability to close his eyes or even blink. His face was pulled so tight I thought it was going to jump right off his head and snap like a broken rubberband.
I know people that have had a little plastic surgery. Correct a nasal problem here, get rid of a sixth finger there and while you’re at it, round off the ears a little bit. And I don’t even have a problem with corrective surgery or even something trivial like breast enhancements on women (and yes, I’ve seen them on men) as long as it looks reasonably natural and it doesn’t look like they’re carrying two elementary school sized children on their chest. But the way these celebrities are pulling and stretching and pleading with God to give them just 15 minutes more of fame is getting a bit of ridiculous.
I mean, look at Joan Rivers. If you can. I can’t. My God, she looks like a Barbie doll from the 60s that was left on a heating radiator for too long. It’s like her face melted a little bit and they tried to put it back in place. Does the owner of that face really believe that’s beautiful? Does Joan?
I won’t even go down Michael Jackson Boulevard with all the things that he’s done to his face and body. Someday I expect a news blip stating that he took his mask off and the face came off with it.
The body ages. Things wrinkle. Chests fall. Balls drop. It happens to everyone. But c’mon people, look at it as a badge of experience. I look at my face today and I see some wrinkles, especially around my eyes. Am I going to get Botox injections? Absolutely not. I’ve earned those wrinkles from smiling too much. I’ve earned the gray streak in my mustache from worrying about what lies ahead on the path I’ve chosen. I’ve been blessed with freckles to enhance my ‘cute’ factor. The scars on my leg are from when I was a kid and I learned that you can’t always creep through a barb-wired fence. Would I get rid of these things? No. I’ve earned these marks of experience and I wear them with pride.
Perhaps those that get all this work done on their face and whatnot are doing it to boost their confidence, quite similar to the fact that I shave my head to do the same. But you see, there’s nothing wrong with aging. That’s what the human body does. Would I have the remaining hair on my head permanently removed? Never. Accept what you have, dress it up a little bit, make the most of it and then “work it”. Hold your head up high, you’ve made it this far and you should be proud of yourself for simply doing so.
Work It.
Earl and I have been working hard at the gym for the past couple of weeks and I still can’t get the hang of one specific thing: how to properly accessorize with my iPod.
The last time I went to the Apple store I picked up a Sportswrap for my iPod. My iPod is a couple of years old, so it’s a “traditional” one, being full sized and having a black and white LCD screen. But I love it and I don’t see myself replacing it for quite a while.
The problem is I keep getting tangled up in the earphones wire.
Tonight I was doing my thing on the treadmill, bopping along to a special 10 minute remix of “Hung Up/Gimme! Gimme! Gimme! (A Man After Midnight)” when I realized that I had somehow wrapped my arm around the earpiece and I was pulling my head down towards my chest, while my iPod was coming unwrapped from my arm, making it look like I was jogging at an awkward pace with some sort of palsy (not that there’s anything wrong with that). But the only affliction I had was a poorly placed iPod.
I ended up jacking into a rerun of “Deal or No Deal” instead. Madonna will just have to wait.
Silence.
As more and more sound invades our space these days with the increasing number of advertisements, gizmos, technological marvels and what not, I began to wonder if it’s possible to experience silence these days. I’m not talking about awkwards gaps in conversation or people not speaking, but rather just an absence of sound.
I know that total silence is theoretically impossible. After all, if you’re engulfed in total silence, you’re probably going to hear the sound of your own heartbeat. But what’s it like to listen to nothing? No sound of a ventilation fan in the background; no hum of a computer system; no melodies of wind chimes dancing in the wind. Would I feel completely at peace in total silence or rather completely frustrated because one of my senses was not being stimulated.
There are people that don’t like silence. They walk into a room in their house, hear nothing and know that the kids have moved on to their adult lives. Others with younger kids may take silence as an indicator of mischief occurring elsewhere in the house. Some can work with a radio in the background, others can’t stand the distraction. I find it all quite fascinating, but then again, I feel humans fascinating in general.
Sometimes I think the whir of machinery and the bells and whistles of technology, always present in the background, subliminally annoy us in this whirlwind we call life. These ambient noises just add a little more steam to our tea kettle of a mind, causing it to be that much closer to speaking out and letting off some steam. Perhaps I need to find a nice comfortable spot in the woods or in the desert during our upcoming trip and just do nothing except enjoy the silence.
All Relative.
Earl is out of town in New England tonight on business. Suspiciously, when I called him to see how things were going, he informed me that he was currently winning at Foxwoods Casino in eastern Connecticut. “I thought your meetings were in Massachusetts and Vermont.” “They are.” I guess the casino was a stone’s throw away or something.
But that’s another blog entry.
Since Earl was out of town and my sister is back from Russia, I thought it would be the perfect opportunity to meet up with my mother and her for supper tonight. So I trekked off to Syracuse after work.
Mom had a hair appointment after work, so Jennifer and I met up and caught up over a couple of beers and some munchies. She told me about living in Russia for eight months and all that entailed, I shared with her stories about recently traveling to Virginia and what’s been going on while she was gone. Mom joined us a little later (with a spiffed up ‘do) and we enjoyed some good conversation over supper. I know Tully’s is a chain of restaurant, but they seem to have a stamp of “Syracuse” on them, and I’ve mentioned before that I’m very “Syracuse Proud”.
It may be the beer in me that’s getting me all sentimental but I guess I’m a lucky guy to have a sister that I can call one of my best friends. When we were growing up, she always joined me on my little schemes, whether it was rearranging trees in the woods behind the house, jumping over the electric fence to do our own version of running with the bulls in the pasture or setting up a play grocery store, complete with express checkouts, in the basement. Hell, she even sang Linda Mc Cartney’s part in “Silly Love Songs” when I decided I want to sing a number one track while using the wood pile as a soundstage. Now that we’re adults, we tell each other just about everything and still giggle and laugh at the same things. And my mom joins right in with the conversation; she’s always been her own person and still lives up to that – I mean how many 50+ year old women decide to dress up their Saturn sedan by having flames added to the door panels?
While I miss Earl tonight as he does his business trip, I’m glad that I was able to hang out with a couple of my friends, who just happen to be family.
New Trick.
So I come home for lunch to piano music. Well not music, but just a bonking sound coming from the piano.
Tom had run up the piano keys just as I was walking in the door. He’s never done that before.
Now he’s tearing around the house like a maniac. He jumped in his litter box, did his thing and ran out so fast the damn thing almost tipped over, then he bolted up the stairs and came back down, jumped up on the kitchen table and then bolted for the piano again but refrained from playing a second number.
I think he’s getting a little stir crazy for spring.
No Fly Zone.
Every six months or so an idea so terrifying it strikes fear into the hearts of travelers everywhere surfaces and gets bounced about in discussion.
The airlines are thinking about allowing the use of cell phones at 10,000 feet and above.
Most everyone knows what it’s like to fly these days. You’re hurded like cattle whilst being poked and prodded en route to a giant paper towel tube. There’s never enough seats for the number of people actually planning to fly on any given flight, so it’s a crap shoot as to whether your $700 ticket will get you on the plane.
Once you’re actually on the plane, you find row after row of high-chair sized seats that are actually down low but then the realization comes that you’re suppose to sit in this chair for the next four hours or so. But only after you squish everything you’ve lugged on board into the breadbox mounted over the high-chairs. Will it fit? Don’t worry, the surly flight attendant will check, check, check and re-check again, slamming the breadbox door four or five times so that you have a headache to accompany your experience.
Then you’re given a meal that can be best described as indescribable and tastes like nothing you’ve had before. You wilt more than the lettuce did.
Then you’ll be offered some headphones to watch a movie that bombed at the theatres. All for the mere price of $700.
Now picture this carefully. Add 200 cell phone conversations of yelling, bidding, talking, chatting, screaming and laughing to this cacophony of fun.
Ladies and gentleman, now you know why Earl and I are driving across the country next month.
Just say NO to cell phones in the sky.
Can You Dig It.
Mother Nature threw us a curve ball today in an effort to remind us that we live in Upstate New York. It’s currently in the low 30s and there’s a mix of rain and snow falling.
Such a lovely day in April.
Since I woke up so cranky this morning, I was extra determined to get myself in a good mood. So on my way home from lunch I cranked up a spring-type classic track from the 60s.
“Grazin’ In The Grass” by the Friends of Distinction.
Grazin’ in the grass
It’s a gas
Baby, can you dig it!
It might not feel like spring outside, but I have spring dancing around in my head today. And this has improved my mood immensely.
Can you dig it!
Time Rant.
So yesterday half the citizens of the United States were stumbling through their Monday because they had no idea what time it was. They were told to eat when they weren’t hungry, sleep when they weren’t tired and work when they wanted to play.
All because of Daylight Saving Time.
Whomever had the brilliant idea of jockeying the clocks back and forth in the interest of “energy savings” should be shot. Has it ever occurred to these Einsteins that perhaps we are now burning more energy during daylight saving time because we are running more air conditioners to keep cool? How about Sally and Seth Suburban now jumping in their SUV monstrosity to enjoy more of the evening daylight instead of sitting home? Any chance that they are using more energy now?
Last night I had to go to bed when I wasn’t tired. Do you know what that means? I woke up this morning when I wasn’t awake and that means I’m really cranky this morning. The cat is in hysterics because his feeding schedule is off kilter, my muscles are confused because I went to the gym at the wrong time and quite frankly I think I’m constipated because my body doesn’t know when to poop.
As I’m writing this, I realize that now I’m going to be late to work because it’s later than I thought. Silly me for not knowing what time it is. was. will be.
