Too Much,Too Soon

Thanksgiving is one week away. The unofficial start of the Holiday Season. Or so one would think.  Unless you're Macy's and then all bets are off.

Halloween night we had put Riley to bed after Trick or Treating and after spending time with our friends Kim and Rex.  I was reading a story online in the Indianapolis Star about how retailers were holding back on placing Christmas merchandise out until after Halloween.  Oh, really?  They were?  And right on cue, a Macy's Holiday commercial  filled the TV screen.

But I was a little troubled by that story as the reporter apparently had not done much research in the field.  Our local Target had Christmas lights out on the shelves alongside the Halloween decorations since September.  Two or three weeks ago I was out shopping with friends at Kohls when I realized that they were playing Christmas music.  Yup, it sure seems like retailers were holding back on the holiday blitz.  I shudder to think what it would be like out there if they weren't restraining themselves.

The commercial that really irritates me is the one Macy's has out using music from Rent.  Season's of Love is the name of the song.  It seems to me that it's completely out of place in anything commercialized as the play is very much supporting Bohemian ideals and anti establishment.  Up with artists!  Down with Yuppies!

Thanksgiving isn't even here yet and I'm already weary of the Holiday barrage.  What's the answer, short of moving out of civilization?  A letter campaign to the retailers?  Who has time for that.  Turning of the TV might be an option.  Or at least muting the commercials.  I just need to wrest control of the remote from the rest of the household.

How UPCs Helped Create Facebook

Understand that this is just a theory of mine, but I think the ubiquitous UPC created a society in which the  phenomenal popularity of Facebook became possible.  Before the mid 1970's when bar code scanners came into use it was a much different world from what we live in now.  Stay with me for a little while and I think I can draw a line from then to now for you. 

Growing up, I have many memories of going to a gas station in the next town to the south of us with our Dad.  Dad would buy us a bottle of pop out one of the old machines that had the tall narrow glass door.  You would put your nickel in the slot, open the door and pull out a bottle of Mountain Dew or Choc-ola.  Both were impossibly sweet, but were only 9 ounces.  Just the perfect size for grade school boys.  While there Dad would catch up with his buddies, talking about ways to fix cars, where the fish were biting and I'm sure there were plenty of "blue" jokes that went right over my six year old head.  One of the other places in the men's world was the barber shop.  There weren't any appointments to be made when you needed a haircut.  You arrived on a Saturday morning and waited your turn.  I remember always being bored with the wait because the only comic books they had seemed to be the same ones I had been looking at for years. And I was only six!

The first UPC scanner was installed in 1974 at a supermarket in Ohio.  From there it's not too difficult to draw a line to the popularity of online social forums.  For some of you, you've always lived with bar codes and scanners.  The rest of you might remember what it was like before when going to the grocery store meant that the cashier had to look for a price label and punch in the price of each item on the cash register.  The cashier also had to be knowledgeable as to which products were taxed and in some case at what rate.  All this was done while making conversation with the customer.

I remember going to the grocery with my mother, waiting an agonizing long time in line, as the lone cashier rang up the woman in front of us.  The nice thing was there was no choice of paper or plastic.  It was only paper bags.  (But that's a topic for a different time.)  While in line, people would chat with each other and catch up on each others families, how Aunt Betty's gout was doing, Little Billy's recent spelling bee victory, and the next door neighbor's drunken yelling match with his wife.   I just wanted gum.

Now when you go to a store the scanners make it so fast to get through the line that you barely have time to register if the cashier even acknowledged you with a hello.  Paper or Plastic?  Rarely does the bagger ask anymore.  From being on the other side of the register in a retail store I can attest that there are a whole bunch of customers who can't get off their cell phones to answer any questions about their transaction let alone make small talk with the people around them.  Plus most stores give you the option of self check out if you have just a few items.  Actually having a conversation with someone?  Doubtful.  Maybe that's why Facebook has become what it has...  a substitute for the barber shop, beauty shop, grocery store, or gas station of the past.  It's a place to gather and share with our friends, families and voyeurs the everyday ordinary life things that make us all connect as part of the human race.

Random Stuff

Things Our Daughter Has Said:

Last week at daycare:
Woman dropping off her son "Well, aren't you just the little princess!"
Riley "I not a princess, I Riley."

Driving to a friends house:
Riley "Daddy, what that?"
Me "That's a hill."
Riley "Why?" (yes, we are deep into the "why" phase.)
Me "What do you think?"
Riley "Because why not." (yes, I've answered "why not" a few times to her why questions)



Riley "Daddy? What that?" [while patting the front of my pants]
Me "Don't touch daddy there."
Riley "Why?"
Me "That's my penis, you don't touch daddy there."
Riley "Yuck, poopie"
Me "That's not poop! Poop is around back."
Riley "No, poopie, Daddy."
(Yes, honey.  You just keep thinking that for the next twenty years or so.)


Hoosier Weddings:

Last weekend we had the privilege of being invited to the wedding for one of  Robbie's friends.  The wedding was held in a small rural town over an hour away.  The church is a newer building and doesn't have the traditional pews.  Instead, the congregation opted for interlocking chairs for what I assumed was flexible seating.  Right before the ceremony I realized that the contrasting lines of carpeting outlined a basketball court.  The church can remove the chairs, place portable basketball goals on either side of the sanctuary and turn it into a regulation size court.  It's been said  that basketball is the state religion of Indiana.  I don't think you need to look much further to find the truth of that statement.


Commute This
 (warning - rant ahead)

A little over a year ago I switched jobs.  I went from working retail and the inconvenient hours - weekends, nights and holidays -  to a Monday through Friday job.  The downside is that I went from having a five minute commute to a thirty five minute one.  I like driving.  However, I hate commuting.  I'm lucky to start work  an hour earlier than normal so that I could leave before rush hour hits.  Now I'll admit that rush hour in Indianapolis is nothing compared to Chicago, but I rarely drove in Chicago.  The big reason I hate commuting is that I have to drive through two construction zones on my way to work.  This wouldn't be a problem except for the zone on the West side.  There are four entrance ramps onto I-465 in the middle of that construction and somehow on a nearly weekly basis I've had to deal with people who don't seem to grasp the concept of merging.  The last one was a woman who was well ahead of me on the acceleration ramp.  For some reason she began to slow down and I made the mistake of slowing so that she could merge over.  Big mistake.  Traffic was heavy to my left and by the time she finally merged, we were doing fifteen miles and hour!  I was livid.  If you can't navigate traffic on the freeway, then don't get on it! 

My iPod is Trying to Make Me Insane

I listen to my iPod at work for two reasons:  One, it keeps me from hearing the monologue of a redneck's life from the woman in the department next to mine.  Two, if I listen to audio books or movies (we can listen to movies, we just can't watch them) then I lose track of what I'm working on.  While I can't say what it is that I do, I can say that it is one of the most tedious things I've ever done in my life - and I worked in a plastics factory one summer.

A few weeks ago ABBA's "Gold" was playing on my iPod.  "Waterloo" finished playing and then it went into "Honey, Honey".  Around thirty seconds or so into the song I realized I was no longer listening to "Gold" but instead was hearing the beginning of the soundtrack of "Mamma Mia!", the movie version.  There were several songs after "Honey, Honey" that I skipped.  There's only so much ABBA you can listen to in one sitting. 

In answer to your questions, I have ABBA "Gold" for the simple reason that I like it.  Name me one person who doesn't sing along when they hear "Waterloo", "Mama Mia" or "Dancing Queen" and you've found someone who hasn't listened to a radio or movie soundtrack in the last thirty years.  Either that or they're a big fat liar. 

The movie soundtrack for "Mamma Mia!" is a different story.  Over a year ago, I purchased the movie since all of our friends were raving about it.  We had seen the stage production and really liked it.  Three things about the movie versus the stage version:  Meryl Streep is an awful actress.  She over-acts way beyond belief which can sort of be excused once I found out that the three women who created the stage production were the ones responsible for the movie.  Pierce Brosnan makes my ears bleed everytime I hear him sing, which is the kindest thing I can say.  Understand that I've had a "crush" on him since he appeared in "The Manions of America" on TV in the 1981.  He just should not be allowed to sing.  And last the scenery is absolutely gorgeous.  We have found though that the more we watch the movie the easier it is to bear.  Plus Riley really gets into it which means that we have watched it dozens of times.

That's how I ended up with the movie soundtrack.  We thought it might be better for Riley to hear that version in the car since she is so familiar with the movie.  (There are songs in the movie that are not on "Gold".)  Big mistake.  Take away the dialogue, the scenery and the other actors and you get the stripped down version of how awful Brosnan and Streep as singers truly are.  For the most part Streep is a capable singer.  But I also think she's performing like she's doing musical theater and trying to emote every single word to the back row.

As to how it got on my iPod, I downloaded the soundtrack to my play list before listening to it.  The first time I heard it was the next morning at work.  I sent Robbie a text message saying how bad it was and he replied the he knew.  He and Riley had listened to it on the way to daycare.  A month or so later I'm still fast forwarding past anything that Brosnan is singing on... and hoping that the two albums never play back to back again.

Making Whoopee

So our daughter has developed quite the sense of humor. What? Not the opening sentence you expected from the title?  It will make perfect sense in just a moment.  But back to the daughter and her sense of humor.  She always has made us laugh and seems to find a lot of things funny.  Plus she still thinks I'm the funniest person in the world.  I practice some of my best material on her and she's the best audience a dad could ask for.

Last week though, she took things to a completely different level.  It was just her and I for the evening as Robbie had a "work function" although I'm not sure how much work was done at the Rathskeller's "Welcome to the Neighborhood" event thrown for his place of business.  But daughter and I were playing around when she says "Hold on Daddy, go potty."  She took off down the hall and I asked if she needed help and she said nope.  A few minutes went by and she finally came out of the bathroom, rubbing her butt while going "ow" over and over.  I her what was wrong and she needed medicine.  I asked what was wrong and she said "My butt's cracked."  Seriously.  The girl looked at me deadpan and said "My butt's cracked" in the most pitiful voice you've ever heard.  Then she started laughing.  Not just a giggle but a full blown, out of control, falling on the floor, belly laugh! She was laughing so hard she was having trouble breathing.  That of course got me to laughing almost as hard.  I'd just been punked by my three year old!

I will admit that I may have created our little Borscht belt comic.  I did start the whole "butt crack" joke with her.  When she was still in diapers or pull-ups she'd develop a rash every once in a while and complain about being sore.  I'd always look and say "It should be sore, you have a big crack in your butt."  After several times of this routine, she'd started laughing and say "Daddy!" like I was just the silliest person ever.  It was indeed a very proud moment for me when she was able to turn the joke around on me.  And believe me, I'm very proud to share with anyone who will listen.

Last Friday was the best of the humor so far.  I was buying some new jeans and while waiting in line I noticed that they had whoopee cushions on sale. (Ah, so that's where the title came from!)  I just had to buy one.  We went to pick her up from daycare but not before slipping the cushion under the cushion on her car seat.  Robbie put her in her seat and wouldn't you know but she's still so light that it didn't do anything.  Robbie then made sure she was in the seat better and pushed down and set off the whoopee cushion.  Daughter's eyes got really wide, a grin started on her face.  Then the laughing started.  I thought she was going to wet herself and swore that it wasn't her!  I said "But I heard you!  I can't believe you farted in my car!"  Lord!  The laughter didn't stop until we were almost home.  It's amazing what a $1 piece of latex can do.

Oh, I almost forgot.  When I told the cracked butt story to Robbie the following day he just shook his head and said "Great.  Now I have two of them in the house."  Yup.  I'm one proud daddy.  Now I just have to teach her that there's a time a place for that humor. I just know it's going to result with at least one or two calls from school.  And I'll take full responsibility for it.  But not until after I teach her about armpit farts.

I don't have a title for this, so I'll just ramble

Years ago, when I first lived in Indianapolis I was introduced to fine dining by my boyfriend of that time.  The place Rick took me required a jacket and tie.  I owned neither.  At the last minute Rick took me shopping.  After many tries at finding a sport coat off the rack, the salesman finally suggested that we head across the aisle.  At 23, I was so skinny they couldn't fit me for a jacket in the men's department.  We left the store with a size 18 jacket from the boy's department.  Now I can't even buy socks in the boy's department.

Later that week I had my first experience at a restaurant that didn't serve food wrapped in paper or delivered on plastic trays.  That was also my first experience with Italian cuisine that didn't have pizza in the name of the place.  At the time it was one of the few places in downtown Indianapolis where you could have a meal after working hours.  There was the Eagle's Nest in Merchants Bank Plaza and Le Tour at the top of the Indiana National Bank Tower.  With the Pacers playing at Market Square Arena and the Colts only recently opening the "Hoosier Dome", there wasn't much yet to define a downtown nightlife.  Not a safe one anyway. 

But this isn't about that restaurant.  It's about another place that Rick took me.   I now live about a mile from the place and just about every time we go by it makes me think about the first time I had chocolate mousse.   About three weeks ago the building was demolished to make way for yet another chain restaurant from Darden Enterprises - the same folks who brought us Red Lobster, Olive Garden, Capital Grill and a few others.  This new one is Seasons 52 where they promise to not have anything over 475 calories on their menu.  (I warned you that I'd be rambling.)  It might be refreshing to have a place to dine out that doesn't pride itself in it's ability to make you wish you had not lifted that last fork of never-ending-garlic-mashed potatoes to your mouth.

The restaurant that just closed was El Torito Grill.  We went a couple of times after moving back to Indianapolis.  There wasn't anything bad about their food, but we never really found anything great enough to justify going back. In fact, it just made us yearn for some authentic Mexican restaurants in Chicago that we frequented while we lived there.

  Before the restaurant was El Torito Grill it was The Keystone Grill.  When the place first opened it was Rosa Corona's (there may have been other restaurants in between, but I wasn't around for them or quite possibly I just don't remember them.)  When it first opened in the early 1980's it was a multi-million dollar building with an interior decor budget to match.  They offered a classic 1980's concept that I experienced for the first time there: Sunday Brunch.  Brunch was something I only experienced in movies and never thought it was offered anywhere other than New York City.  The boyfriend and I met up with a few friends one Sunday for brunch and it was the first time that I had ever seen Chocolate Mousse on a menu.  I. Had. To. Have. It.

Chocolate Mousse... could there be any dessert more rich and decadent?  At the time I didn't think so and Rosa Corona's didn't disappoint.  It was just as rich and sumptuous as I had imagined.  And after all these years, that's about the only thing I can remember about that brunch.  I've had chocolate mousse since then but like most first times, none of them have ever given me the head spinning experience as that first one.  But then again, what else would you expect from behind those gleaming brass doors?

I think I've mentioned a few times that I'm not one for being nostalgic.  This post would seem to contradict that.  What I find really bothersome was not the loss of a place from my past, but the reckless way in which our culture seems to treat architecture.  I'm not advocating saving every single building - I believe that historic preservation can get out of hand.  But I find it incredible that there was no way this building couldn't have been re-purposed to fit the new restaurant concept.   The flip side I suppose is that after thirty-some years in business that the mechanicals in the building were probably worn out.  I've been told that in most cases it's just cheaper to knock everything down and start over.  But when it comes to the finale, is this the best way architecture to meet its end?

Where in the World...

Blogger has this new feature that I've become obsessed with: Stats.  I now know where my audience is coming from(hi Blog Babies!)  So far there are people from all over the globe (except for Australia ~ where is Texsun?) reading this little thing.  Canada and The United Kingdom I was a little surprised at.  But Latvia? Bulgaria? Russia?  Who are these people from those places and why are they reading this blog?  Those are just the places from the past 30 days!

So, besides being a little befuddled and awed, I'm curious as to who you are.  If you're one of the readers from other parts of the world who have stumbled upon this blog, please leave me a comment and let me know where in the world you're reading this from and how you found it.  And if you're a repeat reader, why? (He asks chuckling.)  Comments are moderated, and if you would like your comments to remain unpublished let me know. 

Pageviews by Countries United States   143 Canada   5 United Kingdom   3 Italy   3 Latvia   3 Bulgaria   2 China   2 Germany  2 Georgia   2 Russia   2

Connecting The Dots - Part 2

Hey.  So it's been a while (an understatement. severe understatement) since I first started this.  Here's the first part as a refresher.

When we last left the story, I was beginning my serial career as a student at Ball State, starting to date Mark, er, um Mark's sister, and experiencing life outside of small town existence for the very first time.  Yes, Muncie Indiana was a huge metropolis for me.  It had everything. Restaurants, parks, shopping (a mall!), traffic lights, and it was only twenty minutes from Mark and his family.

After moving in to off campus housing - with two roommates in a one bedroom sublet apartment - I spent just about every weekend with Mark's family and they treated my like I was one of their own.  I went snowmobiling that winter with Mark, helped re-roof his family's house in the spring, and re-learned how to play pick-up basketball.  I also learned that I could wear shorts and not have people laugh at my chicken legs (oops, different story).

That first year there, I also joined their church.  Since it was a branch of the same church I had grown up with, it was an easy transition.  It was the same small town, traditional, close knit, conservative protestant church that I had grown up with.  Move mine a few hours to the east, change the architecture, but pretty much the same.  I'm pretty sure that some of the biddy's who sat in quiet judgment of others were cloned just to sit in congregations of that particular church all across the Midwest.

One of the great things about that church was that they had a youth group for the teens.  Technically I think it was meant for high school students, but since I was still a teen and was close friends with Mark & dating his sister, the group sponsors let me hang out.  It was kind of an outreach program for the new kid in town - does anyone else hear The Eagles playing? No?  Must be that awful DJ in my head again.  I think the word I'm looking for is anyway...

One of the activities that our youth group did was to get together with other area church youth groups about once a month for roller skating parties.  Heavily supervised.  You never know what a group of teenagers are going to do while on wheels.  After a while, you start recognizing some of the same people and eventually your circle of friends expands.  At the time, I just didn't realize to what extent.

My second year at BSU, I decided that I needed to find a part time job to help pay some of the bills that a person incurs living off campus as I had moved to be closer to my friends in their town.  Finally in October I landed a job at Sears (at the mall!) working in the hardware, paint, and small appliance department.  Oh, we also sold lighting, outdoor lawn equipment and Christmas supplies in our area.  Schizophrenic department planning~ no wonder Sears has such a difficult time as a retailer.  My first day I walk in and see a girl that I had met at the roller skating parties.  Meg was just as surprised to see me there.  It had been at least six months or so since we had run into one another (not literally) at the skating parties.

Meg and I quickly fell into an easy friendship.  What wasn't to like?  She was outgoing, funny, and had a killer smile that spoke of more worldly knowledge than I could possibly imagine.  And Meg was my introduction to a life outside of the church.

(to be continued)

A Funny Thing Happened On My Way...

So, maybe not so funny in a Zero Mostel kind of way.  But it was just funny/weird.  Saturday afternoon found me in the back yard pulling a huge patch of Yellow Nutsedge from right in front of the deck steps.  Our yard needs mowing and the Yellow Nutsedge only exaggerated that fact since it was growing about four times the height of the regular grass.  Plus throw in that it's almost a neon green color and it get's pretty noticeable that we've been neglecting our yard for the past few weeks.  Okay, month.  It's just been too hot to even think about doing any yard work, let alone actually doing it.  What's so sad about that is we have a riding lawnmower which the only effort or physical labor required is to haul one of our keasters up onto the seat and turn a key.  Yes, it has an electric starter.  I know.  Pathetic. 

The Daughter was a big help.  She was out there helping me pull the Nutsedge and 99% of the time she pulled the weeds instead of the grass.  But like most three-year-olds she quickly tired of that game and wandered back inside to see what the other daddy was doing.  She may become a manager when she grows up as she would wander out every few minutes or so, look over my shoulder and ask "What doin' Daddy?"  After about the sixth bagillion time of her asking me that same question, I finally wised up and started asking her "what is Daddy doing?"  Her answer?  "I don't know."  After a while, neither did I.

I quickly filled a 13 gallon trash bag with the Yellow Nutsedge and then headed around the deck to see what weeds were coming up in the small rose bed around one corner of the deck.  A mere inches from my destination, I stepped on what can only be described as a railroad spike in our back yard which is surprising because I'm sure I would have noticed something that large sticking up out of the ground.  Within a fraction of a second, my foot was buzzing like I had stepped on the queen mother of all angry hornets and I went flying into the house to run cold water over said foot in a futile effort to numb everything from the ankle down as best as could in the absence of any narcotics in the house.

Four hours pass and it feels like a 50 pound weight has been dropped on my foot.  Daughter is ready for bed and I hobble of to the local Doc-in-a-Box to have things checked out.  You know, just to make sure that some rogue spider hadn't laid eggs in my toe.  Or that I wasn't going to die from tetanus.  (And just so you know, none of this is the funny part.)  I fully expected to get there and have to wait for at least 10 hours to see a doctor, but I didn't think it was anything worth an emergency room visit just to have $150.00 extracted from my bank account.

My wait was less than 10 minutes.  A nurse came out to take me to an exam room, get some initial readings: blood pressure, temperature, heat rate and asked me a few preliminary questions.  Reason for visit, what medications I take, and am I at risk for HIV or hepatitis?  I paused for a second and said "Well, I am gay. And according to the blood banks, even though I've been in the same relationship for the past ten years, that puts me in a high risk group."  And here's the funny part, she laughed.  She said "that doesn't put you at an higher risk automatically.  Your behavior does."  Wow.  So there are thinking people in Indiana.  They didn't all move out to the coasts.  Or Chicago.

The doctor came in shortly thereafter and had to get magnifying goggles to see what ever it was that was in my toe.  She worked something so tiny out that I couldn't see it on her finger.  It seems that whatever it was had directly hit a nerve ending.  Boy did it ever! Waves of something akin to an electric jolt would rack my foot every few minutes.  There was also talk of a puss pocket forming in just four short hours.  Glad I didn't wait until the next day to go have it checked out.

With a prescription for vicodin and and an antibiotic in hand I drove over to the 24 hour pharmacy to get myself drugged so I could at least sleep that night.  And the next day, and the day after. And the day after that.  Yes, today was the first full day of work I've done all week.  Only six more days of antibiotics to go.  The painkiller went by the wayside after the second day.  Footwear while out in the yard... here to stay.

Eleven?

Recently we were in Michigan for the wedding of a friend Robbie had grown up with.  It was a great wedding, traditional Catholic wedding mass followed by a huge Italian wedding reception.  It was a little unusual in that the wedding was on a Friday afternoon.  Plus the priest felt he needed to give a history of their church before the bride came down the aisle. Plus he gave a play by play of what was happening and why.  Um, 90% of the people in attendance were Catholic.   And of the other 10% most have been to Catholic weddings before.  We really didn't need a John Madden voice over of the proceedings.

But that wasn't the weirdest part about the trip.  No the strangest was the mini van in front of us with the window stickers representing the members of the family.  We were stopped behind them at a red light and I started counting the little stick figures next to the dad and mom ones and came up with eleven. Eleven!  All I could think was "I hope to god they aren't all in that car!"

Of course I had to send a pic message to a few friends.  We decided that they were either Catholic or rabbits.  One friend suggested that they just might be Catholic rabbits.  Or maybe they just like sex.  From what I understand, no form of birth control is 100% effective.  Something like 99% effective would place them at having sex at least 1100 times.  That seems feasible for people without kids, but man, when would you ever find the time after the third or fourth baby?

The logistics of eleven children is what boggles my mind the most.  How do two people handle that many kids?  Wouldn't they need a small bus for all those kids instead of a mini-van?  Hell, how do you manage any more than two?  It seems to me that if you go beyond that you're blowing a man to man defense.  Beyond that, you're just outnumbered.   Would you have to rely on the older children to help take care of the younger ones?  And if you're one of those older children would you want kids of your own when you move out on your own and get into a relationship?

On some days we wonder how we could ever manage more than the one we have.  And she's not a difficult child.  We're asked all the time if we plan on having more. We would like to, but it's not as easy for us as the couple who own the pictured min-van.  Obviously.  Plus we keep going back and forth on various questions.  Such as: Would another girl be better than a boy? (Not that we have a say, it's just a consideration)  What happens if the process takes another 2 1/2 years?  I'm quickly approaching 50 and the thought of having a child still in high school when I'm ready to retire is just mind boggling.  If that birth mother wants to be involved how that would make Riley feel later on in life?  Can we even afford another child?  One thing is certain, we definitely won't be needing eleven kid stickers on the back window of our car.

What? It's August?

Where in the hell did my summer go?  I know that technically we still have a few more months left, but damn!  Wasn't it just yesterday that I was planting sweat peas by the chain link fence in hopes of making it look a bit more attractive?  For the record, the planting of the peas was about 10 days after St. Patrick's Day.  In my boggled mind I seem to think that my great grandmother planted hers on St. Patrick's Day.  Maybe that's why mine didn't do so well.  Or that they are planted right at the end of our asphalt driveway.  What little actually bloomed smell great though.


We've had a very busy summer traveling almost every weekend.  We've been to graduation parties, birthday parties, weddings or just visiting out-of-state friends.  It's been a rarity that we've been home and when we are, we seem to have things planned out the wazoo.  (Wow! Wazoo must be a real word now as spell check didn't highlight it.)

Two weeks ago, we took a short drive - if you consider 5 and a half hours short - to Tennessee to visit my friend Sher and her family.  Most of her family anyway.  Her oldest daughter was away at drama camp.  It's the first time that I've actually spent any amount of time other than dinner or drinks with her since meeting her over at a friends blog.  And every time I've been around Sher or chatted on line I'm always amazed at what an incredible woman she is.  Don't take my word for it, check out her website.  You can find the link over to the left or just click here: http://www.sherfickart.com/ and find some of her amazing work.  But I'll tell you this right now, viewing them on a computer or in photographs does not do her work justice.  Especially her encaustic work.  It's akin to trying to describe the subtlety in the details of a DaVinci painting.  There is amazing depth to her work both figurative and literal.

I've also taken a sabbatical away from here to examine what exactly it is that I hoped to accomplish.  Well, if nothing else, it's a vanity thing.  But I hope that it's more than that.  It's like everything else in the blog-o-sphere, a place where hopefully I can shed some illumination on the world around me.  And that's the key word... me.  I can't make this about anything else because quite frankly I couldn't if I tried.  It may seem like the above references to Sher is about her, but really it's about my perception of her as an artist and as a friend.

I've written a little about my family life growing up.  The truth is that it's a rosy version, while truthful, isn't exactly the whole truth.  There were times so bleak that I can't dwell on them.  Doing so would give them a new life that would destroy the person I've become as they drag me down through the depths of despair.   I've seen how deep those waters are and friends I'm here to tell you that's one ocean I never want to sail over again. 

I've had people whom I haven't heard from or spoken to in years comment on their perceptions of those posts and that's what's kept me from writing here for so long.  To answer those people (who didn't actually ask a question) I am going to paraphrase what a friend of mine said:  You don't get to rewrite my history to make yourself feel better.  I know what happened and just because you don't or maybe you do and don't wish to acknowledge things doesn't make those times any less real.  I lived through them and could tell you things that would only make you feel worse in that you have only a small sliver of knowledge. It's like a magician uses slight of hand to keep your focus on one hand while the other is doing something else.  Actually a more apt metaphor would be of a pick pocket bumping into you and stealing from you while brushing the dust off you shoulder.

I do want to keep things somewhat light here.  As I do in my everyday life. It just makes the journey so much more enjoyable.   Sometimes though,  in order to explain why a rosebush has so many gorgeous blooms, you just have to talk about the manure that caused it to thrive.

Survey says...

As a follow up to my last blog post, I have a confession to make.  I never finished my undergrad degree.  The reason I bring this up is that on over half of the surveys I've taken, they inevitably ask what level of education I've achieved.  This annoys me in that my choices are: never attended college, some college, graduated with and undergraduate degree, post graduate studies and graduate degree.  It's the words "some college" that sticks in my craw.

Which best describes your highest level of education?

Less than high school

Some high school

High school graduate

Some college

College graduate

Some postgraduate work

Postgraduate degree

Prefer not to answer

"Some college."  That gives no distinction between the person who has withdrawn during their first term and the person who only has six credit hours to complete.  I, embarrassingly, fall into the latter category.  "What?!?  How is that possible?" you ask.  Well, there are several reasons.  The foremost is that the lack of funds is the primary reason for the elusive sheepskin.  Busy life (three year old at home and full time job) comes in a close second.  All these are reasons/excuses that aren't entirely insurmountable, but damn if I can figure out how to make it all work.  Maybe the key is just to do it without thinking about it.  If it works, it works.   If not, then I'll be exactly where I am now, just poorer. 

The fact that I will have to do a journalism internship is also a major, MAJOR issue for me.  How do I work to pay bills and do an internship at the same time?  Will I be the world's oldest intern?  Will anyplace even offer me one?   I realize that it's not legal for anyplace to ask my age, but I'm pretty sure that they can get a figure in the ballpark once they get a hold of my transcripts.  Hell, even in the interview they'll get a pretty good idea that I'm not a typical dewy skinned college student.  And no amount of Grecian Formula (is that even manufactured any more?) will cover all the gray on my head. 

But, the first step has already been taken.  I've found out that all I need to do is apply for re-enrollment.  I've already was accepted for graduation during my last stint at BSU.  The next step is figuring out how to pay for it.  Hopefully I'll be able to find some sort of financial aid to help.  I've just paid off my original student loans last spring and I guess I can borrow again.  At my age, it'll be a race to see if I can pay one off before retirement!

Someone asked me if I intended to walk commencement.  Um, hell yes I do!  After all this time, I think my friends and family will insist on seeing me on stage.  If nothing else, just for the proof that I finally got my degree.  Robbie says we will have a big party.   At the rate I've gone with my college career, we can combine that party with my retirement party!

Online Surveys - The Answers to Life's Burning Questions

In my spare time (ha!) I do online research polls to earn "e-dollars" to redeem for SkyMiles on Delta.  I've not earned enough yet to redeem for a flight or even an upgrade. But the good people at Delta don't take unused miles away from you as long as you have account activity within a twenty four month period unlike some other un-named airline (cough - Southwest - cough) who only lets you keep miles/points for a year whether you add to them or not.

Some of the polls are pretty quick - usually because they have enough answers from my demographic group or the answers I've given don't qualify me for further participation.   Some of the polls don't fit me at all (why would I know or have an opinion about tampons?) while others have me guessing at what they are really trying to get information about.

I did one tonight on health.  There were a series of questions ranging from Acne to COPD to Diabetes 1 and type 2.  Here's a sample of what they ask:

Alzheimer's
	I suffer from
	Someone in my household suffers from
	I provide care for someone who suffers from
	Not Applicable

Here is an example of how twisted my mind is:  Shouldn't they have another option to check such as, "I don't remember?" or "How would I know?"    (Yes, I know it's a horrible disease.  Yes, I've seen first hand the affect it has on a family.) Like I said, twisted mind.  And it just occurred to me that what they are really finding out is what kind of person actually answers those surveys.  Scary.

Celebration!

It's been sixteen years since I've been able to say this... I'm free of a car payment!  I made my last payment online tonight on the Cruiser.  It's completely mine.  And now, something will go horribly wrong.  Like finding another car and ending up in another loan.  Let's hope it's a while.  Got my eye on the Chevy Camaro convertible that is due out next year.


It's a great feeling though to have a car paid off.  The student loans were finally paid off last summer. And now that we aren't paying for storage on a "pile of crap" (click here for Time Capsule) maybe we'll be able to spend some money on landscaping that we've been wanting to do.  First is a privacy fence between our back yard and the neighbors driveway.  We have no privacy on that side of the backyard and it makes me a little crazy sometimes. 

Next would be taming the wilderness at the back of our property.  It's overgrown with honeysuckle bushes (considered a noxious weed in Indiana) and takes up15 to 20 feet of our yard.  A yard that we'd like to add a playset and playhouse for Riley.  The only downside is that the birds really like the cover when hitting the feeders set up back there.  Maybe the best thing would be to remove them a little at a time and replace them with something a little more tame and not so rambling.

So there are the possibilities now that I don't have a car payment going out every month.  Fencing.  Playsets. Playhouses. Shrubbery.  Or I can just go crazy and get lipo and then drop the gym membership.  More money saved.

Psuedo Celebrities and the People who Follow Them

"Who the hell are the Kardashians?"  That was the question I posed to my co-workers a few weeks ago.  I have been hearing of Kim and her sisters Kourtney and Kloe' (what's up with all the k's?) for years but had no idea what they are famous for.  Infamous would probably be a better word.  I knew that a seemingly confused Bruce Jenner is their stepfather, but to me that wasn't enough for them to have their own reality show.  So I asked the woman who works by me (and has a huge crush on Reggie Bush) what made them famous.

Their father was Robert Kardashian who probably is most famous for being friends with and an attorney to O.J. Simpson.  Um, I remember F. Lee Bailey and Johnnie Cochran, but not Mr. Kardashian.  And is that really enough to make someone's daughter a celebrity.  Ah, but no!  It turns out there is more to Kim Kardashian's story and her infamy.

Wikipedia describes Kim as "an American celebutante, socialite, model, actress, and television personality. She is known for her social life and her role on the E! reality show Keeping Up with the Kardashians."  I think the word celebutante says a whole heck of a lot here.  Place her with the more well known celebutante Paris Hilton and I still wouldn't care if they were on television.  Or the planet for that matter.  Meh.  I'm supposed to be excited about someone who carries around a Chihuahua as a fashion accessory? Sorry, but no.




And it still begs the question, just what has made Kim so famous that she gets so much press?  Then the women at work told me about the "leaked" sex tape she made with R&B singer Ray J - who has his own reality show.  And it probably helped her when she posed nude for Playboy magazine.  Ah!  Now we're getting somewhere.  She's famous for being an internet sensation with a sex tape and for being curvy and naked in print.  Wow.  If that's all it takes to be famous, then there are a lot of people out there who can aspire to greatness.

The bigger question for me though is this: what is the matter with the public that they can take someone without any obvious talent and make them a "Star"?  I don't understand the obsession with reality shows and I am completely clueless as to the appeal of celebutantes and their ilk.  There are so many people deserving of that kind of attention who haven't stripped down to their birthday suits.  Don't get me wrong.  I'm sure the Kardashians are perfectly lovely people, I just don't care to see them on TV.  Or on the covers of countless magazines each month.  When they start contributing to society as a whole, then maybe I'll pay a little attention.  Maybe.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


Update 3/27/10: Yes, I realize there is a certain irony on commenting on pseudo celebrities in a negative way on this blog.  By doing so I help perpetuate the cycle of keeping their names in the public's eye.  I suppose my saving grace is that I'm not making any money off of this.

Password Overload

I've done it again.  I've joined another blog community.  I'm sure that I must be insane.  I now have access to three different blogs under my name: this one on Blogger, one on WordPress (because I couldn't decided between the two when I first started out) and now one on a different site.  Oh, I also have JimShue.com because my stinking ego didn't want some other guy with the same name to claim the domain just in case I become famous. :) 

Blogger is my primary one.  I've been using this one for over a year now and feel comfortable with the format and the functionality of it.  I'm please that I can customize the look of it to make it my own without having to pay a webmaster (why does that sound slightly S & M to me?) to create something unique for me.  I can change colors and the background image in the Masthead to make my blog somewhat unique to me.

WordPress I use to email thoughts from work - that is when I have free time.  It sat dormant for about a year before I posted for the first time to it.  I think it was a rant about idiot early a.m. drivers.  From the one post that there is, you can probably discern that the free time from work thing hasn't happened yet.  In fact, we've been on mandatory overtime off and on for three months now which doesn't give me any time to waste company time by sending emails to my blog.

The third one I started today just so that I could have access to a blog that is being kept private.  I can't go into details bout it.  If I did I'd have to kill you.  Ha!  Seriously, it's a friend who's new to this and just doesn't want to go public, but wants some encouragement from a few friends.  I can respect that.  It's a bit scary to put your thoughts down, hit enter and wait to see if anyone is reading and if they are, how their comments are going to go.  Will they be nice?  Or will they be like the ranters on newspaper forums who can't find a nice thing to say about anything?

But having three blogs (and a website) got me to doing some weird math problem.  Counting work, I have three email accounts.  The first email account I had was for work.  I quickly discovered that there were free email accounts to be had and procured one from Hotmail using my name.  I found that after a while of using it to make online purchases and registering for numerous websites or product warranties that the level of spam hitting it was daunting at times.  I then created a Yahoo! account for personal emails.  Having the two really works well as I don't have to check the Hotmail account as often for legitimate email that may have been caught in the spam filter.  Conversely, I rarely received spam on the Yahoo! account.

Now for the tricky part and what is contributing to the feelings of insanity... passwords.  Every account that is created requires a password.  Experts say that to protect your information that you should create a unique password for each separate account.  Um, right.  I'll admit that I've duplicated some passwords and that the accounts that I haven't are the ones that when I'm prompted for a password are the ones that for the life of me I can't remember.  National City has locked me out of their Points program because I can't remember the password.  In order to reset my password I have to enter the PIN that was assigned to me when I signed on for the Points program.  Hell, I can't even remember that a PIN was assigned! 

So what's the answer?  (What was the question?)  Is there an easy way of remembering passwords that are hard enough to thwart hackers?  Is this something I'm too paranoid about?  I'd really like suggestions from any of you that have the same problem.  Short of not doing anything online anymore, I'm stumped.

Time Capsule: Part III

Tomorrow is Ground Hog Day.  My point?  None, actually.  Other than it's a holiday and I had no other tie-in to the continuing archeology dig going on in our garage.  Today's find was a stash of candy inside a purple cardboard heart.  Valentine's Day could be your first assumption, but the actual holiday would be Easter.  Inside the heart was as stash of Cadbury Creme Eggs, circa 2001.  Yup, we're had almost nine year old creme filled chocolate eggs stashed away as if they were Faberge' Eggs handed to us by the Csar of Russia. 

Curiosity got the best of me and I just had to find out what they looked like after all these years.  Here is a picture of what I found inside.  Turns out they aren't so creamy after all this time.  But it wasn't as bad as finding a real Easter egg after a year or two hidden behind a forgotten piece of furniture.  The most surprising part was the smell of chocolate wasn't rancid after sitting in "climate controlled" storage.  Still, I wasn't tempted to try one out.

One final word on this.  Either fresh or nine years old...  Gross.

Time Capsule: Part II

We're down to having an old door and a dining chair left in storage.  Yes, as of Thursday, it is stilled screwed to the wall.  For the second time Robbie had to ask that the screw be removed so that we can clear out the storage room.  If the screw isn't removed by tomorrow, I'll be taking matters into my own hands and cutting a small slit in the fabric advertisement covering the screw head. 

The past week has been an archeological dig.  Going through box after box of paper work. Layer upon layer of the detritus of thirty years piled in desk drawers and banker's boxes.  The worst part (other than the threat of breathing in toxic mold) is that I don't know the person who squirreled away so much crap!  I found a get well card signed by four people that for the life of me I can't recall. There are old pictures of people that I no longer keep in touch with and some are of people that I have no idea who the are.  Maybe I should scan and post them to see if anyone reading this recognizes who they are. 

There are notebooks from the beginnings of my college years/decades, along with grades from those classes.  Transcripts, promissory notes, book receipts, syllabi from a several classes (would anyone care what my assignments were for psychology 101?) and just crap that I've held onto.  Why?  What in the world was I thinking in keeping all that stuff?  Do I really need to know what doors to keep open in the ceramics lab while firing bisque?  Especially since the art department moved to a new building almost ten years ago.

Some of the crap is just painful to go through.  I've found letters from cousins from when I first started college.  There are letters from my mother - always starting off with "you received this letter(s) a couple of weeks ago, but I keep putting off going to the post office".  Several of them included notes from my youngest brother - the most poignant was the one that read "Mark had a 'hard-attack' last week and died."  I couldn't figure out who Mark was and I panicked that I had forgotten some great detail of my life until I got to mother's letter and she told me that my brother's pet Finch Mork had died and she was glad to be rid of the mess that the bird made.  I have unfinished letters never sent (Lord, I hope I never sent them) to old girlfriends - scathing, nasty ones in some cases.  I reached the point that I started running everything through the shredder without reading the contents.

I've shredded old bank statements and the accompanying canceled checks - remember when banks did that? - from when I first went to work for Bank One back in '94.  I really don't think I need to keep the checks I wrote to Target any longer even thought they should be happy that I've been such a consistent and loyal customer all this time.  I even came across a receipt for a loan payment from 1980.  Really?  I kept that?  All the paper I've shredded the past week has filled a large garbage can, and I'm not finished.  It's good that trash pickup is only a couple of days away.

Am I shredding my past?  Will I regret this years from now?  I think the answer to both is no.  I've not missed any of the crap for at least seven years which is a pretty good indicator that I can continue to live with out most of it.  Pictures I'll keep.  Some books I'll keep.  Tax returns go without saying.  Other things that still have a use may be kept, but more than likely they'll get donated.  I'm tired of dragging this stuff around both physically and emotionally.  I think I've said this before, but I'll say it again: nostalgia isn't for me.  I think it's too easy to get caught up in the past and miss out on what is happening now.  And honestly, they're just boxes full of the dried up old bones of the person I once was.  Time to bury them for good.

Time Capsule: Part I

We finally decided that we had spent enough money on a storage closet over the past seven years.  We originally planned on having it for a short time and move the remaining furniture and various other things to Chicago when we got settled in.  It never happened.  We got there, found the apartment furnished fully and decided that we would keep the dining room furniture in storage until we moved off campus or back to Indiana.  Off campus was not an option once we realized that we could never afford anything close to where we worked or that was habitable.  And because it was all there and out of sight, it was just easier to pay a few dollars a month instead of dealing with getting rid of it.

So here we are, seven years later with a storage closet full of crap.  Literally.  We opened it up recently to give away the table and chairs - the house we bought doesn't have a dining room and the eat in kitchen isnt' big enough for a double pedestal table with a built in butterfly leaf and six chairs - and discovered that some vermin of unknown species had decided to use an antique upholstered chair as a litter box.  We also were only able to give five of the six chairs away when we discovered that the storage company had done some work sometime in the past and screwed the sixth chair to the wall from the outside.  It's unmovable until they remove the screw from the wall.

Over the weekend, we started pulling the rest of our belongings out of "climate controlled" storage unit.  I'm telling you right now that we would have been better off either putting things in a garden shed in a friends back yard or just setting things on fire.  Comforters were so riddled with mold and mildew that we couldn't really tell what color they originally were - into the dumpster they went.  Wood furniture has mold growing on the legs. Books in boxes are so stench filled that I'm hesitant to bring them in past the garage until I can figure out how to deodorize them.

Some of the stuff that I originally put into storage I now wonder why the hell I was keeping it in the first place.  I have a rocking chair that I had envisioned going into Riley's nursery.  It has rockers that are chewed up (they were that way when I got it) and an upholstered seat that just doesn't seem like it'll be worth the effort anymore.  It is an Arts & Crafts style that some wisdom filled person in it's past decided to "antique" with a faux paint job.  I'm guessing from the American Eagle decal that it was last done in the 70's.  Stripping it down to the original laminate wood veneer seems like such a waste of time that I am in short supply of anyway.

I've also been finding paperwork dating back over 15 years and pictures going back almost 30.  The pictures are a hoot.  The paperwork not so much.  What the hell do I need with a letter from BMG music service letting me know that I can send back a selection by filling out the attached paperwork?  What cassette-yes cassette-was it that I mistakenly received?  I have no idea, but I still have the paperwork to send it back if I remember and find it.  Yesterday was spent going through boxes deciding what stays, what is trash and what can be donated.  Most of it is trash.  Why do we/I keep a hold of these things for so long?  I may burn up a paper shredder before I'm done purging.  And if you know of anyone that needs a Frisbee collection, let me know.

Hang in there or let go already

It must be the Gemini in me.  I've been looking at this leaf that is still hanging on to our flowering pear tree growing in the front yard.  It has turned brown from the cold of winter.  And yet it still is hanging there, swaying whenever the slightest breeze passes by.  Snapping to and fro like a pennant when the wind picks up.  It's the last one left on the tree and makes me wonder what it's doing just hanging there.  I keep thinking it should just let go already and turn itself into compost.

Then I find myself watching it sway gently in the January sun and minutes have gone by.  There's something mesmerizing about that damned leaf.  I've actually been watching it for at least 15 days, waiting for the falling temperatures to finally snap the bond between the leaf and the branch - so far not happening.  So now my blog has turned into "Leaf Watch 2010" which makes me akin to the local weather forecasters who take a certain glee in turning any snowstorm with the potential of over an inch of accumulation into a piece of hyperbole hopefully unrivaled by their peers.  Amateurs.

"OK.  So now what?" they ask.  Is there some major decision that he's been vacillating on?  Or is it as simple as being in the moment and enjoying the random beauty of a solitary leaf oscillating in the breeze on a gray winter's day.  Maybe it's watching others around weighing their options for the thousandth time and wondering what is it that makes it so hard for them to make a decision. 

Ah.  But that's just the problem, isn't it.  It's easy to make the decision for others when you don't have anything at stake.  For the outside observer, things may be very black and white but more often than not there are so many various shades of gray that it's difficult for the person inside the situation to see the edges of the problem (or sometimes problems) as they all seem to fade into one large pool of indecisiveness in which the person doesn't even realize they are drowning.  (See what I mean about hyperbole? Amateurs.)

I don't have anyone specific in mind.  I just have several friends that I know are unhappy in their current situations.  Some of them are trying to figure out their professional lives ("...and what do you want to be when you grow up?")  Some of them just have a general malaise around their love life.  Either they're in a relationship that they don't want to be in or they want to be in one and aren't.  Then there are the friends who are having trouble believing that the grass isn't greener elsewhere and can't see that what they have is pretty weed free. 

I had a friend years ago that owned his own business.  He noticed that I would always make the same laps around the store to look at things whenever I came in.  One day he told me to walk my usual path the in the opposite direction.  I couldn't believe all the new things they had.  Only it wasn't new merchandise, but I had trained my eye to only look in the same direction and missed everything else.  The trick is to not change where you are, but to take a different way of looking at what's right in front of you.  Or at least look at things differently before changing where you are and then you can decide if you want to hang on a while longer, or let go already.

In case you're wondering, I'm just trying to decide what it is I need to write about.  And not on this blog.  Some things require much more space than I want to give here.  I'm lazy that way.  Up next time, a continuation (Sher says FINALLY!) of "Connecting the Dots."  Until then...