When I awoke the ship was rocking. My head was soon to follow. I couldn’t walk without holding on to the handrail and it wasn’t because we were going through the perfect storm. The water was somewhat choppy but it was mostly my equilibrium. This made a lovely cocktail with my normal morning low blood pressure and lightheadedness. It’s times like this when you just suck it up and do what you can do. I wobbled up and got some sea sickness pills from the purser. I wanted breakfast but each 50 feet toward the restaurant was a major achievement in navigating so the it seemed light years away. I grabbed a muffin as I teetered by and dove for a seat. I slugged through the next two hour like that prepared for an entire day of laying in bed. Fortunately I felt much better after noon and headed up to one of the open decks. My target was the adults only deck which as I expected was crowded but I got a place next to Mrs. Unfortunate Thong and her bejeweled husband and whining teenager. I saw them each day of the cruise and they were a strange lot. Lots of bling, very little zing.
About fifteen minutes after I situated myself next to Senor Bejeweled the sun said goodbye for the day . After an hour of progressively colder breezes I gave up and returned to my cabin. Again I was exhausted from all that relaxing so I napped. Later when I wanted something to eat I went up to one of the slightly-better-than-fast-food restaurants. The bar food was sub-par bar food and the dining room fare was mixed. You know you’re on Wal-Mart cruise lines so you should expect Wal-Mart food. You won’t be disappointed.
There is certainly a diverse group here. Lots of Spanish speakers. Sort of reminds me of the group of people you might see at an amusement park like Cedar Point. Aside from being an elitist, my point is that there was little or no opportunity to find anyone interesting to talk to. Not exactly “my crowd”. I spoke only to the Golden Girls. The Philips, whom I was appalled to learn were not actually both named Philip, do not count because I only spoke to them through the Golden Girls. But that aside I didn’t feel lonely and not too bored. I tried not to think too much how my experience would have been entirely fun with the lovely M at my side. Since I ate at the early seating, it always felt like dinner was fifteen minutes after lunch. At dinner the Golden Girls raved about the pictures of me that the ship’s photographer took every night at dinner. I later took a look. How can you like a picture of yourself?
Dinner was uneventful but I did learn that the sister with no name was actually Lorraine, so I excused myself and promised to meet them at the show. After blogging I headed for the Dynasty Lounge and tonight’s show - Shout. It was decent. Pretty similar to the previous show in theme. Just a hodgepodge of American music and generations. After the conclusion, I said my goodbyes and headed to make my deposit at the casino. As always they accepted my money without a word. After catching the end of Sunday Night Football I packed, set my bag in the hall, gulped some Atavin and nodded off.
Day 4 arrived. Lots of doing nothing waiting to get off this tub. All and all this cruise was not an unpleasant experience, but I won’t do it again. I’ve done at least a dozen solo vacations and although they beat staying at home and freezing your ass off, but they leave much to be desired. This one goes down as the second east interesting solo trip .
I’m now waiting for the plane. Had Pizza Hut pizza for breakfast and I’m ready to ride. Sorry I didn’t do anything stupid this trip -- yet.
See you in the funny papers!
Monday, December 15, 2008
Sunday, December 14, 2008
Alone at Sea, Day 2
Slept through the docking in Nassau at 10:00AM and chose to remain on the ship all day. What was I going to do in Nassau. Shop? Turns out I found the Serenity deck which was adults only and very uncrowded -- doubt that I’ll find the same tomorrow. I don’t know what the temperature is -- I’d guess in the low/mid 70’s. But with the ocean breeze it was truly ideal even though it was totally overcast later in the afternoon. I took my laptop and my camera -- which I have used for a paper weight so far -- and some stuff and camped out. It was overcast enough that I could use my laptop in the sun so I wrote yesterday’s blog in the blissful warmth. This is what a vacation is to me. Being warm and relaxed. Just chillin.
I was so exhausted from relaxing that I needed a nap. Soon it was formal dinner night and since I own my own tux, viola, I wore a tux. Didn’t see another guy who wasn’t working there in a tux. I looked pretty good. Regrettably the two Philips did not join me and the Golden Girls for dinner. I believe they were injecting or imbibing whatever it is they drink or inject. There was a small spat between the sister-whose-name-I-don’t-know and Erica-the-friend over where I would sit. Mercifully no cat fight ensued. The rest of the meal was unremarkable except that I choose to have turkey breast in white sauce with pasta -- really bad. The Girls all ate two servings of lobster tails. None of them are shy about packing it in. I learned from the sister with no name that there was a well known flamenco guitarist on board who was hosting a private tour group. She told me twice that she tried to upgrade their free tickets (sister Linda won two free tickets to the cruise) but the rude agent wouldn’t agree. I smiled politely.
After dinner, a show! Wow, just like being on Broadway. I asked the Girls to save me a seat and I quickly adjourned to my room. After a brief look at email I headed to the casino to try to continue my unlucky streak that’s been going on since, let’s see . . . Forever. Would you believe it? I was successful -- my luck is unwaveringly bad. Off to the show. When I found the sister with no name there the theatre was hosting a bingo game until the “real” entertainment began. It’s one thing to play bingo, but watching bingo is just there with watching someone pump gas. Mercifully it was over quickly and the show began -- Living in America. I was expecting something pretty amateurish and through the first half dozen numbers I was thinking a decent high school music department could do this. Of course, I doubt the show girls would have butt floss bottoms in high school like these girls did but who knows. The energy level really skyrocketed from there. Being an addictive people watcher, I never watch the show -- I watch people. She’s got a gut. He’s out of sync. She’s bursting with energy. I wonder how old that girl singer is. How’d she get here? On the way down or never made it at all? I wonder how many of these kids are still trying to make it big. It’s fascinating to me. All in all the show was very entertaining.
But it really, really made me miss the lovely M. I know she would say that it’s my fault that she wasn’t with me -- and she’d be right. But it’s just the kind of thing that’s 100% better when you’re with someone that you’re excited about. And she really excites me. At the moment I am trying to convince me to give me yet another chance at love. So I must be very careful that I express myself clearly. For example, M agreed to meet me to talk on the day before I went on the cruise. Now I knew a genie was not going to pop out of a bottle and grant me three wishes, but if he did my first wish would have been that she would come with me -- just like that, on the spur of the moment. Of course reality plays havoc with such fantasies, but I gave it a shot. {You have noticed I’m alone, haven’t you?} But we talked for almost two hours and she really let me have it -- and it was a revelation. Once I turned off my defensiveness and tried to listen and imagine how my behavior these past couple of months looked to her, I really felt like a light bulb went on and yet again I really learned something about M and about me too. I’m pretty sure I now understand what it will take on my part to understand her and to re-claim her love. Here’s the place where I could write pages about M and my feelings for her and my insights into her and how she became the woman she is now. But that’s not for the reader. So watch this space in the future to see if Jimi boy can stay true to his word and win back his dream girl. My children must cringe when they read this stuff.
After the show I said good night to my companions -- whose only memorable remark the entire evening was “You sit here, Jim. A rose between two thorns.” BTW, what was the name of Bea Arthur’s character on Golden Girls? I know she was scary and I couldn’t understand why her character would be attractive to any man. She looked like a man-eater, meat-grinder, sore-loser. I returned to the casino. Made a small deposit. And returned to my luxurious cabin to sleep.
I was so exhausted from relaxing that I needed a nap. Soon it was formal dinner night and since I own my own tux, viola, I wore a tux. Didn’t see another guy who wasn’t working there in a tux. I looked pretty good. Regrettably the two Philips did not join me and the Golden Girls for dinner. I believe they were injecting or imbibing whatever it is they drink or inject. There was a small spat between the sister-whose-name-I-don’t-know and Erica-the-friend over where I would sit. Mercifully no cat fight ensued. The rest of the meal was unremarkable except that I choose to have turkey breast in white sauce with pasta -- really bad. The Girls all ate two servings of lobster tails. None of them are shy about packing it in. I learned from the sister with no name that there was a well known flamenco guitarist on board who was hosting a private tour group. She told me twice that she tried to upgrade their free tickets (sister Linda won two free tickets to the cruise) but the rude agent wouldn’t agree. I smiled politely.
After dinner, a show! Wow, just like being on Broadway. I asked the Girls to save me a seat and I quickly adjourned to my room. After a brief look at email I headed to the casino to try to continue my unlucky streak that’s been going on since, let’s see . . . Forever. Would you believe it? I was successful -- my luck is unwaveringly bad. Off to the show. When I found the sister with no name there the theatre was hosting a bingo game until the “real” entertainment began. It’s one thing to play bingo, but watching bingo is just there with watching someone pump gas. Mercifully it was over quickly and the show began -- Living in America. I was expecting something pretty amateurish and through the first half dozen numbers I was thinking a decent high school music department could do this. Of course, I doubt the show girls would have butt floss bottoms in high school like these girls did but who knows. The energy level really skyrocketed from there. Being an addictive people watcher, I never watch the show -- I watch people. She’s got a gut. He’s out of sync. She’s bursting with energy. I wonder how old that girl singer is. How’d she get here? On the way down or never made it at all? I wonder how many of these kids are still trying to make it big. It’s fascinating to me. All in all the show was very entertaining.
But it really, really made me miss the lovely M. I know she would say that it’s my fault that she wasn’t with me -- and she’d be right. But it’s just the kind of thing that’s 100% better when you’re with someone that you’re excited about. And she really excites me. At the moment I am trying to convince me to give me yet another chance at love. So I must be very careful that I express myself clearly. For example, M agreed to meet me to talk on the day before I went on the cruise. Now I knew a genie was not going to pop out of a bottle and grant me three wishes, but if he did my first wish would have been that she would come with me -- just like that, on the spur of the moment. Of course reality plays havoc with such fantasies, but I gave it a shot. {You have noticed I’m alone, haven’t you?} But we talked for almost two hours and she really let me have it -- and it was a revelation. Once I turned off my defensiveness and tried to listen and imagine how my behavior these past couple of months looked to her, I really felt like a light bulb went on and yet again I really learned something about M and about me too. I’m pretty sure I now understand what it will take on my part to understand her and to re-claim her love. Here’s the place where I could write pages about M and my feelings for her and my insights into her and how she became the woman she is now. But that’s not for the reader. So watch this space in the future to see if Jimi boy can stay true to his word and win back his dream girl. My children must cringe when they read this stuff.
After the show I said good night to my companions -- whose only memorable remark the entire evening was “You sit here, Jim. A rose between two thorns.” BTW, what was the name of Bea Arthur’s character on Golden Girls? I know she was scary and I couldn’t understand why her character would be attractive to any man. She looked like a man-eater, meat-grinder, sore-loser. I returned to the casino. Made a small deposit. And returned to my luxurious cabin to sleep.
Saturday, December 13, 2008
Alone at Sea
It’s December so it must mean that your humble writer is taking a trip to the tropics alone. Yes that’s two straight Decembers that I’ve managed to pay for a trip with my girlfriend for fun in the sun and have ended up with no girlfriend and no fun . . . Through no one’s fault but mine. More about that later.
So Friday morning I wake up very early but still too late, because although I set the time on my alarm clock, I didn’t turn the alarm on. Always a bad omen to try to hurry and get ready early in the morning when you blood pressure is hovering around 70/50. Anthony had an 8:00 AM exam and my flight was at 9:15, so we were of to the airport at 7:00AM. Anthony was driving me in a really nice little BMW 335 that seems to be a bit too nice a car for a college freshman. Guess maybe he was warming up for the weekend in his new wheels. Since the car seems eerily like my brand new BWM I was hopeful that he would show it the respect due and not push the little turbo charged 300 hp engine to its limit. His former transportation -- you remember that 2001 GTI he had to have? -- is a bit peeked because the clutch has given up the ghost even though he has just sold his soul to put 4 new tires on it. A lemon by any other acronym is still a lemon.
We arrived on time and I got through security painlessly and headed for the National Koney Island for breakfast. Not bad for airport food. I ate and headed for the plane. I had what I though was a really good seat near first class. Unfortunately the online diagram of the plane was not a match for the real life plane. I settled into my window seat -- something I avoid like the plague -- and hoped for the best. The best turned out to be a mother and baby - an unhappy baby. I was cool about it. As long as I didn’t have to get up to pee which would make her move the 9,000 pounds of snacks and shit she had on her tray. Fortunately I made it through easily and logged away the experience regarding not trusting the seat diagram -- there were supposed to be two handicapped seats, i.e., empty spaces, next to me. The kid was pretty unhappy about staying in his seat for landing but he was just expressing how we all felt about being packed in like sardines.
I took the bus to the Port of Miami and after tipping about 12 people -- “don’t forget your bus driver“-- I checked in on board the lovely Carnival Imagination, or as I came to know it, Chuck E. Cheese At Sea. Wal-Mart Cruise Lines, oops I mean Carnival Cruise lines is truly the man on the street’s cruise -- and his children’s cruise line. You want beautiful people? Turn around and walk down to the Norwegian ship ‘cause they ain’t here. It’s an eclectic group with non-whites probably in the majority. Fine by me but fat ugly people eating ice cream cones regardless of their color or nationality look just as gross as those fat ugly people eating ice cream cones on Mackinaw Island. Well maybe they’re better here ‘cause they don’t glow in the dark like us whities do.
I had one urgent concern -when I arrived at the ship. Where I was going to sit for dinner. I was assigned to the late seating at 8:15 PM which was good, but would I again share space with mothers and unhappy or worse yet, happy kiddies. I accepted a singles table at the 6:00PM seating with a sense of foreboding. In my extensive travels most of the single people over thirty that I observe to be single and traveling with friends are single for reasons that are immediately apparent. Also lots of gay couples travel together (would they travel apart?) and avoid kids. So I entered the dining hall repeating a silent prayer “ “God, please grant me a miracle. Please, God!” Why I expected results for a non-believer is a small mystery but my prayers were not answered. On the other hand My best guess was right on the mark. Waiting with their oh-please-let-me-meet-a-man smiles of expectation were three matronly sisters and their equally matronly friend. The oldest sister was wheelchair bound. {Ok, stop here and laugh at me in my usual what-the-fuck-do-I do-now circumstance.} They had just come from central casting having just read for the lead in Golden Girls but none of them was as hot as Bea Arthur. Hard by approached a gay couple both named Philip. They were salt and pepper and Phillip One was shaking so hard he made my tremor unnoticeable. Me think they had playtime in the cabin before dinner.
Now that I’ve taken my shots at them, I’d be lying to say that the women weren’t interesting to talk to. The non-sister (sorry I missed the names) kept winking at me. Yikes! We talked about traveling and the Philips just shook. Philip Two was too cold.
After dinner I was exhausted and having had many episodes of lightheadedness I repaired to my cabin and fell asleep. At eleven I woke and still felt sea sick so I wanted so air. I wanted to eat too but I just restarted Weight Watchers five days ago, so I wanted to maintain my diet. So I wanders. I love standing on the bow and watching the ocean -- day and night. At you’re often all alone which is a pretty soothing feeling. When I saw too cold for any more standing in the wind I wandered into the casinos. I didn’t loose all my money which is an improvement.
Now to sleep again.
So Friday morning I wake up very early but still too late, because although I set the time on my alarm clock, I didn’t turn the alarm on. Always a bad omen to try to hurry and get ready early in the morning when you blood pressure is hovering around 70/50. Anthony had an 8:00 AM exam and my flight was at 9:15, so we were of to the airport at 7:00AM. Anthony was driving me in a really nice little BMW 335 that seems to be a bit too nice a car for a college freshman. Guess maybe he was warming up for the weekend in his new wheels. Since the car seems eerily like my brand new BWM I was hopeful that he would show it the respect due and not push the little turbo charged 300 hp engine to its limit. His former transportation -- you remember that 2001 GTI he had to have? -- is a bit peeked because the clutch has given up the ghost even though he has just sold his soul to put 4 new tires on it. A lemon by any other acronym is still a lemon.
We arrived on time and I got through security painlessly and headed for the National Koney Island for breakfast. Not bad for airport food. I ate and headed for the plane. I had what I though was a really good seat near first class. Unfortunately the online diagram of the plane was not a match for the real life plane. I settled into my window seat -- something I avoid like the plague -- and hoped for the best. The best turned out to be a mother and baby - an unhappy baby. I was cool about it. As long as I didn’t have to get up to pee which would make her move the 9,000 pounds of snacks and shit she had on her tray. Fortunately I made it through easily and logged away the experience regarding not trusting the seat diagram -- there were supposed to be two handicapped seats, i.e., empty spaces, next to me. The kid was pretty unhappy about staying in his seat for landing but he was just expressing how we all felt about being packed in like sardines.
I took the bus to the Port of Miami and after tipping about 12 people -- “don’t forget your bus driver“-- I checked in on board the lovely Carnival Imagination, or as I came to know it, Chuck E. Cheese At Sea. Wal-Mart Cruise Lines, oops I mean Carnival Cruise lines is truly the man on the street’s cruise -- and his children’s cruise line. You want beautiful people? Turn around and walk down to the Norwegian ship ‘cause they ain’t here. It’s an eclectic group with non-whites probably in the majority. Fine by me but fat ugly people eating ice cream cones regardless of their color or nationality look just as gross as those fat ugly people eating ice cream cones on Mackinaw Island. Well maybe they’re better here ‘cause they don’t glow in the dark like us whities do.
I had one urgent concern -when I arrived at the ship. Where I was going to sit for dinner. I was assigned to the late seating at 8:15 PM which was good, but would I again share space with mothers and unhappy or worse yet, happy kiddies. I accepted a singles table at the 6:00PM seating with a sense of foreboding. In my extensive travels most of the single people over thirty that I observe to be single and traveling with friends are single for reasons that are immediately apparent. Also lots of gay couples travel together (would they travel apart?) and avoid kids. So I entered the dining hall repeating a silent prayer “ “God, please grant me a miracle. Please, God!” Why I expected results for a non-believer is a small mystery but my prayers were not answered. On the other hand My best guess was right on the mark. Waiting with their oh-please-let-me-meet-a-man smiles of expectation were three matronly sisters and their equally matronly friend. The oldest sister was wheelchair bound. {Ok, stop here and laugh at me in my usual what-the-fuck-do-I do-now circumstance.} They had just come from central casting having just read for the lead in Golden Girls but none of them was as hot as Bea Arthur. Hard by approached a gay couple both named Philip. They were salt and pepper and Phillip One was shaking so hard he made my tremor unnoticeable. Me think they had playtime in the cabin before dinner.
Now that I’ve taken my shots at them, I’d be lying to say that the women weren’t interesting to talk to. The non-sister (sorry I missed the names) kept winking at me. Yikes! We talked about traveling and the Philips just shook. Philip Two was too cold.
After dinner I was exhausted and having had many episodes of lightheadedness I repaired to my cabin and fell asleep. At eleven I woke and still felt sea sick so I wanted so air. I wanted to eat too but I just restarted Weight Watchers five days ago, so I wanted to maintain my diet. So I wanders. I love standing on the bow and watching the ocean -- day and night. At you’re often all alone which is a pretty soothing feeling. When I saw too cold for any more standing in the wind I wandered into the casinos. I didn’t loose all my money which is an improvement.
Now to sleep again.
Tuesday, December 2, 2008
Back in the Saddle
The Lovely M and I have parted so it's time to get back aboard the horse and ride. Time to write something good. Hmm.
For example, nothing beats being the father of the bride. Maybe being present when the bride was born -- but not much else comes close. Funny how all those cliches and corny stuff you've heard and seen about how it makes a guy feel becomes so real. Of course, you're bursting with pride and amazement. How could this beautiful, graceful, poised young woman be the same darling little beauty that you used to sweep up into your arms and carry? I will never forget my amazement a few years ago when I was with my kids in Colorado for my brother's wedding and I was driving up to the parking lot of the park where the ceremony would happen. I saw these two stunning young women from a distance and wondered who they could be. My girls! My god they were women and total knock outs. In October when I saw Clare (NHRN) for the first time in her wedding dress I was awed. Wow my little girl moving on with her life as an adult. It became real at that moment. And if you don't feel that momentary sadness that another man is taking your place as the main man in her life, then you're kidding yourself.
One of the great joys of parenthood is watching your children succeed and become responsible adults. It's so humbling. You know that you must have done pretty well to raise such a wonderful person but it's hard to accept that you had much to do with it. It feels like you were just struggling along doing what you could and trying not to screw up too bad when, Shazam, there stands a fully grown adult who is going to be a wonderful citizen of the world. I've always thought that my first responsibility to society is to raise my kids to be good people and responsible citizens. When I first saw this happening I was amazed -- now I just simmer with pride.
And for example, there's falling in and out of love -- not too sure about the falling out of love part. I saw a picture of the lovely M by chance yesterday and I had to turn away it made me so sad. I was so sure that I could make this one work. But it didn't. So again I get to ask myself the time honored cliche "Was it better to have loved and lost . . . ?" Right now I'd say, no it wasn't. It was too little of a great thing. Far too little. I enjoyed her company as much as is possible. She was truly an expert at fun; having spent many years perfecting the skill and looking for someone to share the fun with.
I really can't go on about M without (a) putting myself down yet again -- you know, another failed relationship or (b) revealing more than a gentleman would. So on to whatever is next. And what wonderful timing -- the lovely holidays with their good cheer. Ever thing about the damn holidays reminds you that you have no one to celebrate with -- or to soothe you after the I'm-having-so-much-fun-my-fucking-head-is going-to-explode times with family. When I publish my memories I'll spill my guts on all of my most recent love affair.
Remember Romy and Michele -- not the movie characters -- the pseudonyms for my too good friends from "the karaoke bar". I don't know what I have ever done to deserve such good friends but whatever it is I should do more. They are great. Romy is so thoughtful and considerate and giving she should get a medal of honor. We have been hanging out at the bar again and they are trying to convince me to get up and sing. Holy shit! What a terrifying concept for everybody.
So another December rolls around and I am heading South on a trip that was intended for me and a companion but she is AWOL. Last year's adventure proved to be far more interesting when I returned and wrote my blog. I got some interesting comments from Anonymous that lead me to wonder who this mysterious person was. I solved the mystery but it would have been more fun to still be wondering. This time I taking a solo cruise to to the Bahamas for the weekend. Both the cruise and the flight was already paid for because I had them left from prior fucked-up-disasters. When I hit the road you know that calamity is right behind me, so we'll see what stupid human tricks I pull this time.
Thanks for reading.
J
For example, nothing beats being the father of the bride. Maybe being present when the bride was born -- but not much else comes close. Funny how all those cliches and corny stuff you've heard and seen about how it makes a guy feel becomes so real. Of course, you're bursting with pride and amazement. How could this beautiful, graceful, poised young woman be the same darling little beauty that you used to sweep up into your arms and carry? I will never forget my amazement a few years ago when I was with my kids in Colorado for my brother's wedding and I was driving up to the parking lot of the park where the ceremony would happen. I saw these two stunning young women from a distance and wondered who they could be. My girls! My god they were women and total knock outs. In October when I saw Clare (NHRN) for the first time in her wedding dress I was awed. Wow my little girl moving on with her life as an adult. It became real at that moment. And if you don't feel that momentary sadness that another man is taking your place as the main man in her life, then you're kidding yourself.
One of the great joys of parenthood is watching your children succeed and become responsible adults. It's so humbling. You know that you must have done pretty well to raise such a wonderful person but it's hard to accept that you had much to do with it. It feels like you were just struggling along doing what you could and trying not to screw up too bad when, Shazam, there stands a fully grown adult who is going to be a wonderful citizen of the world. I've always thought that my first responsibility to society is to raise my kids to be good people and responsible citizens. When I first saw this happening I was amazed -- now I just simmer with pride.
And for example, there's falling in and out of love -- not too sure about the falling out of love part. I saw a picture of the lovely M by chance yesterday and I had to turn away it made me so sad. I was so sure that I could make this one work. But it didn't. So again I get to ask myself the time honored cliche "Was it better to have loved and lost . . . ?" Right now I'd say, no it wasn't. It was too little of a great thing. Far too little. I enjoyed her company as much as is possible. She was truly an expert at fun; having spent many years perfecting the skill and looking for someone to share the fun with.
I really can't go on about M without (a) putting myself down yet again -- you know, another failed relationship or (b) revealing more than a gentleman would. So on to whatever is next. And what wonderful timing -- the lovely holidays with their good cheer. Ever thing about the damn holidays reminds you that you have no one to celebrate with -- or to soothe you after the I'm-having-so-much-fun-my-fucking-head-is going-to-explode times with family. When I publish my memories I'll spill my guts on all of my most recent love affair.
Remember Romy and Michele -- not the movie characters -- the pseudonyms for my too good friends from "the karaoke bar". I don't know what I have ever done to deserve such good friends but whatever it is I should do more. They are great. Romy is so thoughtful and considerate and giving she should get a medal of honor. We have been hanging out at the bar again and they are trying to convince me to get up and sing. Holy shit! What a terrifying concept for everybody.
So another December rolls around and I am heading South on a trip that was intended for me and a companion but she is AWOL. Last year's adventure proved to be far more interesting when I returned and wrote my blog. I got some interesting comments from Anonymous that lead me to wonder who this mysterious person was. I solved the mystery but it would have been more fun to still be wondering. This time I taking a solo cruise to to the Bahamas for the weekend. Both the cruise and the flight was already paid for because I had them left from prior fucked-up-disasters. When I hit the road you know that calamity is right behind me, so we'll see what stupid human tricks I pull this time.
Thanks for reading.
J
Tuesday, July 15, 2008
Up North
What the hell is the fascination with going Up North? I bet I wasn't in Michigan for 72 hours before I heard someone say they were "going up North." I had no fucking clue what this meant. Going to Muskegon? Probably not. Without knowing where it was, I still was baffled by what was up there and what you did up there. Well, now I've spent a week there (as well as a couple of lesser "Up North" trips) and I still don't get it.
If you want to know when you're Up North, you need to ask those who habitually go there. North of Flint, yes; but how much further north, I don't know. I also sense that Up North means different things to those who go. People who go to Frankfurt and people who go to Petoskey have different perceptions and expectations -- so let's go with Petoskey as our typical Up North place. I'm sure people from the thumb side of Michigan may not buy that but I think the appeal -- which remains a mystery to me -- is the same.
The lovely M and I stayed in Petoskey with a beautiful view of a sign for a strip mall behind which was the harbour. I think is was Little Traverse Bay. Just a minute, I'll check (hum the Final Jeopardy theme, will ya? . . . yes, that's right. Not exactly the view of the Golden Gate and Bay Bridges, but beautiful none the less. Then there's the town. Up to date but quaint. Cutesy little shops and restaurants obviously focused on vacationers and summertime residents. Very nice to walk around and window shop or stop to eat. Is this why I'm here?
Then you have Harbor Springs and Charlevoix -- more of the same but smaller. OK, OK. The Harbor Springs people (Grosse Pointe north) would not agree, but I say they are all quaint little towns for summer residents and vacationers that are on Lake Michigan. Next we have Mackinaw or Mackinac or Mackinack Island. All of which spell MACK-IN-AWE. I think. Let me sum it up this way -- poorly dressed, fat, white people eating fudge. Of course, you've heard that there are no cars, right? So there won't be any congestion; not so fast, baldy. There are a zillion bicycles darting in and around the poorly dressed, fat, white people eating fudge. There's the Grand Hotel. I guess it's grand -- I didn't feel like walking up there or pedaling. Bicycling around the island? Why prolong the agony?
There are lots of beautiful homes with fabulous views of the bay on the inland side of the main street on Macinack. Unfortunately their view is obstructed by poorly dressed, fat, white people eating fudge. Million dollar homes -- ten cent view. Our goal was to be off the island in less than an hour. We missed by 5 minutes. Compared to this place, Myrtle Beach is Palm Springs!
The Mackinack Bridge. Now that's interesting. How can a five mile long suspension bridge not be interesting? The Danger High Winds signs add a little intrigue to it. Trucks and trailers cannot go more than 20mph, so you know there's serious wind. It was pretty cool. Then you arrive in the tip of the U.P. St. Ignace to be precise. Home of an Indian-owned casino that was shitty. Loose a quick $80 and move on.
We unexpectedly hung out with some summer residents of Harbor Springs most nights. Unexpectedly because we were surprised to be spending four evenings with them -- rather than maybe one. All very lovely people but we really wanted to be alone in our hotel room or wherever we chose. Our friends were quite enamoured with our truly unexpected guests, an older couple whose name is well known in Detroit because their son was one of the Pistons' Bad Boys of the late 80's. They were less than delightful to Lady M and me. Their predictable grouchiness toward each other was cute for about three minutes, then not so much. The main thing was that we were with three married couples who own homes in Harbor Springs and I could not figure out why. What do you do up there?
Here is was the middleoffuckinkjuly and it was cool and overcast 5 of 6 days. You know the picturesque views look pretty dreary when it's gray out. And what the fuck do you do up there all summer? Golf yes, but there are a million nice looking golf courses "down state";not to mention in true vacation spots like the Carolinas or Florida or Arizona. So I'm still wondering: What is so appealing about Up North?
Can you tell me?
If you want to know when you're Up North, you need to ask those who habitually go there. North of Flint, yes; but how much further north, I don't know. I also sense that Up North means different things to those who go. People who go to Frankfurt and people who go to Petoskey have different perceptions and expectations -- so let's go with Petoskey as our typical Up North place. I'm sure people from the thumb side of Michigan may not buy that but I think the appeal -- which remains a mystery to me -- is the same.
The lovely M and I stayed in Petoskey with a beautiful view of a sign for a strip mall behind which was the harbour. I think is was Little Traverse Bay. Just a minute, I'll check (hum the Final Jeopardy theme, will ya? . . . yes, that's right. Not exactly the view of the Golden Gate and Bay Bridges, but beautiful none the less. Then there's the town. Up to date but quaint. Cutesy little shops and restaurants obviously focused on vacationers and summertime residents. Very nice to walk around and window shop or stop to eat. Is this why I'm here?
Then you have Harbor Springs and Charlevoix -- more of the same but smaller. OK, OK. The Harbor Springs people (Grosse Pointe north) would not agree, but I say they are all quaint little towns for summer residents and vacationers that are on Lake Michigan. Next we have Mackinaw or Mackinac or Mackinack Island. All of which spell MACK-IN-AWE. I think. Let me sum it up this way -- poorly dressed, fat, white people eating fudge. Of course, you've heard that there are no cars, right? So there won't be any congestion; not so fast, baldy. There are a zillion bicycles darting in and around the poorly dressed, fat, white people eating fudge. There's the Grand Hotel. I guess it's grand -- I didn't feel like walking up there or pedaling. Bicycling around the island? Why prolong the agony?
There are lots of beautiful homes with fabulous views of the bay on the inland side of the main street on Macinack. Unfortunately their view is obstructed by poorly dressed, fat, white people eating fudge. Million dollar homes -- ten cent view. Our goal was to be off the island in less than an hour. We missed by 5 minutes. Compared to this place, Myrtle Beach is Palm Springs!
The Mackinack Bridge. Now that's interesting. How can a five mile long suspension bridge not be interesting? The Danger High Winds signs add a little intrigue to it. Trucks and trailers cannot go more than 20mph, so you know there's serious wind. It was pretty cool. Then you arrive in the tip of the U.P. St. Ignace to be precise. Home of an Indian-owned casino that was shitty. Loose a quick $80 and move on.
We unexpectedly hung out with some summer residents of Harbor Springs most nights. Unexpectedly because we were surprised to be spending four evenings with them -- rather than maybe one. All very lovely people but we really wanted to be alone in our hotel room or wherever we chose. Our friends were quite enamoured with our truly unexpected guests, an older couple whose name is well known in Detroit because their son was one of the Pistons' Bad Boys of the late 80's. They were less than delightful to Lady M and me. Their predictable grouchiness toward each other was cute for about three minutes, then not so much. The main thing was that we were with three married couples who own homes in Harbor Springs and I could not figure out why. What do you do up there?
Here is was the middleoffuckinkjuly and it was cool and overcast 5 of 6 days. You know the picturesque views look pretty dreary when it's gray out. And what the fuck do you do up there all summer? Golf yes, but there are a million nice looking golf courses "down state";not to mention in true vacation spots like the Carolinas or Florida or Arizona. So I'm still wondering: What is so appealing about Up North?
Can you tell me?
Sunday, June 22, 2008
Missing Blogs
In my case having a life and blogging don't seem to mix. It's the difference between carving out time for writing a blog and having all the time you need to do any kind of shit you want; like writing a blog. That must mean I haven't carved out because . . .
As I mentioned last time, my daughter Denise (not her real name, of course) graduated from college in April. My graduation gift you her was two round trip tickets (and hotel, etc.) to London. The second ticket was for me because I had helped her find a temporary job in Cambridge with my old company for six weeksand I was her traveling companion. We had an interesting time. Interesting time like when the Chinese say "May you live in interesting times." It was a busy and tiring but rewarding experience -- for both of us, I think. Having been to Europe many, many times, London in particular at least 40 times, I had offered to help Denise with her first trip abroad. I was not looking forward to making the flight in coach, and my concerns were borne out. Even in an exit row seat with my daughter next to me, it was exhausting for both of us. We got to our hotel without any trouble and I fell asleep. I knew things were taking a turn for the worse when I woke up and Denise was nearly in tears because she had not gotten her work visa stamped at immigration at the airport. I was very reassuring -- just an administrative snafu that we can handle, blah, blah. I was not buying the student job agency's crap that we might have to leave the country and come back. So we hit the Big Bus tour and saw the sights -- a few.
The next day we went to the agency and again I knew all was not well when Denise came down stairs to me with tears in her eyes and said we have to go to France and retunr to England. Of course, I immediately thought these people must be dumb asses, and we could handle it ourselves. Ha! I was humbled later that evening as we planned our same day trip to France.
The easiest and of course most expensive route was the Eurostar (the train under the Channel). To Calais and back. How bad could it be? With the Pound equal to $2.00 and the Calais station in the middle of a field -- literally -- it was pretty bad. We had to wait less than 2 hours to return and don't think I wasn't shitting a brick over this one little stupid stamp we needed. Thanks god the immigration officer was very competent and figured it all out and we were good to go.
The next day was a beautiful Sunday and we took the train (above ground for a change) to Cambridge and to Doug and Lesley's place where Denise was lodging for six weeks. They were lovely people and I felt better -- but I had a huge lump in my throat as the taxi took me back to the hotel with Denise standing waving on the sidewalk. She's been there two weeks now and other than being followed by a creepy guy (just the once we hope), she is making it okay.
Two days after I returned, M and I went to Philadelphia for site seeing and a formal wedding that her daughter was in. We were not impressed with Philly but we ate at two great places. One was lunch at a French restaurant where I thought we would have to eat foie gras or some shit, but actually we had burgers and onion rings and fries that were gear -- oops, I mean, pomme frites. Then we had dinner at The Saloon which had a western motif but was in fact an Italian restaurant with fabulous food and great characters that looked like a casting call for the Sopranos. Amazing what good sauce can do to a simple plate of spaghetti. We also rode across town to Pat's Original Cheesteak, which was the pits. Don't go there.
I looked great in my (own) tux and M looked fabulous as always for the wedding. It was a beautiful affair. Unfortunately it was very hot and the reception was outside at an estate and I got overheated and very nasty. In hindsight I felt like shit for being such a prick to M, but my demeanor was mostly biological not plain old prickishness.
Prior to the London trip, Anthony graduated from High School. As class President, he gave the final speech and I was so proud. I don't know why but after he concluded his speech and tossed his mortarboard in the air, I cried -- with joy. He is the coolest kid ever -- beside my other three cool kids. He's coming to stay with me for about half the summer and I'm delighted.
There's more family news but it'll keep.
And so, boys and girls, until today I have not been writing blogs.
As I mentioned last time, my daughter Denise (not her real name, of course) graduated from college in April. My graduation gift you her was two round trip tickets (and hotel, etc.) to London. The second ticket was for me because I had helped her find a temporary job in Cambridge with my old company for six weeksand I was her traveling companion. We had an interesting time. Interesting time like when the Chinese say "May you live in interesting times." It was a busy and tiring but rewarding experience -- for both of us, I think. Having been to Europe many, many times, London in particular at least 40 times, I had offered to help Denise with her first trip abroad. I was not looking forward to making the flight in coach, and my concerns were borne out. Even in an exit row seat with my daughter next to me, it was exhausting for both of us. We got to our hotel without any trouble and I fell asleep. I knew things were taking a turn for the worse when I woke up and Denise was nearly in tears because she had not gotten her work visa stamped at immigration at the airport. I was very reassuring -- just an administrative snafu that we can handle, blah, blah. I was not buying the student job agency's crap that we might have to leave the country and come back. So we hit the Big Bus tour and saw the sights -- a few.
The next day we went to the agency and again I knew all was not well when Denise came down stairs to me with tears in her eyes and said we have to go to France and retunr to England. Of course, I immediately thought these people must be dumb asses, and we could handle it ourselves. Ha! I was humbled later that evening as we planned our same day trip to France.
The easiest and of course most expensive route was the Eurostar (the train under the Channel). To Calais and back. How bad could it be? With the Pound equal to $2.00 and the Calais station in the middle of a field -- literally -- it was pretty bad. We had to wait less than 2 hours to return and don't think I wasn't shitting a brick over this one little stupid stamp we needed. Thanks god the immigration officer was very competent and figured it all out and we were good to go.
The next day was a beautiful Sunday and we took the train (above ground for a change) to Cambridge and to Doug and Lesley's place where Denise was lodging for six weeks. They were lovely people and I felt better -- but I had a huge lump in my throat as the taxi took me back to the hotel with Denise standing waving on the sidewalk. She's been there two weeks now and other than being followed by a creepy guy (just the once we hope), she is making it okay.
Two days after I returned, M and I went to Philadelphia for site seeing and a formal wedding that her daughter was in. We were not impressed with Philly but we ate at two great places. One was lunch at a French restaurant where I thought we would have to eat foie gras or some shit, but actually we had burgers and onion rings and fries that were gear -- oops, I mean, pomme frites. Then we had dinner at The Saloon which had a western motif but was in fact an Italian restaurant with fabulous food and great characters that looked like a casting call for the Sopranos. Amazing what good sauce can do to a simple plate of spaghetti. We also rode across town to Pat's Original Cheesteak, which was the pits. Don't go there.
I looked great in my (own) tux and M looked fabulous as always for the wedding. It was a beautiful affair. Unfortunately it was very hot and the reception was outside at an estate and I got overheated and very nasty. In hindsight I felt like shit for being such a prick to M, but my demeanor was mostly biological not plain old prickishness.
Prior to the London trip, Anthony graduated from High School. As class President, he gave the final speech and I was so proud. I don't know why but after he concluded his speech and tossed his mortarboard in the air, I cried -- with joy. He is the coolest kid ever -- beside my other three cool kids. He's coming to stay with me for about half the summer and I'm delighted.
There's more family news but it'll keep.
And so, boys and girls, until today I have not been writing blogs.
Monday, April 28, 2008
What I Did on Spring Break
Ever had two surgeries -- albeit out-patient surgeries -- on consecutive days? Well, it was all part of my Spring Break that seems worth recalling. It was a week with new found love; family ties; health issues; travel and fun. At about 11:00PM Wednesday evening I thought I was about to have a meltdown from stimulus overload, but obviously I made it. Now, can I make it entertaining to you?
I was born on Easter Sunday. So was my eldest daughter Claire (I never use real names) but on a different day; and my eldest son David has had an Easter birthday as well. So this year Claire suggested that we celebrate the April births at one get-together. An excellent idea. We all headed for Columbus, Ohio; the birthday boys and girl and their significant others. (Who the hell came up with that term?) We bowled. Something that most of us -- not you, Claire and Jack -- do about every time we see Haley's Comet. It was great fun. Boys vs. Girls. I believe the Girls kissed (I think I meant "kicked".) our scrawny asses in game one but revenge was extracted in game two. Nothing like donning bowling shoes to give life a whole new garish casualness.
It was the initial meeting of Laura and Claire, Jack, David and Nicky. All went well I think. We had a delicious dinner cooked by Nicky with Claire's assistnace and played cards afterwards. It was fun but without Tony, my youngest son, the pot never got very big. He loves to bet the pot and lose. After breakfast the nest morning Laura and I headed to lovely Michigan. After the trip I got a stomach ache that wouldn't go away. The I finally realized that my umbilical hernia was strangulated. A charming image, isn't it? Good fortune was about since I was scheduled to have it repaired on Tuesday and because I could push my guts back in. Sorry.
I had the scheduled ambulatory surgery Tuesday and Laura babysat me and all was fine. Well, not so fast. My vision had been blurry for 5 days so I thought I should get it checked out. The opthamologist could fit me in in a couple of hours, so Laura came to my rescue and drove across town to chauffeur me again. What a sweetheart! So the doctor examined my eye and thought he saw a tear in my retina -- which was solely due to his thoroughness since it was not causing the blurry vision. Since I have developed a good relationship with him, he called a retinal specialist to see me immediately. The specialist was in surgery but was coming back to his office late. After a couple of emergency surgeries, the specialist met Laura and me at 10:00PM. Half an hour later a bright light and piercing beam was in my eye and my vision was temporarily (at least) preserved from a torn retina. That was a long fucking day and as I said above I was about to lose it half way through the eye surgery but I held it together. No panic attack!
Amazingly I had another Doctor appointment Thursday but that was unproductive and not worth discussing. The only way to look at all this was getting it out of the way at once.
On Saturday my youngest daughter Denise graduated from college. I am so proud of her. That's three through college and one to go. We had dinner afterward and Denise was able to have her whole family with her. It was lovely. I love seeing all four of my children at the same time. They are incredible.
That was my Spring Break. How was yours?
BTW. About new found love . . . Life is good and I'm happy. Which doesn't make for the most entertaining blogs from a notorious smart ass; but deal with it!
I was born on Easter Sunday. So was my eldest daughter Claire (I never use real names) but on a different day; and my eldest son David has had an Easter birthday as well. So this year Claire suggested that we celebrate the April births at one get-together. An excellent idea. We all headed for Columbus, Ohio; the birthday boys and girl and their significant others. (Who the hell came up with that term?) We bowled. Something that most of us -- not you, Claire and Jack -- do about every time we see Haley's Comet. It was great fun. Boys vs. Girls. I believe the Girls kissed (I think I meant "kicked".) our scrawny asses in game one but revenge was extracted in game two. Nothing like donning bowling shoes to give life a whole new garish casualness.
It was the initial meeting of Laura and Claire, Jack, David and Nicky. All went well I think. We had a delicious dinner cooked by Nicky with Claire's assistnace and played cards afterwards. It was fun but without Tony, my youngest son, the pot never got very big. He loves to bet the pot and lose. After breakfast the nest morning Laura and I headed to lovely Michigan. After the trip I got a stomach ache that wouldn't go away. The I finally realized that my umbilical hernia was strangulated. A charming image, isn't it? Good fortune was about since I was scheduled to have it repaired on Tuesday and because I could push my guts back in. Sorry.
I had the scheduled ambulatory surgery Tuesday and Laura babysat me and all was fine. Well, not so fast. My vision had been blurry for 5 days so I thought I should get it checked out. The opthamologist could fit me in in a couple of hours, so Laura came to my rescue and drove across town to chauffeur me again. What a sweetheart! So the doctor examined my eye and thought he saw a tear in my retina -- which was solely due to his thoroughness since it was not causing the blurry vision. Since I have developed a good relationship with him, he called a retinal specialist to see me immediately. The specialist was in surgery but was coming back to his office late. After a couple of emergency surgeries, the specialist met Laura and me at 10:00PM. Half an hour later a bright light and piercing beam was in my eye and my vision was temporarily (at least) preserved from a torn retina. That was a long fucking day and as I said above I was about to lose it half way through the eye surgery but I held it together. No panic attack!
Amazingly I had another Doctor appointment Thursday but that was unproductive and not worth discussing. The only way to look at all this was getting it out of the way at once.
On Saturday my youngest daughter Denise graduated from college. I am so proud of her. That's three through college and one to go. We had dinner afterward and Denise was able to have her whole family with her. It was lovely. I love seeing all four of my children at the same time. They are incredible.
That was my Spring Break. How was yours?
BTW. About new found love . . . Life is good and I'm happy. Which doesn't make for the most entertaining blogs from a notorious smart ass; but deal with it!
Monday, April 14, 2008
Avoiding the Subject
Do you remember how just a few blogs ago I mentioned how many movies I watch? Something like 25-30 a month. Well it seems I have had the same four movies from Netflix for weeks and I haven't watched nore than a few minutes of any of them. Why? I HAVE A LIFE NOW. I have no time for movies. I have found something far more enagaging and exhilerating. . . But why go into that now?
On to safer topics. Are you the oldest child in your family? Being the oldest child in a large family is one of those things that you accept while you’re a kid at home but only after years do you realize how profoundly it influences your entire personality, your maturity, your common sense and your ability to succeed in life. In my case being the oldest of six has had a serious impact on every part of my life: my relationship with my siblings; my relationship with my parents; my own parenting; my career; my ability to mentor other people; and, of course, my relationships with women.
I can only speak to what it’s like being the oldest. I have no idea how it feels to be in a different position in the birth order.
It’s really beginning to be fun to see what being a big brother to my siblings has meant to them. -- Like I have a clue! -- For fifty years or more I just saw myself as one of the kids. It wasn’t until my sixtieth birthday when I received a card from my youngest brother saying he “couldn’t have asked for a better big brother” that it dawned on me that I was a big brother. When I was in school I didn't feel like a big brother becuase my siblings were an annoyance to me. I barely acknowledged them - Particularly my brother Bill. We were two years apart in age and a universe apart in everything else. Bill died last year at fifty-eight. At the time of his death he lived in a subsidized apartment where our Mom paid the rent. When he dropped to the pavement, he had something like 41 cents in his pocket. Other than some throw away furniture, he possessed nothing. His place was the worst shit hole I have ever seen. He was in miserable health. Obese. Smoked hand rolled cigarettes. Had no job nor any prospects. And did God-knows-what all day. Now, rewind the clock to high school and imagine how much our lives intersected. Not at all, of course. We never had a connection in our lives until the last few months of his life when we had poor health in common. The last time I saw him alive, he was so thrilled that I had come to see him. Next thing I knew he was gone. Very strange to have a total stranger as a brother. I have no clue who I was to my brother. I guess I was the one who set a standard he couldn't keep up with and he ended up throwing in the towel.
My younger brother and I are eight years apart. When I left for college at 18, he was 10 and barely existed to me. Forty years later we re-connected and it was like finding a twin that you never knew you had. I was single and so was he – both divorced – and my work travel allowed me to fly through Denver from time to time, so we made of point of seeing each other. We would have dinner and then drive through the foothills of the Rockies and talk. Lots of growing up and family analysis talk but mostly women talk – an area we each had a major lifetime focus. It has been delightful and very comforting. Reminds me of reading Portnoy’s Compliant when I was in my twenties, and thinking “Someone else thinks like I do (about women)”. (Read the book if you don’t follow me.) My younger brother and I have come to have a wonderful close relationship and I love him.
I can’t imagine how my sisters viewed me as an older brother. Maybe they'll tell us. Two of my sisters are alive. My eldest sister was severely retarded and lived about 31 years before she succumbed to Hodgkin’s Disease about fifteen years ago. My middle sister and I were always close - as close as I was to any of my sibs. We got good grades and were both sort of popular and were cynics. Funny how a bad attitude can be a bond between brother and sister. My youngest sister is 13 years younger than me and we had little interaction as kids and not that much more as adults.
I guess my siblings looked up to me or maybe they do now. Hell, maybe they resent me and think I’m an asshole. I don’t know. There were times during my working career that I felt totally distant from my brothers and sisters. My shrink makes the comparison to a race in which I am running with my siblings and eventually I get so far ahead that I lose touch with them and forget who I’m racing - In other words totally disconnected. Fortunately in the past few years the connection has come back – or has started up where there was none before.
Vhat does zis mean, Herr Doctor?
On to safer topics. Are you the oldest child in your family? Being the oldest child in a large family is one of those things that you accept while you’re a kid at home but only after years do you realize how profoundly it influences your entire personality, your maturity, your common sense and your ability to succeed in life. In my case being the oldest of six has had a serious impact on every part of my life: my relationship with my siblings; my relationship with my parents; my own parenting; my career; my ability to mentor other people; and, of course, my relationships with women.
I can only speak to what it’s like being the oldest. I have no idea how it feels to be in a different position in the birth order.
It’s really beginning to be fun to see what being a big brother to my siblings has meant to them. -- Like I have a clue! -- For fifty years or more I just saw myself as one of the kids. It wasn’t until my sixtieth birthday when I received a card from my youngest brother saying he “couldn’t have asked for a better big brother” that it dawned on me that I was a big brother. When I was in school I didn't feel like a big brother becuase my siblings were an annoyance to me. I barely acknowledged them - Particularly my brother Bill. We were two years apart in age and a universe apart in everything else. Bill died last year at fifty-eight. At the time of his death he lived in a subsidized apartment where our Mom paid the rent. When he dropped to the pavement, he had something like 41 cents in his pocket. Other than some throw away furniture, he possessed nothing. His place was the worst shit hole I have ever seen. He was in miserable health. Obese. Smoked hand rolled cigarettes. Had no job nor any prospects. And did God-knows-what all day. Now, rewind the clock to high school and imagine how much our lives intersected. Not at all, of course. We never had a connection in our lives until the last few months of his life when we had poor health in common. The last time I saw him alive, he was so thrilled that I had come to see him. Next thing I knew he was gone. Very strange to have a total stranger as a brother. I have no clue who I was to my brother. I guess I was the one who set a standard he couldn't keep up with and he ended up throwing in the towel.
My younger brother and I are eight years apart. When I left for college at 18, he was 10 and barely existed to me. Forty years later we re-connected and it was like finding a twin that you never knew you had. I was single and so was he – both divorced – and my work travel allowed me to fly through Denver from time to time, so we made of point of seeing each other. We would have dinner and then drive through the foothills of the Rockies and talk. Lots of growing up and family analysis talk but mostly women talk – an area we each had a major lifetime focus. It has been delightful and very comforting. Reminds me of reading Portnoy’s Compliant when I was in my twenties, and thinking “Someone else thinks like I do (about women)”. (Read the book if you don’t follow me.) My younger brother and I have come to have a wonderful close relationship and I love him.
I can’t imagine how my sisters viewed me as an older brother. Maybe they'll tell us. Two of my sisters are alive. My eldest sister was severely retarded and lived about 31 years before she succumbed to Hodgkin’s Disease about fifteen years ago. My middle sister and I were always close - as close as I was to any of my sibs. We got good grades and were both sort of popular and were cynics. Funny how a bad attitude can be a bond between brother and sister. My youngest sister is 13 years younger than me and we had little interaction as kids and not that much more as adults.
I guess my siblings looked up to me or maybe they do now. Hell, maybe they resent me and think I’m an asshole. I don’t know. There were times during my working career that I felt totally distant from my brothers and sisters. My shrink makes the comparison to a race in which I am running with my siblings and eventually I get so far ahead that I lose touch with them and forget who I’m racing - In other words totally disconnected. Fortunately in the past few years the connection has come back – or has started up where there was none before.
Vhat does zis mean, Herr Doctor?
Saturday, March 15, 2008
Writer's Block
Well I guess I've painted myself into a corner haven't I? I have a ton of stuff -- good stuff -- to write about but I don't want my friends and family to be reading about themselves, now do I?
For example, I have the two great friends, Romy and Michele. You've seen their High School reunion? They have graciously included me in their group of friends who hang out at the exotic Highway Cafe. And I mean exotic! We meet late on Friday night before the karaoke starts at 10:00. I never would have thought that I’d be hanging out on karaoke night, but there I am having a great time -- okay, not always great but I always enjoy myself. Romy sings and Michele watches. Romy is an excellent singer -- does great on Amy Winehouse stuff. There are other new acquaintances of course. Donny the mild mannered nice guy is always a pleasure to be around, even though he speaks so quietly that I usually nod and smile a lot with no fucking clue what he said. He sings to -- King of the Road is a favorite of his. Oh yes, and dances! Usually Marsha and Tommy come by as well. I think they are newly housemates. And there are loads of other people whom I can't make up names for because I barely know their real names.
My big problem with the place is smoke -- but what would I rather do: Sit home in a smoke free environment or be with friends at the bar? I can wash the smoke out of my clothes but I don't have nearly as much fun with imaginary friends at home. Pause . . .
Okay, I've been thinking about parenting as a topic for blogging -- my god, I just used the word blogging - and now I have a segue into it: imaginary friends. My kids had imaginary friends, but Rob’s was the best. His name was Brian and he was really well developed. He was amazingly real, except for the minor detail that we could never see him. We knew exactly where Brian lived because as we drove down the street near our house, Rob (well then he was Robbie) pointed out where Brian lived. Brian and Rob used to do all kinds of stuff together and when they were done, Brain went home. When Brain had done his time and needed to go, he didn’t just cease to exist. He moved to California. We know because we stopped at his house and when I said I was going up to knock on the door, Rob told me that Brain had moved . . . we never heard from Brain again. The point is that nothing in the universe beats being a parent. Yes I admit adolescence is shitty, but the rest is great. Now that my kids are young adults, or Chris’s case, adult period, I am finding out that this is just as great as when they are little. My personal favorites are two year olds. Forget that terrible two’s stuff. Nothing beats talking with a two year old. They are so bright and full of wonder and clarity. If you just talk TO them and not AT them, you’d be amazed at how lucid the conversation can be. Kids are a wonder.
Back at the bar, kids aren’t allowed. Well, people under twenty-one aren’t allowed in. There are lots of kids there. Lots of genuine salt-of-the-earth people. Very comfortable – so far. People watching is good. Last week Dancing Cindy and her husband were there. Regrettably Dancing Cindy, who did not wear her underwear on the outside, sorry to say, did not dance or sing. However her husband serenaded us with sounds that made you look up and say “Why?”
Romy and I used to work together – I was her boss. She has been the best friend imaginable. I’ve been away from work for two years now and we still have lunch almost every week. She’s terrific. Michele is Romy’s best friend from always and has been terrific to me. She is interested (or pretends to be in a very convincing way) in my adventures and we have yoga class with Marsha and Tommy. She knows my son -- remember him? Brian’s friend.
So that is the best I can do at dancing around the surface – the real nitty gritty goes in The Book. See you at the bar!
For example, I have the two great friends, Romy and Michele. You've seen their High School reunion? They have graciously included me in their group of friends who hang out at the exotic Highway Cafe. And I mean exotic! We meet late on Friday night before the karaoke starts at 10:00. I never would have thought that I’d be hanging out on karaoke night, but there I am having a great time -- okay, not always great but I always enjoy myself. Romy sings and Michele watches. Romy is an excellent singer -- does great on Amy Winehouse stuff. There are other new acquaintances of course. Donny the mild mannered nice guy is always a pleasure to be around, even though he speaks so quietly that I usually nod and smile a lot with no fucking clue what he said. He sings to -- King of the Road is a favorite of his. Oh yes, and dances! Usually Marsha and Tommy come by as well. I think they are newly housemates. And there are loads of other people whom I can't make up names for because I barely know their real names.
My big problem with the place is smoke -- but what would I rather do: Sit home in a smoke free environment or be with friends at the bar? I can wash the smoke out of my clothes but I don't have nearly as much fun with imaginary friends at home. Pause . . .
Okay, I've been thinking about parenting as a topic for blogging -- my god, I just used the word blogging - and now I have a segue into it: imaginary friends. My kids had imaginary friends, but Rob’s was the best. His name was Brian and he was really well developed. He was amazingly real, except for the minor detail that we could never see him. We knew exactly where Brian lived because as we drove down the street near our house, Rob (well then he was Robbie) pointed out where Brian lived. Brian and Rob used to do all kinds of stuff together and when they were done, Brain went home. When Brain had done his time and needed to go, he didn’t just cease to exist. He moved to California. We know because we stopped at his house and when I said I was going up to knock on the door, Rob told me that Brain had moved . . . we never heard from Brain again. The point is that nothing in the universe beats being a parent. Yes I admit adolescence is shitty, but the rest is great. Now that my kids are young adults, or Chris’s case, adult period, I am finding out that this is just as great as when they are little. My personal favorites are two year olds. Forget that terrible two’s stuff. Nothing beats talking with a two year old. They are so bright and full of wonder and clarity. If you just talk TO them and not AT them, you’d be amazed at how lucid the conversation can be. Kids are a wonder.
Back at the bar, kids aren’t allowed. Well, people under twenty-one aren’t allowed in. There are lots of kids there. Lots of genuine salt-of-the-earth people. Very comfortable – so far. People watching is good. Last week Dancing Cindy and her husband were there. Regrettably Dancing Cindy, who did not wear her underwear on the outside, sorry to say, did not dance or sing. However her husband serenaded us with sounds that made you look up and say “Why?”
Romy and I used to work together – I was her boss. She has been the best friend imaginable. I’ve been away from work for two years now and we still have lunch almost every week. She’s terrific. Michele is Romy’s best friend from always and has been terrific to me. She is interested (or pretends to be in a very convincing way) in my adventures and we have yoga class with Marsha and Tommy. She knows my son -- remember him? Brian’s friend.
So that is the best I can do at dancing around the surface – the real nitty gritty goes in The Book. See you at the bar!
Sunday, March 2, 2008
Sitting Around at 2:00AM
This is exciting, you know? Writing a blog in the middle of the night. My mind is free of the day's burdens and I can concentrate on . . . yes, I know I don't have any burdens, but still . . .
Well, I did it. I sat right there in the offices of Great Expectations and paid a fortune – five times what I would put down on a new car – for a dating service. WHat the hell could I have been thinking?
And what do all dating services sell? Their membership list. That’s all they have to offer. Every one, including efuckingharmony, deceives you into thinking that they have a black box from which they will produce your ideal match and all you have to do is just describe in excruciating detail whom it is you want to meet. They neglect to mention that they can only match you up with other people who have joined their service. You want a tall forty year old Ph.D. from Manhattan who likes sailing and romantic walks after dark? Good luck. They have only two Ph.D.’s from Butte who are 5’ 4”.
You’d think after three years of It’s Just Lunch – which I laugh to think that I used to believe it was expensive – I’d be wise to the allure of paying to meet Ms. Right. Actually, I’ve met Ms. Right more than once and she was wonderful – I was just wasn’t prepared to be Mr. Right. So here I am, the man who used to negotiate deals for a living and I ask the attractive (big surprise: attractive young woman selling a dating service to a middle aged man!) sales woman to show me what I’m buying. Nope, can’t do that; privacy you know. Okay, show me a demo of your system. No, can’t do that either. And I still did it! Why?
Frustration? Desperation? Showing off? Hoping against hope? Whatever, I did it. You should have seen me after I did the first search on new members in the Detroit office? It was the same thing that you get on BABYBOOMER peoplematch.com for 15 bucks a month --okay, at least most GE people had pictures. I felt like puking or crying. Page after page of women in whom I have no interest. Yes, I know I’m picky, very, very picky. That’s what I thought I was buying – select group of people who were willing to lay out serious cash to meet someone. Well, not so fast big boy. -- Let me stop and say, least I come off as the elitist that I am, I’m talking about compatibility and common interests; not making value judgments. And while I’m making a point, the women I have spoken to from GE have been wonderfully smart and attractive and personable. The other 90% who have selected me . . .not so much.
Check this scam out. When you search, for example, all women from the Detroit office, it includes women “who visit your city”. So you sit there thinking that these women have answered a question somewhere says: “What cities do you frequently visit?” And they said “Detroit”. Nope. It just means they have a global member ship with access to all 50 offices whether or not they’ve every been to Detroit, Palo Alto, Cleveland or where ever. So 50% of the result list lives far, far away and you have no shot with them. Before I realized this, I kept asking myself why am I being selected by all these women in Florida, Connecticut, California and BFE? Because I show up as visiting their city, I guess.
The punch line is this. It’s a bitch to find the right person. You say you already knew that. Yeah, me too - but you didn’t spend a fortune to find out!
Well, I did it. I sat right there in the offices of Great Expectations and paid a fortune – five times what I would put down on a new car – for a dating service. WHat the hell could I have been thinking?
And what do all dating services sell? Their membership list. That’s all they have to offer. Every one, including efuckingharmony, deceives you into thinking that they have a black box from which they will produce your ideal match and all you have to do is just describe in excruciating detail whom it is you want to meet. They neglect to mention that they can only match you up with other people who have joined their service. You want a tall forty year old Ph.D. from Manhattan who likes sailing and romantic walks after dark? Good luck. They have only two Ph.D.’s from Butte who are 5’ 4”.
You’d think after three years of It’s Just Lunch – which I laugh to think that I used to believe it was expensive – I’d be wise to the allure of paying to meet Ms. Right. Actually, I’ve met Ms. Right more than once and she was wonderful – I was just wasn’t prepared to be Mr. Right. So here I am, the man who used to negotiate deals for a living and I ask the attractive (big surprise: attractive young woman selling a dating service to a middle aged man!) sales woman to show me what I’m buying. Nope, can’t do that; privacy you know. Okay, show me a demo of your system. No, can’t do that either. And I still did it! Why?
Frustration? Desperation? Showing off? Hoping against hope? Whatever, I did it. You should have seen me after I did the first search on new members in the Detroit office? It was the same thing that you get on BABYBOOMER peoplematch.com for 15 bucks a month --okay, at least most GE people had pictures. I felt like puking or crying. Page after page of women in whom I have no interest. Yes, I know I’m picky, very, very picky. That’s what I thought I was buying – select group of people who were willing to lay out serious cash to meet someone. Well, not so fast big boy. -- Let me stop and say, least I come off as the elitist that I am, I’m talking about compatibility and common interests; not making value judgments. And while I’m making a point, the women I have spoken to from GE have been wonderfully smart and attractive and personable. The other 90% who have selected me . . .not so much.
Check this scam out. When you search, for example, all women from the Detroit office, it includes women “who visit your city”. So you sit there thinking that these women have answered a question somewhere says: “What cities do you frequently visit?” And they said “Detroit”. Nope. It just means they have a global member ship with access to all 50 offices whether or not they’ve every been to Detroit, Palo Alto, Cleveland or where ever. So 50% of the result list lives far, far away and you have no shot with them. Before I realized this, I kept asking myself why am I being selected by all these women in Florida, Connecticut, California and BFE? Because I show up as visiting their city, I guess.
The punch line is this. It’s a bitch to find the right person. You say you already knew that. Yeah, me too - but you didn’t spend a fortune to find out!
Tuesday, February 12, 2008
At the Movies . . . Again
I had this blog written the other day and when I went to cut and paste it into a word document so I could spell check it, I cut and deleted it. So here I go again. Maybe they'll fix the fucking spell checking on this thing some day.
I watch a lot of movies -- maybe 30-35 a month. I watch DVD's faster than Netflix can send them to me, so I have to hit Blockbuster or the local video rental place once a week. Here's a hint: when you go to Blockbuster, start at the beginning of the alphabet. There are more watchable movies in the numeric's, A's, B's and C's than in the rest of the alphabet. I always seem to find something like Angel-A (or Angela) that I have never heard of which is really good.
In the past 6 days I have seen 6 movies, three of which were really good. Morgan Freeman was in two of them, but even he couldn't save the one that should have been really good. I'll start with the best.
The Namesake. I loved it. Not only was it beautiful to look at, it was smartly written. It's a story of contrasts -- New York and Calcutta; old world values and modern American kids. It's the story of an Indian couple who move to New York and have two kids. Their son, Gogol, is the namesake -- for the Russian writer Nicholi Gogol. Since the boy's name is Gogol Ganguli, he is embarrassed by it and wants to go by his "good name" Nicholas. As the movie progresses, he comes to learn the significance of the name Gogol in his father's life.
The cast is terrific. Kal Penn of Harold and Kumar fame is sincere and believable as Gogol. The mother Ashima is played by an Indian actress named Tatu and she is beautiful and strong and unflappable. I particularly liked the scene where the family visits Calcutta and the kids are seeing India for the first time. It was very realistic and fascinating. Rather than describe it further I recommend you see it.
10 Items or Less. I loved it. This is a little film, that was shot in 15 days, that I knew nothing about and was totally taken with. Morgan Freeman plays a has-been actor "doing research for a project" he might consider at a market in Southern California. Paz Vega is the Spanish immigrant who is the checker at the 10 Items or Less Lane. The movie is the story of their unlikely collaboration and friendship. They are both wonderful and the script is smart and very clever. From the moment Scarlet (Paz Vega) appears on screen I was totally taken by her strength, smarts and weariness. I immediately wanted to know this woman. And Freeman's character, called Him, is charming and disarming (are they the same thing?) and completely likable.
Scarlet is trapped with an idiot husband from whom she is separated and a dead end job. "Him" coaches her through a transformation to get ready for a job as interview as an office manager. You may have to suspend disbelief a little, but it's so well written you don't care. The final scene is the perfect ending. I also recommend it.
Adrift in Manhattan. I liked it. It’s the story of three lonely people whose lives intersect in Manhattan. Tommaso, played by Dominic Chianese who is best known as Junior Soprano, stole the show with is portrayal of an aging painter who earns a living working in a corporate mailroom and is losing his sight. He meets Isabel, played by Elizabeth Peńa, at work and a romance begins. Both characters have smart dialogue to deliver and play a mature couple falling in love with grace and supreme dignity. I loved them. Heather Graham plays Rose an eye doctor who is treating Tommaso and trying to cope with the death of her two-year old son. Billy Baldwin plays her estranged husband. Finally there is Simon a socially retarded teenager with an overbearing mother who begins to follow and photograph Rose after being attracted by her scarf.
The movie was unknown to me be fore I saw it and turned out to be a real find in the “A’s” at Blockbuster.
A Feast of Love. I didn’t like it. With Morgan Freeman, Jane Alexander, Greg Kinnear, Rahda Mitchell and Alexa Davalos, and a big name director, this should have been a better movie than Adrift in Manhattan. It's not. The plots of these two films have some similarities -- there’s a tarot reading in each of them – in that they involve the intersection of several lives. Freeman and Alexander are a college professor on leave and his wife who have lost their grown son to a heroin overdose; all the while unaware of his addiction. Kinnear is a sap with a heart of gold who gets dumped twice – his first wife leaves him for a woman and his second (Mitchell) for her long time lover. Alexa Davalos as Chloe is the heart of the movie and has more inner strength than any of characters around her.
I couldn’t buy the script and Kinnear seems way too goofy to attract Diane (Mitchell).
Payback: Straight Up – The Director’s Cut. Great movie. If you have seen the 1999 theatrical version of this Mel Gibson gritty hardboiled thriller, you know it a really good movie. The Director’s Cut is very different and is much closer to the novel The Hunter by Donald E. Westlake writing as Richard Stark. Gibson’s character Porter was double crossed by his wife and his partner in crime – gunned down and left for dead. His cut of the take was $70,000 and he wants it back – and not a penny more. Porter is without redeeming qualities – he’s a killer – but his doggedness and ferocity make him interesting. Lucy Lui and Maria Bello make their first appearances in a major film and both are good. Mario Bello, thanks to A History of Violence, is my current Hollywood queen. This version is so much darker and gritty than the theatrical version that I preferred it.
The Ten. A piece of absolute shit masquerading as a comedy. It features ten scenes which are somehow supposed to illustrate the Ten Commandments. Yuk.
Hope you enjoyed this and will see at least one of these movies.
I watch a lot of movies -- maybe 30-35 a month. I watch DVD's faster than Netflix can send them to me, so I have to hit Blockbuster or the local video rental place once a week. Here's a hint: when you go to Blockbuster, start at the beginning of the alphabet. There are more watchable movies in the numeric's, A's, B's and C's than in the rest of the alphabet. I always seem to find something like Angel-A (or Angela) that I have never heard of which is really good.
In the past 6 days I have seen 6 movies, three of which were really good. Morgan Freeman was in two of them, but even he couldn't save the one that should have been really good. I'll start with the best.
The Namesake. I loved it. Not only was it beautiful to look at, it was smartly written. It's a story of contrasts -- New York and Calcutta; old world values and modern American kids. It's the story of an Indian couple who move to New York and have two kids. Their son, Gogol, is the namesake -- for the Russian writer Nicholi Gogol. Since the boy's name is Gogol Ganguli, he is embarrassed by it and wants to go by his "good name" Nicholas. As the movie progresses, he comes to learn the significance of the name Gogol in his father's life.
The cast is terrific. Kal Penn of Harold and Kumar fame is sincere and believable as Gogol. The mother Ashima is played by an Indian actress named Tatu and she is beautiful and strong and unflappable. I particularly liked the scene where the family visits Calcutta and the kids are seeing India for the first time. It was very realistic and fascinating. Rather than describe it further I recommend you see it.
10 Items or Less. I loved it. This is a little film, that was shot in 15 days, that I knew nothing about and was totally taken with. Morgan Freeman plays a has-been actor "doing research for a project" he might consider at a market in Southern California. Paz Vega is the Spanish immigrant who is the checker at the 10 Items or Less Lane. The movie is the story of their unlikely collaboration and friendship. They are both wonderful and the script is smart and very clever. From the moment Scarlet (Paz Vega) appears on screen I was totally taken by her strength, smarts and weariness. I immediately wanted to know this woman. And Freeman's character, called Him, is charming and disarming (are they the same thing?) and completely likable.
Scarlet is trapped with an idiot husband from whom she is separated and a dead end job. "Him" coaches her through a transformation to get ready for a job as interview as an office manager. You may have to suspend disbelief a little, but it's so well written you don't care. The final scene is the perfect ending. I also recommend it.
Adrift in Manhattan. I liked it. It’s the story of three lonely people whose lives intersect in Manhattan. Tommaso, played by Dominic Chianese who is best known as Junior Soprano, stole the show with is portrayal of an aging painter who earns a living working in a corporate mailroom and is losing his sight. He meets Isabel, played by Elizabeth Peńa, at work and a romance begins. Both characters have smart dialogue to deliver and play a mature couple falling in love with grace and supreme dignity. I loved them. Heather Graham plays Rose an eye doctor who is treating Tommaso and trying to cope with the death of her two-year old son. Billy Baldwin plays her estranged husband. Finally there is Simon a socially retarded teenager with an overbearing mother who begins to follow and photograph Rose after being attracted by her scarf.
The movie was unknown to me be fore I saw it and turned out to be a real find in the “A’s” at Blockbuster.
A Feast of Love. I didn’t like it. With Morgan Freeman, Jane Alexander, Greg Kinnear, Rahda Mitchell and Alexa Davalos, and a big name director, this should have been a better movie than Adrift in Manhattan. It's not. The plots of these two films have some similarities -- there’s a tarot reading in each of them – in that they involve the intersection of several lives. Freeman and Alexander are a college professor on leave and his wife who have lost their grown son to a heroin overdose; all the while unaware of his addiction. Kinnear is a sap with a heart of gold who gets dumped twice – his first wife leaves him for a woman and his second (Mitchell) for her long time lover. Alexa Davalos as Chloe is the heart of the movie and has more inner strength than any of characters around her.
I couldn’t buy the script and Kinnear seems way too goofy to attract Diane (Mitchell).
Payback: Straight Up – The Director’s Cut. Great movie. If you have seen the 1999 theatrical version of this Mel Gibson gritty hardboiled thriller, you know it a really good movie. The Director’s Cut is very different and is much closer to the novel The Hunter by Donald E. Westlake writing as Richard Stark. Gibson’s character Porter was double crossed by his wife and his partner in crime – gunned down and left for dead. His cut of the take was $70,000 and he wants it back – and not a penny more. Porter is without redeeming qualities – he’s a killer – but his doggedness and ferocity make him interesting. Lucy Lui and Maria Bello make their first appearances in a major film and both are good. Mario Bello, thanks to A History of Violence, is my current Hollywood queen. This version is so much darker and gritty than the theatrical version that I preferred it.
The Ten. A piece of absolute shit masquerading as a comedy. It features ten scenes which are somehow supposed to illustrate the Ten Commandments. Yuk.
Hope you enjoyed this and will see at least one of these movies.
Wednesday, February 6, 2008
Days 6, 7 & 8 Back in the Frozen Tundra
Day 6 -- Lovely Daytona Beach.
I hung out and recuperated. Exciting, no? It was beautiful though. The sun was bright and the temperate was in the low eighties. It felt so good lying in the sun letting the warmth sink in. You know that feeling you get when it's cold out, but sunny, and you get into your car after it's been in the sun for a while ... and it's so warm and toasty in there that the warmth just sinks right into you and it feels sooo good? Well, that's how it felt.
Trying to find a place to eat was a challenge. I was looking at the local promotional rag in the hotel room and I was amazed how few places there were to eat at (excuse the grammar) and how horrible the food looked in the ads. Ever notice that on TV or at the movies when they show an ad for a restaurant and the food looks repulsive? Who thought the pictures of the food looked good? The owner? I wish I had a scanner so I could have shown you some pictures of the haute cusine that was available. I drove about 6-7 miles to a place called Cheers because in its ad it looked like a normal franchise type place like Bennigan's or something. It was a green cinder block square beach bar -- not on the beach. I cursed, turned around and ate at Johnny Rocket's. The place where they serve ketsup with and smile and food without taste. But Daniel the counter boy was chatty as hell.
I dined at an exotic locale that was scary but interesting in that I-can't-look-away kind of way. One of the bartenders was a young woman who was plain looking but with in your face cleavage that featured some sort of tatoo in the cleavage itself and spilling out onto her boobs. Trying not to stare was and look disinterested was a challenge. She left and my bartender was a woman of indetermined age who was new and had not just returned from her Rhoades Schoralship. She had to be rescued by two owners helping her out. Since Daytona was in its lull before race week, the place was sparsely populated but could have been scary with more people. Lot's of people there looked like they had done some hard living. I survived and enjoyed the people watching and the sandwich was good.
Day 7 -- On the road from Fla. to Va.
I had expected that once I got into northern Florida and Georgia the temperature would drop considerably, but it was gorgeous the whole way. It was 82 degees in SOuth Carolina. Kind of ironic when there were terrible storms in the lower midwest going on at that time.
I have followed my Weighter Watchers regime religously and it's obvious just from the loosening of the waist of my pants that I'm loosing weight. Staying within my limts while driving all day on interstates is a challenge. The choises or eateries other than fast food are few. By dinner I was starved and eat 7/8 of a small pizza. What the hell!
Day 8 -- Survivng Lunch
Pardon me while I rant. Desperate for lunch I settled on Bob Evans in Parkersburg, West Virginia. It was up on a hill overlooking the highway and the road to the restaurant was so fucking impossible to find that my poor Tommy (Tom Tom navigation system) was totally lost. After I got there -- knowing I usually hate their food -- I told myself that the only safe thing to eat was eggs and bacon; maybe salad. So I ordered a salad and the lovely beef tips stir fry. Very bright -- ordering fake Chinese food in a homestyle American place. It was beyond awful, it made me nauseous. And I was so pissed at myslef for spending seventeenfuckingdollars on an inebilbe meal. You're asking yourself, why didn't he send it back? And get what?
Reminds me of two rules. When at a steakhouse, order steak. When at a breakfast place, order breakfast. And secondly this: When you have a bad meal or poor service what do you do? Tell them everything was fine; never come back; and tell people you know about it. So if you serve the public, don't think asking "How was everything?" will tell you anything about your service. . . That was wasn't much of a rant.
The last 120 miles of the trip were nightmarish and given my past history of being run over by a semi-truck on a freezing wintry night while driving a small car, I handled it pretty well and the beemer performed well too.
My lasting memory of this trip will be that shitty trips make for shitty blogs. I'll do better on my next adventure.
Cheers!
Sunday, February 3, 2008
Days 4 & 5 -- Plan B
Day 4 -- Hollywood, FL, Westin Diplomat Resort.
As you know -- if not, you do now -- people watching is a religion to me. I've been honing my skill since I was in High School. It's only in recent years that I have moved from people critic to people watcher; both involve looking people over but how you react to the observation is the difference. In undergraduate college my gang and I were vicious about it. We declared ourselves the fashion police long before you heard that expression on cable TV. We used to issue fashion citations on the corner of South Court and Union in lovely Athens, OH. The penalty for violations was self-destruction; "kill yourself immediately" was the phrase. We didn't really do this, of course; just talked about it. Regretably my children, at least the three youngest have black belts in criticism. One of the few things their mother and I had in common.
Now, I just like looking at people. Particularly couples. How did they pick each other? What did they look like on their wedding day; particularly if they have managed to be pretty rotund even in their youth. I always wonder what the men are like at work. Probably the one and only time you'll hear me admit to thinking about men.
My point is that people watching at a four star hotel (where I was staying today) is wonderful. Of course you have your basic "I wonder how she/he can afford to stay here." Or "I wonder whose paying the bill for him/her?" Older couples are always great because they seem to be at once joined at the hip and oblivious to the other at the same time. I always wonder what they looked like on there wedding day. During the brief period I was out in the sun today, I saw many orthodox jews with their families and I always want to understand what they can and cannot do with respect to acceptable dress for sunbathing and so forth. I sat next to a couple who were looking and an iPod Touch. They were in their late teens. I have no idea what their religous beliefs were. The kid had on baggy cargo shorts, like every other teen age boy, but he had about six or eight gold chains around his neck hanging down to his navel with crosses and stuff. Seemed very Mr. T'ish.
My biggest dissapointment in missing the cruise was to marvel at the eclectic mix of people in the singles group; let alone the amusement park crowd that are on lower end cruise lines.
So, Plan B? What to do after the cruise debacle. Well it's too damn expensive to stay where I am. So, here's what I decided. There's no point busting my ass to get back to Michigan to freeze my ass off. If I drive to Jacksonville or Savannah, the temps will only be in the 50's or 60's. I'm in south Florida where it's 80; how far can I go north and save a couple bucks and keep the 80 degree temps? Wouldn't you know it. My least favorite place (almost) in Florida: Daytona Beach.
Day 5 -- Daytona Beach
A beach you can drive on. NASCAR town. The world's most famous beach. Yep, that's the place. I'm in a Holiday Inn right on the beach for $108/night -- a little cheaper than West Palm or Boca. Actually I feel much more relaxed here. Maybe I'm an elitist and I like hanging out with people I believe to be inferior to me (NOT!) or I'm just a regular Joe with a little bit of sense who feels comfortable in less pretenious environments.
Daytona is my least favorite place in Florida becuase it is tacky, cheesy and it's insane to drive cars on a beach where thousands of children are playing. Years ago I let Kathy (Mrs. B II) plan and make the arrangements for a family vacation. Kathy is not wont to spend a lot of money on anything. When I heard we were booked in Daytona, I shallowed hard and kept my mouth shut. We packed up the mini van and headed south. We had a routine down pat. We would take the middle seat out of the van and make a bed for the kids there. Then we'd leave around dinner time and drive through the night while the kids slept. We would arrive around noon exhusted but satified to be there. I can remember constantly watching the cars on the beach and having multiple heart failures when kids (not mine) ran in front of cars. Haven't been back until today.
I took a short walk on the beach after I got here -- what a ghost town. The price of gas must be killing this place. I couldn't find a place that had more than two people watching the Super Bowl. I dined at the ever elegant Bubba Gump's and -- surprise, suprise -- the salmon and veggie thing I had was good. What movie runs there constantly? I guess it's obvious. And they don't turn it off for the Super Bowl.
I saw a whispy young girl (don't get ahead of me, it's nothing like that) and I had a naustalgic flashback to my days as a middle school science teacher in Centerville, Ohio in the early to mid 70's. I became a teacher because I decided that I didn't want to attend dental school, even though I had a small scholorship -- and a wife and baby boy; and so I taught to keep out of Vietnam. At that time I was 22 and my students were 14. That was tough to handle at times -- but I handled it. Later when I taught middle school I was five years older and had a Master's in Education. The point is I felt much more like a father figure/mentor than a big brother. The girl on the beach reminded me of my little fan club and how much I liked them and felt protective. We had this understanding that I expected a lot out of them -- grades and behavior -- and they expected me to fair and teach them something. Some of them had crushes on me which was flattering I guess. The girl on the beach reminded me of Chris Clark. She was very quite and demure and smart and pretty. One not-so-fine day John Swartz, the pain-in-the-ass German teacher, made Chris cry in class. Oh, my God!! I could have killed him. . . Teaching gave me the best memories of my whole career but I'm glad I left when I did before I got bitter and lazy.
You know the book Blink by Malcolm Gladwell? It has to do with the amount of information the brain can process in an instant -- a blink. I can't articulate his thesis except to say that the brain has a huge capacity to process information almost instantly. He gives many examples. Well that was what happened when I saw the girl and was transported back to the 70's. I'm so nostalgic lately!
I'm still sick. Not any better; maybe worse. Tomorrow I recouperate, I hope, in Daytona and look at it with my more accepting mature eyes -- except this driving on the beach shit. After that, well see.
Please comment (not on my illness). Click on the word "comment" below to do so.
[Sorry, spell check is still down.]
As you know -- if not, you do now -- people watching is a religion to me. I've been honing my skill since I was in High School. It's only in recent years that I have moved from people critic to people watcher; both involve looking people over but how you react to the observation is the difference. In undergraduate college my gang and I were vicious about it. We declared ourselves the fashion police long before you heard that expression on cable TV. We used to issue fashion citations on the corner of South Court and Union in lovely Athens, OH. The penalty for violations was self-destruction; "kill yourself immediately" was the phrase. We didn't really do this, of course; just talked about it. Regretably my children, at least the three youngest have black belts in criticism. One of the few things their mother and I had in common.
Now, I just like looking at people. Particularly couples. How did they pick each other? What did they look like on their wedding day; particularly if they have managed to be pretty rotund even in their youth. I always wonder what the men are like at work. Probably the one and only time you'll hear me admit to thinking about men.
My point is that people watching at a four star hotel (where I was staying today) is wonderful. Of course you have your basic "I wonder how she/he can afford to stay here." Or "I wonder whose paying the bill for him/her?" Older couples are always great because they seem to be at once joined at the hip and oblivious to the other at the same time. I always wonder what they looked like on there wedding day. During the brief period I was out in the sun today, I saw many orthodox jews with their families and I always want to understand what they can and cannot do with respect to acceptable dress for sunbathing and so forth. I sat next to a couple who were looking and an iPod Touch. They were in their late teens. I have no idea what their religous beliefs were. The kid had on baggy cargo shorts, like every other teen age boy, but he had about six or eight gold chains around his neck hanging down to his navel with crosses and stuff. Seemed very Mr. T'ish.
My biggest dissapointment in missing the cruise was to marvel at the eclectic mix of people in the singles group; let alone the amusement park crowd that are on lower end cruise lines.
So, Plan B? What to do after the cruise debacle. Well it's too damn expensive to stay where I am. So, here's what I decided. There's no point busting my ass to get back to Michigan to freeze my ass off. If I drive to Jacksonville or Savannah, the temps will only be in the 50's or 60's. I'm in south Florida where it's 80; how far can I go north and save a couple bucks and keep the 80 degree temps? Wouldn't you know it. My least favorite place (almost) in Florida: Daytona Beach.
Day 5 -- Daytona Beach
A beach you can drive on. NASCAR town. The world's most famous beach. Yep, that's the place. I'm in a Holiday Inn right on the beach for $108/night -- a little cheaper than West Palm or Boca. Actually I feel much more relaxed here. Maybe I'm an elitist and I like hanging out with people I believe to be inferior to me (NOT!) or I'm just a regular Joe with a little bit of sense who feels comfortable in less pretenious environments.
Daytona is my least favorite place in Florida becuase it is tacky, cheesy and it's insane to drive cars on a beach where thousands of children are playing. Years ago I let Kathy (Mrs. B II) plan and make the arrangements for a family vacation. Kathy is not wont to spend a lot of money on anything. When I heard we were booked in Daytona, I shallowed hard and kept my mouth shut. We packed up the mini van and headed south. We had a routine down pat. We would take the middle seat out of the van and make a bed for the kids there. Then we'd leave around dinner time and drive through the night while the kids slept. We would arrive around noon exhusted but satified to be there. I can remember constantly watching the cars on the beach and having multiple heart failures when kids (not mine) ran in front of cars. Haven't been back until today.
I took a short walk on the beach after I got here -- what a ghost town. The price of gas must be killing this place. I couldn't find a place that had more than two people watching the Super Bowl. I dined at the ever elegant Bubba Gump's and -- surprise, suprise -- the salmon and veggie thing I had was good. What movie runs there constantly? I guess it's obvious. And they don't turn it off for the Super Bowl.
I saw a whispy young girl (don't get ahead of me, it's nothing like that) and I had a naustalgic flashback to my days as a middle school science teacher in Centerville, Ohio in the early to mid 70's. I became a teacher because I decided that I didn't want to attend dental school, even though I had a small scholorship -- and a wife and baby boy; and so I taught to keep out of Vietnam. At that time I was 22 and my students were 14. That was tough to handle at times -- but I handled it. Later when I taught middle school I was five years older and had a Master's in Education. The point is I felt much more like a father figure/mentor than a big brother. The girl on the beach reminded me of my little fan club and how much I liked them and felt protective. We had this understanding that I expected a lot out of them -- grades and behavior -- and they expected me to fair and teach them something. Some of them had crushes on me which was flattering I guess. The girl on the beach reminded me of Chris Clark. She was very quite and demure and smart and pretty. One not-so-fine day John Swartz, the pain-in-the-ass German teacher, made Chris cry in class. Oh, my God!! I could have killed him. . . Teaching gave me the best memories of my whole career but I'm glad I left when I did before I got bitter and lazy.
You know the book Blink by Malcolm Gladwell? It has to do with the amount of information the brain can process in an instant -- a blink. I can't articulate his thesis except to say that the brain has a huge capacity to process information almost instantly. He gives many examples. Well that was what happened when I saw the girl and was transported back to the 70's. I'm so nostalgic lately!
I'm still sick. Not any better; maybe worse. Tomorrow I recouperate, I hope, in Daytona and look at it with my more accepting mature eyes -- except this driving on the beach shit. After that, well see.
Please comment (not on my illness). Click on the word "comment" below to do so.
[Sorry, spell check is still down.]
Thursday, January 31, 2008
Days 2 & 3 -- Stick a Fork in Me
Day 2 -- I feel like shit.
Day 3 -- Woke up in lovely Lake City, Florida to misting rain and grey skies. I should have taken heed and gone back to bed. Little did I know how totally one guy could screw up in one day. On my Road Trip in Sept/Oct '07, I lost my car keys in the Mall of America -- and got them back; left 12 DVD's and a library book in a motel in Wisconsin; left my computer power cord in Utah (replacement cost $127); and left my car keys at the golf course in Colorado -- and got them back again. I made fun of myslef in my blog and shrugged it off.
Well, I guess I have moved up to the absent mindedness Hall of Fame. Let me give you the setting in which I am writng this and you'll start to get the picture. I am sitting in my room on the 30th floor of the Westin in Hollywood, Florida and the cruise ship Fascination is making it way to Nassau. What I pulled today certainly qualifies as a cluster fuck.
Day 3 -- Woke up in lovely Lake City, Florida to misting rain and grey skies. I should have taken heed and gone back to bed. Little did I know how totally one guy could screw up in one day. On my Road Trip in Sept/Oct '07, I lost my car keys in the Mall of America -- and got them back; left 12 DVD's and a library book in a motel in Wisconsin; left my computer power cord in Utah (replacement cost $127); and left my car keys at the golf course in Colorado -- and got them back again. I made fun of myslef in my blog and shrugged it off.
Well, I guess I have moved up to the absent mindedness Hall of Fame. Let me give you the setting in which I am writng this and you'll start to get the picture. I am sitting in my room on the 30th floor of the Westin in Hollywood, Florida and the cruise ship Fascination is making it way to Nassau. What I pulled today certainly qualifies as a cluster fuck.
I had about 375 miles to drive to the Port of Miami. I was driving fast as always, but stopping frequently and in no big hurry. Plenty of time. As I cruise down the Florida Turnpike at 85 watching cars blow by me like I was traveling the speed limit or something, a thought popped into my mind. Did I bring my passort? Is it possible that I have been driving for two and a half days feeling like shit and I don't have my passport with me? Afraid so, dumbass! I FORGOT MY FUCKIN PASSPORT!
I'm feeling nauseous, but then I give my self one of those "you're a corporate lawyer and former executive, you can find a way around this" pep talks. I call the lovely Molly (not her real name) at singlescruise.com and we discuss it -- she thinks I said I'm thirty miles from the docks, not 130 miles, so I've got time. She says go down there and plead your case. OK, might as well. I come up with an idea -- a lame one -- what if my son Rob gets my passport and photocopies it and makes a sworn statement that it's a true copy, blah, blah, blah, and faxes it to Immigration. I call Molly back. I tell her my idea -- she says maybe it will work -- we both know it won't -- and she asks me where I am. 117 miles from the Port. "Jim, you should be there. The ship departs at 4:00!" "No, way. It departs at 6:00!" I WAS TWO HOURS LATE!
There were more phone calls to the Travel Hotline ans so forth but that was it. Three college degrees and I can't remember shit. And the hell of it is, I had a 4:00 departure on my Outlook calendar and I changed it to 6:00!
So here I sit trying to make lemonade out of this. . . Well when I got back last October, I said I would probably go on another road trip in Feb to somewhere warm. I guess I'm doing that.
Unbelievable!
Tommorow I rest and relax and figure out Plan B.
I'm feeling nauseous, but then I give my self one of those "you're a corporate lawyer and former executive, you can find a way around this" pep talks. I call the lovely Molly (not her real name) at singlescruise.com and we discuss it -- she thinks I said I'm thirty miles from the docks, not 130 miles, so I've got time. She says go down there and plead your case. OK, might as well. I come up with an idea -- a lame one -- what if my son Rob gets my passport and photocopies it and makes a sworn statement that it's a true copy, blah, blah, blah, and faxes it to Immigration. I call Molly back. I tell her my idea -- she says maybe it will work -- we both know it won't -- and she asks me where I am. 117 miles from the Port. "Jim, you should be there. The ship departs at 4:00!" "No, way. It departs at 6:00!" I WAS TWO HOURS LATE!
There were more phone calls to the Travel Hotline ans so forth but that was it. Three college degrees and I can't remember shit. And the hell of it is, I had a 4:00 departure on my Outlook calendar and I changed it to 6:00!
So here I sit trying to make lemonade out of this. . . Well when I got back last October, I said I would probably go on another road trip in Feb to somewhere warm. I guess I'm doing that.
Unbelievable!
Tommorow I rest and relax and figure out Plan B.
Wednesday, January 30, 2008
Ann Arbor to Nassau to who knows where.
Monday in southeast Michigan it was about 40 degrees. Last night (Tues) the wind howled and blew and kept me awake until 3:00AM. Three and a half hours later I awoke to a 6 degree temperate and winds. What a perfect day to leave town and head south. So I'm on my way to Miami to hop a cruise ship to Nassau.
I'm in Knoxville -- I'm breaking the drive into three legs -- where it's 39 degrees at 7:30PM. Feels tropical already. Tomorrow I'll stop in Gainesville and then Friday to Miami and aboard ship. So that means today and tomorrow are going to be really boring -- and I'm sick -- and I need to come up with something to write about that's a little entertaining or interesting. I guarantee that there will be plenty of material about my fellow singles and the cruise.
I have six audio books with me and I finshed one today and started a second one. The first is Triptych by Karin Slaughter. It's a murder mystery, of course -- about 98% of what I listen to is. It passed the most important test of an audiobook -- a good reader. I think the guy's name is Michael Caldwell. The hero is a Georgia state cop who is dyslectic and reads at a second grade level and, of course, covers it up. It's entertaining if unspectacular. Being a sucker for romance and believable happy endings, I was pleased that our hero and his life long vice cop lover ended up together. BTW I have no idea what Triptych is.
I started one of Donald E. Westlake's Dortmunder novels that I have listened to before. Don't remember the name. Cooincidentially it's the same reader. It's entertaining and lightweight and the plot is creative. -- If you want to have a book ruined, have Tony Roberts read it. You know, the guy who's in a bunch of Woody Allen movies. He sounds like he's doing a lame assed immitation of James Gagney. I expected him to say "all right, youse guys" at any moment.
Here's three obscure movies that you'll like. German, Spanish and English. The German movie is Vitus. It's the story of a wonderkin at the ages of six and twelve and the way he copes with his genius IQ, his parents and his grandfather. The two child actors who play Vitus (pronounced Vee tus) are charming and believable. If you don't want to just hug the six year old, you are heartless. The Spanish film is Quinceanera -- which is the fifteen birthday celebration for a hyspanic girl. It's written and directed by an American and Englishman who are gay -- "not that's there's anything wrong with that" -- who attended a quinceanera in their neighborhood. The cast is all hyspanic unknowns. I will only say that the plot revolves around a scientifically explainable immaculate conception. Finally there's Interview with Steve Buscemi and Sienna Miller. The dialog is really smart.
My first career (of four) was as a middle school scince teacher -- this was in the early and mid seventies. I loved classroom teaching, I was very well liked and I was good at what I did. But I did some uncoventional things to keep life entertaining - to me at least. The kids may have thought of it as tortue. In 1969 I graduated with a B.S. in zoology and not a clue. I had never taken an education couse but I got a teaching job and a draft deferral. I taught physical science to ninth graders in Xenia, Ohio. My class room was about sixty years old and had no lab tables. To break up the monotiny I'd do shit to entertain the kids. For example, I found an old static electricity generator in the supply room -- you know, it's one of those things that has a belt you crank and it builds up a charge on the gold ball electrodes and makes a big spark when you discharge it. But wait! You can also discharge it by touching the two electrodes in which case it shocks the shit out of you. Or better yet, you can make the whole class join hands and have one kid (or me) grab one electrode and then make a human chain and when the last kid grabs the other electrode -- zap, you get a big assed jolt. So for yuks, I got my first period to do it and it really shocked us enough to make your arm jolt upwards. For second period I refined my act. I had them stand up and I cranked a big assed charge into the machine and told them to hold hands. They knew what was coming and the girls (and guys?) started screaming "No, Mr. B. No". Naturally I said "Shut up and hold hands." The results were even more shocking.
And finally, for now, the other highlight of that year was blowing up the classroom. Again I was putzing through the supply room forsomething to entertain with and I found some solid sodium pellets. They're pretty caustic and if you drop the in water they spin around in a circle and pop. I said to myself, "this should kill about five minutes of lecture time." Again I started with first period and refined my act. Third period comes along and I show them how this stuff works by dropping a few pellets in a big coffee can of water and they go "swirl, swirl, swirl - puff!" The kids decide to goad me on. "More, Mr. B. More." Sure why not. I drop maybe a tablespoon full in the coffe can and it starts to froth and smoke and then . . . BOOM! It fucking explodes! The entire room is full of smoke. The kids are screaming. I'm yelling "Shut up and open the windows." The next day a girl comes to me and says she got some on her hand and it burned a hole through her dress . . . and mom is not happy. Oops.
Please remember I was 22, full of crap and wanted to be popular and entertaining. The end . . . for now.
[I apologize for the misspellings, but the spell checker isn't working.]
Monday, January 28, 2008
February is the meanest month
It's almost February in Michigan which means it's time to get out of town. No airplanes for me anymore, I'm ready to jump in the beemer. By the time I return from this new excursion, I'll have 70,000 miles on it after 27 months. The trade in value will be 12 cents but no matter I'm getting a 535i in June. Manual transmission of course. When I left off in October I had just returned from a three week, 15 state cruise and figured that I would be driving to Arizona in January/February. Then on an impulse I remembered that I had really enjoyed my first cruise (on a ship, of course) and that I might do that instead. So last Friday I called to book it and this Friday I leave from Miami for Nassau. And making a road trip out of it as well. Did I mention is a singles cruise? I don't want to jinx myself but the first one was an over-40 singles cruise and:(1) most of them were way over 40; and (2) there were at least three times as many women as men -- any most of the men weren't Sean Connery lookalikes.
By the way, it's a bit past midnight which is the perfect time to write a blog. (I never could have imagined using the phrase "writing a blog" a year ago. ) Blog is such an unpleasant sounding word. In my mergers and acquisitions days -- you know, before the earring -- I first heard the word accretive. Isn't that ugly and doesn't it sound like it isn't a real word? Actually the spell checker doesn't even recognize it. How about cacophony? You are no doubt asking yourself what about pleasant sounding words. Melody? What do you think?
After thousands of hours of playing super solitaire games on the computer -- spider, forty thieves, blondes and brunettes, curds and whey, etc. -- and spending a grand total of about three minutes surfing, I have discovered the "social utilities" myspace.com and facebook.com, along with the age-appropriate babyboomerspeoplemeet.com. These are so much better than the online dating services -- especially the dreaded and dreadful eharmony. Speaking of which, how the hell to they get away with discriminating based on values and religion. Don't they use federal lines of communication? Would someone please nail their asses? Sorry. . . Myspace.com is the creepiest yet most fascinating place. I have been telling people that there is so much misrepresentation and counter-misrepresentation to combat the deliberate misrepresentation, that it seems like I'm the only dumbshit who actually has a factual profile. Actually that's a complete dramatization as the gecko would say. And of course to me it's only a self serve dating service --I have no idea how to get songs and other stuff. On the other hand, facebook.com is the in service with people who are young enough to be my children (and are) and it's locked down tighter than a drum. So after working with computers every day since 1979 -- no shit -- I have finally become a peruser of the Internet. Finally, may I say that my eighteen year old son hates that I use these services -- he refuses to accept me as a friend on facebook -- and wants me to behave like a normal retired person. Which I assume means buy some white shiny loafers, pull my pants up to my nipples and move to Boca.
I leave Wednesday (Jan. 30) for the south, so I'll be writing each day. I hope it's mildy entertaining. I leave you with the words of Lewis Black: "MTV is to music what KFC is to chicken."
By the way, it's a bit past midnight which is the perfect time to write a blog. (I never could have imagined using the phrase "writing a blog" a year ago. ) Blog is such an unpleasant sounding word. In my mergers and acquisitions days -- you know, before the earring -- I first heard the word accretive. Isn't that ugly and doesn't it sound like it isn't a real word? Actually the spell checker doesn't even recognize it. How about cacophony? You are no doubt asking yourself what about pleasant sounding words. Melody? What do you think?
After thousands of hours of playing super solitaire games on the computer -- spider, forty thieves, blondes and brunettes, curds and whey, etc. -- and spending a grand total of about three minutes surfing, I have discovered the "social utilities" myspace.com and facebook.com, along with the age-appropriate babyboomerspeoplemeet.com. These are so much better than the online dating services -- especially the dreaded and dreadful eharmony. Speaking of which, how the hell to they get away with discriminating based on values and religion. Don't they use federal lines of communication? Would someone please nail their asses? Sorry. . . Myspace.com is the creepiest yet most fascinating place. I have been telling people that there is so much misrepresentation and counter-misrepresentation to combat the deliberate misrepresentation, that it seems like I'm the only dumbshit who actually has a factual profile. Actually that's a complete dramatization as the gecko would say. And of course to me it's only a self serve dating service --I have no idea how to get songs and other stuff. On the other hand, facebook.com is the in service with people who are young enough to be my children (and are) and it's locked down tighter than a drum. So after working with computers every day since 1979 -- no shit -- I have finally become a peruser of the Internet. Finally, may I say that my eighteen year old son hates that I use these services -- he refuses to accept me as a friend on facebook -- and wants me to behave like a normal retired person. Which I assume means buy some white shiny loafers, pull my pants up to my nipples and move to Boca.
I leave Wednesday (Jan. 30) for the south, so I'll be writing each day. I hope it's mildy entertaining. I leave you with the words of Lewis Black: "MTV is to music what KFC is to chicken."
Saturday, January 19, 2008
Saturday
Sitting at Panera people watching. My idea of a social life. I used to come here every day (almost) for lunch but how many bowls of chicken soup can one guy eat? So for some reason beyond my comprehension I started going to Alex's Family Restaurant. If you live in metro Detroit you know about all these "koney island" type restaurants which serve Greek salads and gyros and breakfast stuff, etc. They are usually run by immigrants and feature simple food and cheap prices. OK, that's what Alex's is. It took me maybe a nanosecond after entering to be greeted by Jodie with a big smile. It took me about ten more minutes to realize that the food was miserable, but cheap. So in short time I came to know Amber, Lisa, Kisha, Marie, Tabitha (That's right!), Dawn and Amy. For a short while there was some internal back biting because Maria was spending too much time sitting with me and she told me not to talk to other waitresses, etc. Maria is from Bulgaria and I really have this attraction to foreign women. It's not hard to understand why -- intelligent people who have learned English as a second language always have better grammer than most Americans. I relish good grammer. And ESL speakers are anxious to learn and I am happy to help them. It took me about 20 seconds to teach a friend what a double negative was and why it's incorrect. Two thirds of the hillbillies around her couldn't begin to understand the same thing.
So why am I back at Panera? Number One: you can only take so much bad cheap food. Number Two: Everything runs it course (and Maria is married.) And oh yes, reason three: the customers are a different type person than you run into at Alex's. Not better or worse, just different. You know me well enough to know that people watching and checking out the women present are the same thing for me. But, just like at the fitness club, it doesn't mean that I have figured out how you turn a nice smile in your direction into a conversation.
On to other more mysterious topics. What do you make of those comments to my posting about Cancun on12/10/07? The comments are from Anonymous. Little miss anonymous claims to have seen me at the hotel. How the fuck does she (he?) know who I am? Me thinks this is someone who knows me and is fucking with me. This is like myspace.com revisited. There are creeps and scam artists all over that site -- but at least you can browse for interesting people. Interesting could mean bizarre or whatever. My own daughter claims to live New York on myspace and I know many women omit or change information to protect themselves -- a fine idea but it makes it hard to distinguish the real from the scam artists. I've had a dozen or so messages from profile who appear to be young females in provocative poses who want to be "friends".
Remember that there are posers like me and there are FBI -- full blown Italians. Regrettably my mother is not Italian so I can never be a made man. One of life's tragedies.
Let me know what you think about Miss Anonymous. For a laugh, my profile is www.myspace.com/jimbarce.
So why am I back at Panera? Number One: you can only take so much bad cheap food. Number Two: Everything runs it course (and Maria is married.) And oh yes, reason three: the customers are a different type person than you run into at Alex's. Not better or worse, just different. You know me well enough to know that people watching and checking out the women present are the same thing for me. But, just like at the fitness club, it doesn't mean that I have figured out how you turn a nice smile in your direction into a conversation.
On to other more mysterious topics. What do you make of those comments to my posting about Cancun on12/10/07? The comments are from Anonymous. Little miss anonymous claims to have seen me at the hotel. How the fuck does she (he?) know who I am? Me thinks this is someone who knows me and is fucking with me. This is like myspace.com revisited. There are creeps and scam artists all over that site -- but at least you can browse for interesting people. Interesting could mean bizarre or whatever. My own daughter claims to live New York on myspace and I know many women omit or change information to protect themselves -- a fine idea but it makes it hard to distinguish the real from the scam artists. I've had a dozen or so messages from profile who appear to be young females in provocative poses who want to be "friends".
Remember that there are posers like me and there are FBI -- full blown Italians. Regrettably my mother is not Italian so I can never be a made man. One of life's tragedies.
Let me know what you think about Miss Anonymous. For a laugh, my profile is www.myspace.com/jimbarce.
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