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.
Sunday, December 14, 2008
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?
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