Roger U Roundly

My Cool Tree

2009-10-31T15:56:00.004-05:00

I have a very cool tree in my front yard, as you can see. It's a Japanese Maple. The picture was taken about a month ago, in its resplendent prime. Now all the leaves have fallen off and are lying on the ground mocking me for not raking them(I hate raking leaves!).

Having lived here in this house since 1996, I'm seeing the changes on my tree for the 13th time. At this point of course, the leaves are gone until next Spring- March, April, in there-when it'll blossom back into a nice lush green. And I'll have a nice green tree until late September, when they turn back into the beautiful red and orange I've just been enjoying. Wish I could fast-forward things to that point, but as earthbound creatures subject to the constraints of time and space, we have to follow each of these cycles through all their phases consecutively, which means, unfortunately, Winter is up next.

Well at least Winter is usually only 3 or 3-and-change months out of the year, and even then usually not of uniform severity. We might just get our January Thaw this coming year. And in March or April of 2010 will be back in bloom.

Thank goodness there are some things in life you can count on. Like my tree.

Why is my life so much harder'n everybody else's?

2009-07-25T08:15:00.006-05:00

That's my favorite line from the movie Roadie. Starring Meatloaf and a cast of several, none of whom I can remember right now. But as problems assail him throughout the movie he is heard to utter that line, as if wailing to the heavens..

It was pretty much my motto yesterday. Or maybe no good deed goes unpunished. Kind of a toss-up there. I had(and still have)a charley-horse in my shoulder from helping load a PA cabinet into somebody's truck after a Thursday night gig-and, more significantly, a hell of a domestic pet situation waiting for me when I came home for lunch.

Some time ago here in the Roundly household we had an unwelcome guest in the form of a rather large rodent. As it turned out, my dog Lester got him, but I had various traps and glue-boards set up in the kitchen just in case. Well, upon acquiring two kittens, I threw away all the traps and glue-boards from downstairs so my new residents wouldn't get in any trouble. Felt pretty good about these preventative measures.

Well as it turns out I missed one. I'd set up a glue-board underneath a lawn mower in the kitchen(yes I guess that makes me a hillbilly having my lawn mower there!), and forgot all about it. The kittens had pulled it out from there and one of them- Jill- was severely stuck on it. Impaled. I mean, damn near inextricably stuck.

This was quite a sight to come home to. I felt like I was watching something from Invasion of the Body Snatchers, with a mutated kitty ready to emerge from the goo to join the other space automatons. And then of course get her sister changed over. "Sleeep, Cindy, sleeep. It's goood.."

So I got her free from the clutches of the glue-board, at which point(to my great relief)she sprang back to action with full use of her limbs, and then off to a nearby Animal Hospital. They'd seen a lot of me with my previous cat Maxine and her health problems over the last couple months- but this visit, for what it's worth, set a precedent. This was their first "glue emergency".

They were able to get most of it off her, and no real damage was done. A few remaining sticky spots, which I worked on a bit with Cooking Oil(recommended for removing glue--I now know this). Jill of course was working on it as well, and her sister Cindy tried to 'groom' her a bit, which seemed to piss her off. Scraggly but alive and well. And, I think, greatly relieved herself to have survived this little escapade.

I don't know that it makes you stronger by any means, but what doesn't kill you at least makes a good story later. And if it happens again, you don't worry so much over it since you've survived it once. For that matter, my description of Jill would also apply to me. Scraggly but alive and well.

Still, just why is my life so much harder'n everybody else's?

New Life

2009-07-14T21:29:00.004-05:00

If you chance upon this blogsite and actually read a few entries, you'll conclude that I am a lover of cats and dogs. Give yourself a jenius award on that one. My cat in particular has gotten a lot of ink these days, what with these last 2 months being her last 2 months. Maxine's sickness was of course her own personal hell of an experience, but her canine counterpart and I both suffered along with her- both seeing her pain, and then of course grieving her loss. I think it hit that dog even harder than it did me- and I was hurtin' for certain. Still miss her. A lot. Like many who blog, the writing is often a form of therapy(gee, by that reckoning, I should probably be writing self-help books!)

Well this I guess would be that proverbial Next Chapter of things. I have two kittens these days, since last evening. One of them is nestled on my shoulders, probably wishing I'd quit moving around so much. The other one is playing around the legs of a small table to our left. And Lester is crashed out on the floor right next to the table. It's amazing how leery these cats were of him just 24 hours ago. One of them would hiss at him the minute he came near. She's now completely cool around him.

What a difference a day makes! 180 degrees as far as my now three animals. So yeah, as of Monday evening about 6, I've got these kittens, maybe 8 weeks old. Two girls, one yellow and white with a hint of future tiger stripes, the other orange and white with some yellow and brown mixed in. The yellow/white one is named Cindy, and the orange etc one is named Jill.

So my life is once again transformed. Cindy and Jill. No particular rhyme or reason with the names, the animals just seemed to have Cindyish and Jill-like qualities to them- based of course solely on my own subjective accounts of the various Cindies and Jills I've known. My family has just about always given its pets regular 'Christian' names: Bob, Helen, Roberta, Maxine, Sherman, Lester and now Cindy and Jill. I started to mention Pete and Cal, but they were short for Petronius and Calpurnia so they wouldn't support my statement about 'regular Christian names'.

Well that's my New Chapter. Jill is fast asleep on my lap and Cindy is on the table in front of me considering various courses of action.

Groanerz

2009-07-11T22:03:00.004-05:00

These will induce groans, but maybe a smile or even an outright laugh. It'd be nice, but you can't take it too damned seriously. The fate of one's blogs is up to whoever reads this stuff. As far as you the blogger are concerned, once it's outa your mouth, it's outa your hands. So, in somewhat the style of Playboy magazine's Unabashed Dictionary. Here, then, is Rog's Thesaurus:

Rog's Thesaurus defines pickle profits as dill dough.

Rog's Thesaurus defines a hand job as yankety sex.

Rog's Thesaurus defines an arts critic as an armchair aesthete.

Rog's Thesaurus defines shifty corporate accounting as ledgerdemain.

Rog's Thesaurus defines an eye doctor from one of Alaska's islands as an optical Aleutian.

Rog's Thesaurus defines a humorous anthropomorphic cartoon sandwich as wry bread.

Rog's Thesaurus defines a hillbilly name as an Appalachian appelation.

Rog's Thesaurus defines a very small butt as a gluteus minimus.

Rog's Thesaurus defines a rabbit turd as a keester egg.

Well that's all I've got. Lucky you, right?

Getting back to nermal

2009-07-07T21:07:00.003-05:00

This dead-pet shit really sucks! Tomorrow will make a week since I bid adieu to my cat, and like her health progress, it's gotten a little better and then worse again.

It's tough to lose a pet you've had for awhile like this. A part of life for us humans who love animals, and there are a hell of a lot of us, so in my current adversity at least I have a pretty good support group. Among co-workers I can count 7 who've gone through the same experience, and at least 4 of those while I was working with them. Not to mention friends outside of work.

I think it's hardest if you live alone. Your animal housemates become family then in more than just an honorary sense. They're your constant companions. They're the first things you see in the morning(well, for one thing, they're hungry!)and the last thing you see before going to bed at night.

My cat was usually nestled against me at both ends of the day, a warm mass of purring fur either lulling me to sleep or easing me awake. There were some occasions, particularly getting home from work, where I wouldn't see her for a couple hours--then she'd just appear, oh, 'time for food!'--but she was almost always at her station at bedtime and first thing in the morning. When she first got sick and had to be hospitalized, it was my first taste of not having that(unfortunately they don't give you a "surrogate"while yours is being worked on). Getting her home two days later, I was greatly relieved to feel the familiar paws walking over me at 5:30 in the morning, and her weakened but purring little form pressed against my stomach.

This was something I enjoyed the hell of while she was alive and miss the hell out of now that she's gone. Maxine sure liked to be petted. Ours was perhaps a parasitic relationship with me as "petter" and she as "pettee", but it still worked for both of us. Sometimes she would just throw herself on the floor, coquettishly, as if to say, "okay, do me, baby!" And then she'd get pissed if you stopped before she was done, and would go so far as to give you a little bite or slap to express her displeasure.

She and my dog pretty much grew up together, and had a very sibling-like relationship, with its share of teasing and power-plays. There was a layer of quasi-antagonism(on one occasion, she was sitting on the bed getting petted and revelling in all the attention, and hearing the sounds of canine toenails heading up the wooden steps from downstairs, got a priceless disgusted look on her face as if to say, "oh great! Here comes asshole!")mainly on her part, but underneath it, I think, a genuine friendship. I'd find them sitting together more and more as the years went by, and it seemed that they had their own sort of communication going on, their own relationship as well as theirs, individually and collectively, to me.

This is the first day I've felt her presence, and I felt it all around me at different points in the day. Hard to put into words, and in trying to verbalize it am half-wondering if that's just something my mind just manufactured to console me. But I've had the experience with people, friends who've passed on whom I've felt "stopped in" on me on a few occasions--felt like they were there in the room with me.

For some reason, I kept thinking tonight of that scene at the end of Tootsie, where Dustin Hoffman's character is making that last-ditch speech to win back the Jessica Lange character. She says, "I miss Dorothy", and he says "You don't have to. She's right here- and she misses you".

In my case of course, I hope she is. And I hope she does.

Life Without Maxine

2009-07-04T09:25:00.006-05:00

Maxine is gone. My beloved feline companion of 12 years has moved on to that great litterbox in the sky(or at least gotten the hell out of her body). The last 2 months of her life were spent battling kidney failure and what was believed to have been a malignant growth in one of her lungs. In the microcosmic scheme of a cat's life, a long fight. Life rarely draws a perfect straight line between its point A's and point B's, and Maxine's situation definitely had some zig-zagging in there. Despair followed by hope and then more despair. If it were a piece of music, it would've been an ABA form of some kind. Too bad we had to return to that original theme..

In Poker, if you have a lousy hand and it doesn't look like you could improve it, you fold. You get on outa there. Not so easy in life. In life you hang in there, and usually a good deal longer than you should, just waiting for that one card that'll turn your pile o' nothing into a Straight or a Flush. With Maxine, we reached that point and I waited a solid week for that card that I really knew wasn't going to turn up. It just stayed a pile o' nothing. Actually that's how she laid about, mainly on the floor.

So last Wednesday, I had her euthenized. Everyone there at the Animal Hospital I talked to said it was the right thing to do- and they'd seen a lot of us in the past two months! The Vet who performed the procedure was the same one who'd seen her when Maxine first fell ill, and was wonderful to work with just as she was in the first stages of all this. That was the B section in this sad-ass piece of music, the point where there was hope. Well, some hope for awhile.

There was a woman there at the Animal Hospital that afternoon who was having her animal put down as well. Don't know anything about her, whether it was a cat or dog, but could plainly see she was having just as hard a time of it as I was. She was crying her eyes out, and they were offering her tissue paper and consoling her. They offered the tissue paper to me as well, but I was strangely grief-free. Dry-eyed for the moment, and taking care of the business at hand. But I knew it'd hit me at some point in the evening.

Somehow I thought the drive home would be the worst. That's when it would all sink in, the finality of everything, the fact that she's gone and won't be coming back. It was dawning on me, what had just happened, but more as an intellectual realization, with none of the emotional heaviness I'd expected. So with my emotions apparently intact, I stopped off at Walgreen's on the way home, picking up a few items for myself and for my dog- the one quadrapedal survivor- and even a card for the nice folks at the Animal Hospital. If I felt anything, it was relief.

Actually the worst part of it all was walking back into the house. The place is strangely quiet with one less presence in it, and you feel a sharp pain from the void this creates. She's not here anymore. Not even the cadaverous carcass of the ailing animal you half-wished were out of its misery, just thin air. So the torrent of emotion I'd been expecting came upon me while I was putting away the groceries. Life- my life-was moving on without her.

You can get pretty attached to your "critters", and they to you, over the years. They become part of the family, and if you live alone as I do, they become the family itself--or at least your little domestic unit. I mean, you don't anthropomorphize them(or shouldn't at any rate- not too healthy!)- they're still a cat and dog or whatever, but you do imbue them with familial human qualities, like those of a son or daughter. My male dog I frequently call "pal" or "buddy" much as I would a kid, and my late female cat was very much "Daddy's little princess".

Well it's been one evening and three days now. I devoted that whole first evening to just "drinkin' beer and feelin' sad", and unfortunately ran out of beer with plenty of sad left over. So of course it still hurts- at this point more of a dull ache, but still there. A pet of 12 years is a big loss, and I don't expect it to quit hurting for awhile. Life without Maxine sucks. But I guess that's just the price-tag for my life with Maxine, and given all the nice times I've had with her, I suppose it all evens out.

Still sucks though.

Sick Kitty Blues- maybe the last verse

2009-06-26T19:39:00.005-05:00

One step forward, two steps back. Maxine, my cat, is going through changes similar to people suffering from serious illnesses, in that she made some progress and then backslid into many of the conditions she started with. If not worse.

At this point, she's pretty debilitated. Just wants to find a spot to land and stay there, keep as quiet as possible. So I'm trying to oblige her, and without too much hovering. Hard to do of course because you care so much and want to do what you can to make her better. Or at least comfortable.

It all started last month- or at least became noticeable then. Being a longhaired cat, there had always been the Furball Issue. So coughing was pretty much de rigeur. But this was a nasty sucker, almost a paroxysm of pain twisting her little body as it happened. Prompted a trip to the Animal Emergency Clinic, and then to the Vet, where she stayed for two days. Getting her home, I had several medications to give her three times a day--lotsa fun, since cats are so cooperative when it comes to medicating them--plus injecting her with fluids once a week. Fun fun.

But we seemed to make some headway. Markedly thinner than she was, and not as agile, but still hanging in there. On maybe 75% power, as it were. Still some appetite, though not the frisky animal who would bound down the stairs and through the house to the kitchen to be fed. Or the one who could leap tall furniture at a single bound.

Still, some quality of life. Happy to be here, glad to be part of the team. Well, unit is probably more accurate but she and Lester- the dog- and I definitely comprise a family unit of sorts. They pretty much grew up together, acquired maybe six months apart some 12 years ago. So the minute I bring her in the door from her 2 days at the Animal Hospital, Lester is sniffing all over her, glad as hell to see his lil' sis. Nonplussed from 2 days away from home, she wasn't real receptive at first- more like "get out of my face, asshole!" but warmed up to him later, I'm sure. Like I said, they grew up together.

My dog and cat have a very sibling-like relationship--well, since that's what they are, essentially, in the whole group dynamic of human-and-two-quadrapeds. They mess with each other, like brother and sister would, with teasing and power-plays. But I catch them sitting together a fair amount. They like one other, despite what they might have me believe. And as such, Lester is worried about his feline sister. I can tell by the look in his eyes, and by his pacing. Like many canines, he paces when he's upset.

I'm worried too. We've gone back two steps from the modest progress made at first. She's not eating, not much of anything this whole week-so no nutrition, save the meds I'm somehow getting into her. And her breathing is a lot more shallow. Plus, that shake-your-ass-off cough is coming back. So as I said, she basically just finds a comfortable spot and lands there, trying not to exert herself too much.

Well, tomorrow it's back to the Vet for me and Maxine. They're supposed to do a procedure that'll take some of the pressure off one of her lungs. Plus they'll get some fluids into her, something we were doing anyway once a week. Maybe this will all work, maybe it won't. But it's certainly worth a try.

It's been a bitch of a time these past almost two months. The further she descends the heavier my heart gets, until I think both of them are going to just plop on the floor like a couple of lugubrious horseturds. This past week especially has been a trip on the down escalator.

Well, we'll see what gives tomorrow. You can only do what you can do. After that, it's out of your hands. Whatever comes of it, we've had a nice time together, Maxine and I. 12 years. That's a while. That's a spell.

Wish us luck.

Keep your Sunny Side Up

2009-06-20T19:02:00.002-05:00

Looking at the previous blog here, I'm thinking, 'what's the point of all this negativity on my part'? I mean really. There's enough of that shit going on everywhere as it is: people being all negative and judgmental and like that. I started to cite an example and then realized I was just adding part and parcel to it.

So to hell with my least favorite things. I mean, they're already there implicitly, by my non-patronage of those folks and products, so why belabor the point? Plus it would probably blow my day being cited as someone's least favorite anything(even though everyone is someone's least favorite something!), so I couldn't wish that on anyone else.

All That said, let us proceed to some things in this world I like:

Favorite Actor: Robert DeNiro, Dustin Hoffman

Favorite Actress: Meryl Streep

Favorite Director: Stanley Kubrick

Favorite 70's Underground Cartoonist: R. Crumb, S. Clay Wilson

Favorite 70's Porn Starlet: Roberta Pedon, Christy Canyon

Favorite Seafood: salmon

Favorite beer: Corona

Favorite Psychologist: Albert Ellis

Favorite breed of dog: Labrador Retriever

Favorite 80's band: Huey Lewis and the News

Favorite vintage TV show: The Twilight Zone

Favorite spectator sport: Boxing, college basketball, girls' gymnastics

Favorite junk food: Cheetos

Well those are some of the things that make me tick. Actually, the beer and/or Cheetos may make me do something else! But seriously- actually that was serious, I'm sorry to say- some of the things I enjoy in this world are listed above. Maybe they're also some of yours. Or maybe your favorites are all the "opposite" of mine. Who knows? Who cares? It's all good..

These are a few of my Least Fav'rite Things

2009-06-18T19:07:00.004-05:00

I'm not saying they suck. This is not an attempt to slam anything or anybody, but just a sort of reverse approach to my tastes. (In some cases, I've put my favorites in there in parentheses). Again, just personal taste, all relative. For that matter, they may all be your all-time favorites(and with your least favorite things parenthetically noted..) If so, more power to 'em- and you. But if you're reading this, chances are your tastes are in at least the same ballpark as mine. So here we go:

Least favorite actor: Richard Gere

Least favorite actress: Ally Sheedy

Least favorite comedic actor: David Spade

Least favorite comedienne: Rosie O'Donnell

Least favorite HBO Series: Curb Your Enthusiasm (The Sopranos)

Least favorite comedian: Robert Klein (George Carlin, Jonathan Winters)

Least favorite city: Detroit (New York)

Least favorite beer: Miller High-life (Corona)

Least favorite soft drink: Fresca

Least favorite cartoon: Alvin and the Chipmunks

Least favorite newspaper comic strip: The Family Circus (Peanuts)

Least favorite Green Acres character: Lisa Douglas (Mr Kimball)

Least favorite singer/songwriter: Gordon Lightfoot

Least favorite coal: Anthracite (Bituminous)

Well there you have it. Some of the things in this world that aren't really part of mine if I can help it(even though they have every right to be here that I do, of course..).. Makes me wonder if I'd make anybody's least favorite list. I'd almost bet on it- although it would feel weird to win a bet like that.

Who Cares If You Read This?

2009-06-16T21:28:00.006-05:00

Well where to start? How about in the middle? I have an Uncle, age 92, who also likes to blog. His are sent--that is, snail-mailed-- to various family members- this nephew included- on a more-or-less weekly basis and are basic accounts of what he's up to. Always an entertaining read. Reflections of what Charles Emerson Winchester once attributed to Col Potter as "gentle good humor". On occasion, he will comment on the state of the world, or a particular politician, but always gracefully. An ideological tap dance rather than any 'heavy-hoofed' pronouncements.

There was a blog of mine awhile back which was about the family(called My (Ig)noble Genes, should you care to read it) which my cousin- his daughter- forwarded to him. He wrote about it in his weekly missive, which kinda tickled me. Said that he enjoyed it but wouldn't feel comfortable being that introspective in a place where the whole world can see it.

Well the whole world can see it! Potentially. But in reality, this comic strip doesn't get a whole lot of traffic. As a matter of fact, I'd say hardly any. So with that in mind, it's easier to bare one's soul, what with virtually nobody watching. I have a friend who writes blogs that are sometimes searingly introspective, one of which(about our hometown)was so much so--at least to me--that I had to write a blog of my own about it. I sent it to her and she wrote back saying, in effect, "man, I sometimes forget other people read my stuff".

As a musician, sometimes I've played my best when there was hardly anybody there--or even nobody there. Yes, I'm sorry to say, I've played to nobody! But at the same time I'm glad to say, since I played better..

And so it is with blogging. Huh, I just thought of the title of this blog, right here and now. Sort of a take-off on an essay written many years ago by composer Milton Babbitt, called "Who Cares if You Listen?"

I don't care how damned esoteric you consider yourself to be. You still turn out your stuff with the idea of some kind of audience for it. But in some cases--mine, at any rate--you're more effective if you behave as if there was nobody in the room but you. The audience is still there, but instead of being within the four walls, they're between your ears.

No, today is the first day of the rest of my vacation

2009-06-02T19:57:00.007-05:00

Getting into one's vacation is(at least at its optimal best) a bit like falling into a restful sleep in that your level of relaxation deepens as you go. Each day you shake off a bit more of the work/life monkey, lessen your karmic load by a few pounds. Or at least a few ounces..

And as I relax more, there are activities I'm increasingly able to enjoy. Things I have trouble getting into when things are more tense, things I've gotta be relaxed to be able to do.

Yeah, definitely that. Well, that's a given. And music is another one . If I get a nice mellow day in there, over a weekend or vacation either one, I'm usually ready to make some noise.

Strangely enough, if I get two consecutive days of total relaxation, I start cleaning. But only after two or more days of complete calm.

In the course of this vacation, I have experienced not two but three days running which were free of any kind of significant stress. Thus I have found myself with the full-fledged Will to Clean.

Thusfar in my week-off-from-work, I have created some music which may or may not be ultimately worthwhile in terms of its appeal. I don't know yet. But I do know that on my vacation- which isn't even half over yet- that I have cleaned. Oh yes I have cleaned. A mighty amount of stuff was removed and carted off to be recycled today. All I can say is there are a couple upstairs closets once teeming with junk who are probably pret-ty sorry they messed with Roger U Roundly...

So yeah, a productive day as far as all that. It does raise a question though. Since I have to be more relaxed to want to clean, does it follow then that cleaning is the higher art? After all, since the desire to clean requires more(get ready to groan)--purification on my part. Or is it that cleaning itself is such an execrable(or at least boring)task that one has to seek an altered state- be it drunk or stoned or just "relaxed" to get through it?

No, I think I clean at this point because I'm finally relaxed enough to see what's in front of me. And it's a fuckin' mess! Well it was....

today is the first day of the rest of my vacation

2009-05-31T18:11:00.006-05:00

As is the case roughly every 12 weeks, I'm currently on vacation. Counting the 2 weekends that straddle my actual 'vacation time', 9 consecutive days of - well, not having to go to work anyway.

This is day number 2. Like its forerunner, it's turning out to be a fairly slothful, laze-about-in-front-of-the-TV kinda day. Among the items viewed were Spongebob, You Only Live Twice, and a variety of old sitcoms: The Mary Tyler Moore Show, Rhoda, Bewitched and M*A*S*H.

On the Mary Tyler Moore Show, they listed Mary Richards' age as 38. Since she was also listed as being born in 1939, that would put the show in 1977. Wow. 32 years ago. Likewise the other shows--Rhoda in particular was very 70's as to their mode of attire..

So I suppose I escape into TVLand during at least the first part of these vacations. What the hell. It's not illegal or fattening, although its moral content is, I suppose, suspect.

I can feel my stress level dropping, incrementally(and, for what it's worth, excrementally)as I go here on my vacation time. A little bit at a time, I'm shedding those tensions, peeling them off my psyche, layer by layer.. And, little by little, feeling more relaxed, more peaceful.

This is why companies don' t like their employees to take more than two or three weeks off at a stretch. You've peeled off enough layers of tension that you just plain don't want to go back. Put another way, after too much time away from the office, you lose the callous on your psyche and could thus get one hell of a blister!

Well in a week's time, I'm still cleaning some junk out of my house. Even after 2 days, feeling a bit more "aired-out". Happily, this vacation coincided with our Neighborhood Clean-up Day, and I was able to divest myself of much unworkable(and downright obsolete)stuff such as an old word processor and typewriter and other such no-longer-functional domestic items.

Cleaning house literally as well as metaphorically. Feels pretty good. Just as with the mental house-cleaning, I won't get it all in a week's time. There'll still be things to tidy up, but at least I'll have made some headway in that area. I'll have gotten a room or two much less cluttered than when I found it.

Well for what it's worth, that's the state-of-the-Rog report, on this, the first day of the rest of my vacation. Still a good many 'first days' yet to enjoy.

Sick Kitty Blues 2nd verse(different from the first)

2009-05-16T21:45:00.000-05:00

What a relief! For the past 2 weeks, actually a little longer than that, I've been suffering with a sick feline, gravely ill through part of it, amid visits to the Animal ER and Veterinarian's office and maintaining her medications 3 times a day. She appears to be bouncing back quite nicely, and what was feared to be wrong with her didn't come to pass.

Ironically, one of the things I like about cats is that they're low-maintenance. Just keep them fed and keep the litterbox attended to and everything's cool. Set it and forget it. With her illness, she's been very high-maintenance, what with doing the thrice-daily medications(all with her fighting me every step of the way)and trips to the Vet. But just like any other member of the Family, it's just what you do.

It's wonderful of course to see them bouncing back from infirmity, if not instantly being able to leap tall furniture in a single bound but at least tackle the bathtub. Before she got sick, the minute she saw me heading downstairs here in the house, she'd bound down herself, racing toward the kitchen. That's starting to happen again, but it's still a vigorous trot. Still, progress is progress...

Still coming down myself from a rough two weeks, not to mention my cat. What's exhausting is not so much the added activity but the damn worrying. Just like for one's kids, you worry over your pets, over how much they're suffering, over whether they're gonna make it(a question I posed to the Veterinarian right off), and this goes on the whole time they're with you. Like the line in the movie Parenthood, from Jason Robards to Steve Martin, "it's like your Aunt Edna's ass. It goes on forever and is just as frightening".

Great line. As I said, still coming down from a roughass two weeks. Me and my feline both. And her canine 'brother', who lapped up some extra attention while she was laid-up for two days in the Animal Krankenhaus, but missed her despite himself.

Actually these episodes probably have some heuristic value. They force you to focus your attention and energy on something besides yourself and your petty appitites and concerns. Pull you out of your own morass of whatever for a bit. And anything that does that by definition makes you look at said morass somewhat differently just from the change in perspective. So that's a good thing, right?

Well perhaps in the bigger sense of things. But in the smaller one, it's still a pain in the ass. All you can say in life, though, is well at least it's cool for now.

A healthy dog, a once again healthy cat, and me in okay shape. It can get better than this, but also a lot worse.

Sick Kitty Blues

2009-05-12T22:02:00.000-05:00

I have two pets, both of whom have been with me since 1997, my dog Lester and my cat Maxine. Had a cat briefly in 1996, shortly after moving into my house here but she ran off, never to be seen again. Her name was Millie, short for either Millicent Penelope or Midred Prunella, depending on my mood. Obviously, since she left, Millie and I never really bonded.

It's not enough to simply acquire a cat or dog. You have to have some kind of connection for it to work, just like any other relationship. Both my current pets came to me when I met them, came right up to introduce themselves as it were. That was when I knew that we had something.

So I've had Lester and Maxine now for going on 12 years, Lester first and then Maxine some 9 months later. We've had our ups and downs, particularly Lester. Dogs are more high-maintenance, especially as puppies. Very destructive. Plus the barking, which was quite offensive to one neighbor in particular. Fortunately we got over that little hurdle, and it's been smooth sailing ever since.

Both animals have been neutered(a particularly kind thing for your cat, since cats don't ever have Menopause but just go into heat every three weeks for their whole lives!), and Maxine has been de-clawed on her front paws. They've been to the Vet for other issues, but basically I don't worry about them so long as they're happy and healthy.

And we've had a long run as far as that goes. Maxine, being a long-haired cat, has had the hairball thing going ever since she was a kitten, but that's been the worst of her problems. Until recently.

Her coughing had become a daily thing, and the cough was more bronchial. Also her breathing became shallower and more raspy. This past Friday things reached a crisis point, and I had to take her into the Emergency Animal Center. Cats are the most recalcitrant animals as far as doing anything they don't want to do and will fight you tooth and nail over it. So tracking her furry ass down and getting it into the vehicle was the hardest part. But they were able to help her breathing.

A most funky weekend followed, watching over her and trying to get her to take her medications. Also watching her get weaker and weaker. Monday morning I got her in to the Animal Hospital where I'd been taking my heretofore healthy animals all these years. The news was not good: an elevated white-cell count, some 'opaque' spots on the chest X-ray, and kidney failure. As it turned out, the first two issues are at least at this point non-conclusive- but there is no cure for kidney failure, just a matter of keeping the animal comfortable. So the best-case scenario in this prognosis is another year or two of living, with lots of medications.

A lot to take in on Monday morning. I held it together until I got in my vehicle heading home for lunch and just bawled the whole way there. And then slobbered all over my dog once I got home. Poor Lester had to see his master at his despondent worst. But then like I told my ex-stepson(while still married to his Mom)," a real man isn't afraid to show his feelings". Still, I don't like to show 'em to everybody. Not those feelings anyway. But it is healthier to get it out of your system.

So my beloved little bundle of fur is now home from the Animal Hospital. She's pretty weirded-out from the whole experience and is moving slowly, a far cry from the graceful feline who'd dash through the house like a fleeting gazelle--especially at mealtime. And she's not going to like the meds I'll have to be giving her 3 times a day. But she's at least thirsty, the first thing she tended to upon getting home.

One thing I've always liked about this cat is that she loves affection, loves to be petted. And most nights right at bedtime and most mornings upon awakening, I have this nice little bundle of purring fur alongside me. At the moment, she's not the most affectionate creature in the world, which would figure after being hospitalized for two days. But at least she deigns to be in the same room with Lester and me, as opposed to hiding in one of the closets like she's been doing.

It's a start. We'll just have to see how it all shakes out.

More cooking less nuking

2009-04-26T15:36:00.000-05:00

I'll probably always love my Microwave. It became a main vehicle as far as feeding myself after getting divorced back in '93, and has served me well ever since. One comment I'll never forget in that time came from my friend Ed, who said, "gee Rog, it's a shame you're getting divorced. Now you'll have to learn how to order food."

Well, fortunately I did have the requisite food-ordering skills to carry me over into bachelor life. As it turns out, Domino's was a staple of our married life diet, so I just continued to utilize said skills, only in a 'single' capacity. . But as far as anything else, I did rely too much on the instant convenience of "puncture, heat 3 min, rotate, heat 1 more min, serve".

Unfortunately I have a stove that needs replacing, but I do have burners that work. And a skillet and several pots. So I'm rediscovering these old culinary vessels. I never was any kind of master chef, but before the days of microwave I could prepare some basic meals.

So I'm relearning a few things, re-acquiring some basic skills long forgotten in the E-Z convenience of the microwave. For one thing it's healthier. For another, there's something to be said in taking time to prepare, and thus enjoy, a meal. And finally, there are certain food items that just get lost in translation no matter what you do.

Eggs. And potatoes. The nuked version of either usually makes you feel like you're on the Amtrak. And thus not only do you get shitty food but you paid way too much for it!

So as resolutions go, this one--more cooking, less nuking--seems do-able. Note that I said less, not none. Given the very human proclivity towards backsliding(definitely my proclivity), I want to cut myself at least a little slack here. But yeah.

Thus far it's just been bacon and eggs. But then again, most of the contents of my refrigerator at this juncture involve that tell-tale initial puncture--the one that precedes heat n rotate. And serve. In other words, all nukeables. So the next trip to the grocery store will yield far more cookable items. I'm on a roll.

Okay, sorry for that one...

Twilight Zone Revisitied

2009-04-18T14:02:00.000-05:00

The Twilight Zone Collection I'd originally ordered(see earlier blog)turned out to be a real stucke auf sheis. About half the DVDs froze on you, and of course always at a critical part of the story, usually the unveiling point as far as that twist in the road which characterized the series.

TVDVDmania is I the name of the outfit. Well, they may have a different name by now...

Family Video(or actually CBS.com)has a much better product. Well, DVDs that aren't copies. Everything works--that's all I ask for!--plus there's more background information and commentaries by some of the stars. Burgess Meredith, Martin Landau, Jonathan Winters and Bill Mumy to name a few. Mumy is actually my age(b. 1954). Sounds like a cool person from the commentary- one of the few kid actors whose life didnt' end up in the shitter.

The Jonathan Winters narrative is pretty good too. And nutty in a few spots, as you might expect. I've probably seen every episode of Twilight Zone at this point, but there's still a lot of extra stuff to check out.

A bit pricier than my original purchase, but then these DVDs aren't copies. And I have an address to send back to(plus local outlets to work through)if something goes wrong. Well you do get what you pay for. Let's hope anyway.

Konsumer Konfusion

2009-04-18T13:45:00.000-05:00

Some of the food products you get at the grocery store these days have some confusing directions. I just discovered a breakfast/lunch delicacy, a sort of omelette affair, whose microwave instructions are a bit vague.

It says cook 2 1/2 minutes, rotate 1/4 turn, then cook an additional 30 sec to 1 1/2 minutes. I'm fine with the cooking directions, but why do I need to rotate 1/4 turn? And which way do I rotate?

Well being a delicacy(at least for the moment)I ended up fixing two of them, so I tried rotating a different direction each time. There's no clearcut benefit to rotating in between cooking sessions, but you do get a slightly different perspective as far as where you're facing in the room and thus what you're taking in visually- seeing more of a particular wall in the kitchen, or seeing more down the hallway.. And so you may perceive the room differently as far as what you consider most important, least important.

You also use different muscles when you're rotating 1/4 turn in either direction. More tricep it would seem. So I can kinda see a benefit there as well as from a visual, feng shui standpoint. I must say though, my rotating a quarter turn in between cooking sessions didn't seem to impact the food itself. But I suppose I benefited in other ways. I just wish they'd be more specific in their directions.

Another day, another bite

2009-04-12T13:31:00.000-05:00

The woes continue in computer-land. My usual avenues of expression are either blocked entirely or fraught with potholes. Much of the time I have to just back out and re-enter(hmm, that sounds sexual, even though I'm the one getting fucked here), but I'm learning to navigate a bit through these choppy-ass troubled waters.

A nice partly sunny Keester Day. I'm sure somewhere--well really lots of somewheres-- kids are finding Easter eggs and holiday merriment is being had. For me a mild Sunday afternoon with a fucked-up computer but enjoying the day nonetheless.

Seems like most of these 'second tier' holidays like Easter we celebrated on behalf of grandparents, and once they were gone, kinda dwindled to never-get-around-to-it. And on behalf of the kids. With neither in the picture at this juncture it ceases to be a fixture.

There. That sorta worked. So, a quiet day at home for Roger U Roundly. The 'first tier' holidays--Christmas and Thanksgiving--are still celebrated, regardless of the existence of those on either extreme end of the age spectrum. But Easter is often well-spent just enjoying the partly sunny skies. And the partial good humor that comes from a truly moderate day.

Well as days go, a solid C+ or maybe even B-. I try to grade on the curve, as far as that goes.

Life is a shit sandwich and every day is another bite

2009-04-11T12:59:00.000-05:00

Ah the vicissitudes of life! My computer is malfunctioning of late, moving slower than smoke off a turd if at all. Can't get on and pontificate from my News page, so here I am at Roger U Roundly. This blogsite seems to be my one avenue of expression until I get this thing fixed.
I recently purchased a defective set of DVDs(or would one say set of defective DVDs?), and noting their unplayability on my DVD player, have tried them here in the computer. Maybe this is my fuckup as far as my computer now malfunctioning. Ahh, shit!
But these things can and will be fixed, so no big whoop as it were. Speaking of defective DVDs, the place NOT to buy from is TVDVDmania. At least not the Twilight Zone Collection. But it would figure from the low quality of the TZ that their other such collections would similarly suck wind.
I must admit I get somewhat outraged when things just plain don't work--particularly when I've plunked down money for it. A discounted price, but gee now I know why!

Might have inherited this indignation as far as that goes. One memory, one which my brother and I still laugh about on occasion, is from a family dinner at Howard Johnson's. I must've been 13 or 14, which would've made my brother 9 or 10. It was a pretty bad meal, apparently my Dad's portion in particular. He left no tip, just a note: your food is swill.

Swill. What a great word! I may laugh about it, mainly the almost flaming indignation my Dad held toward the kitchen staff at HoJo's, but I certainly understand the sentiment, having just received the audiovisual equivalent in my Twilight Zone Collection.. And with it, no small degree of indignation.

Just as you'd figure, the episodes freeze right at a crucial point in the story. So you have to get up and reset everything, losing your hardon in the process. So to speak.

Life can indeed be likened to a shit sandwich. But it is also very much like the Monty Python TV announcement:
"We interrupt this program for three reasons:
1)to irritate you
2)---
3)--- "

I don't remember reasons 2 or 3, but that first one is sufficient. Of course it's my own subjective experience, evaluated subjectively,but it does seem that my life, when it does go wrong, does so in just the way that'll piss me off the most!

So I have a less-than-functional computer and some less-than-functional DVDs(which may, I'll admit, have cause this mess). I've had many less-than-functional things in my life, be they appliances or relationships. Sometimes I could even say my life is swill.

But as for today, right now, it's a beautiful sunny day out there. I'm gainfully employed, with most of my hair and teeth. Got enough food and supplies to keep three critters going for at least the weekend. And at least this blogsite works. Though I guess I'll find out when I try and post this fucker. So I could do worse. Happy Keester.

Submitted for your Approval

2009-03-07T14:23:00.000-06:00

One thing I did for myself over this vacation was treat myself to the complete Twilight Zone. All 5 seasons on DVD. Can't wait to get it in the mail.

Man I love that show! It was on from 1959 to 1964, and being between 5 and 10 years old at that time, I wasn't in a position to enjoy their original airings, but did catch--and fully appreciate--the shows in all their beauty some 10 years later.

Our world was quite a different place(or at least a different-looking one)back in '59-64. You had the Cold War, McCarthyism, cool jazz, the beginning of the Space Age, and the very beginnings of the "hippie" revolution which would happen of course full-fledged later in the 60's. All these things found their way into the Twilight Zone's episodes, in one way or another.

Creator Rod Serling lamented the pressure from network censors as far as being able to make reference to the political climate of the time(remember, this was the era of Senator Joseph McCarthy!), but I think this served as a blessing in disguise. It would've dated, and thus seriously devalued, the show.

What makes a show like this endure--and for a half-century and counting-- is not its reflection of the times in which it was made, but rather its transcendence of them. The most effective Twilight Zone episodes, the ones people still talk about 50 years later, were the "morality plays" which dealt in universal human themes, questions which plague every age of man. From the Stone Age to the Space Age, and then some..

There were a goodly number of episodes about space exploration, but they pretty much left me cold. Too rooted in the '60s and that said, their flying saucers are pretty comical by today's standards. Might as well have everybody wearing Nehru jackets..

The shows dealing with extraterrestial life were way cool though, especially of the "aliens among us" variety. My favorite is the one where the Martian lands his ship near a Diner and makes his way in along with 6 other folks getting off a bus(thus becoming a mystery as well as science fiction thriller). I won't spoil the ending for you if you haven't seen it, but it's highly recommended viewing.

Another favorite is the one with Telly Savalas, entitled "Living Doll". He plays a grouchy guy whose stepdaughter brings home an expensive doll from the store. Talky Tina is the doll's name. To everyone else she just says, My name is Talky Tina and I love you very much. But to crabass stepdad, she has quite a different vocabulary. Things escalate between them until he finally ties a sack around Talky Tina and puts her in a garbage can. He goes back into the house, settles in front of the TV, and the phone rings. He answers it.

The voice on the phone says, My name is Talky Tina and I'm going to kill you.

Fuuuuuuck. Normally I don't use profanity here at Roger U Roundy, but an intense little moment in TV history. Sometimes 'fuuuuuuck' is the only word that'll do.. As my brother told my nephew, in reference to viewing it, "this show will change you".

Looking forward very much to having all the episodes of The Twilight Zone on DVD. I like watching shows "in bulk", and similarly can sit through an entire season of The Sopranos--the only danger there is that I start to talk like the characters on the show after a few hours of viewing. Fugettaboutit!

So in what I hope will be a very short amount of time--a week or so--I'll be the proud owner of 5 years worth of some very well-written, directed and acted stuff. Made while I was still in short pants, but still entertaining to me now as a 50-something-year-old. Nice that some things stand the test of time.

Time On/Time Off

2009-03-06T09:19:00.000-06:00

I remember some years back, at work, end of the day, asking a last-minute question of a co-worker. Nothing earth-shattering, but still something I needed clarification on. He was heading out the door, and, not to be interrupted, responded to me simply by pointing at the clock, which was reading five o'clock straight up.

'Nuff said. This co-worker, who is actually himself a bit of a workaholic, was a bit embarrassed later by his terse response , but I thought it was a good and fair answer. Some things can just be handled on the next business day. 5 o'clock is(at least for the most part)5 o'clock.

Indeed, I try to draw as sharp a line as possible myself between worktime and playtime. Leave the office at the office and leave home at home. Things bleed through at both locations, but that's the basic plan.

This has been a week of vacation. As it turns out, a very well- placed week of vacation. It followed a crazy week at work, and precedes what will probably be another crazy week back at work, so not without its therapeutic value, sandwiched in as it is between two nutty workweeks. . Normally the bread goes on the outside of one's "shit sandwich", but still an aid to digestion wherever placed.

So, yeah, due to return to the world of work on Monday morning. Not looking forward to it but not dreading it either. There'll be people I haven't seen in a week--minus one(see earlier blog Week from Work for more on this situation), and Girl Scout cookies waiting for me on my chair(I hope they're still there!), so my return should be a pleasant one.

And from there the clock starts again, as far as moving toward the weekend, toward my next time-off period and then eventually to the next week off, which'll be sometime in June.. I've pretty much got my time on/time off regulated. Every 3 months I take five days off. Earning 12.5 vacation hours a month at this point gives me 37.5 every three months, or a 5-day week. I'm outa here. See ya!

It is a good thing that I've been gainfully employed all this time, but also a chilling thought that it's been over 22 years since I've had any more than two weeks off from work. I could of course take longer vacations, three weeks or even a month(well, if they'd let me!)but I'd have to wait longer to earn the time off, to have it in the books to use.. As wonderful as a 4-week vacation would be, you'd have to wait 11 months every year to take it. No, the best diet for me is the smaller but more frequent meals, the weeks off every 3 months. Retirement will be my longass vacation..

At this point, there are five years and change remaining before this cowboy can hang up his spurs. Pardner, that's a lot of weekends and a daunting amount of these little quarterly week vacations, but I trust they'll keep me going. Until such time when, at the ripe old age of 60 I can finally leave behind my dualistic time-on/time-off existence for a holistically slothful one.

And if anyone should ask me anything work-related on my way out, I'll just point to the calendar. Unless there's a deal between now and then, it'll read 2014.

Severed Head Healthcare

2009-03-04T01:00:00.000-06:00

Lay your troubles to rest, put your worries to bed.
Put it all in the hands of Severed Head.

Ikey, Mikey, Sam and Fred.
We're the folks at Severed Head.

At Severed Head, we get it done "chop-chop"!

If you were an advertising exec, Severed Head Healthcare(or of course for that matter, Severed Head Anything)would be a tough client to service. Too many chopping block images in there. I'm no historian, but 16th century England and 18th century France come to mind.

As with many such notions, I'm not sure where it came from. Severed Head Healthcare. Or for that matter, Severed Head Insurance. Actually I think I like Severed Head Insurance better now that I think about it.

And I'm glad my own half-baked brain can "sever" itself once in awhile and tap into the world of wondrous non-sequitir such as Severed Head Insurance--as well as other fine Severed Head Financial Products, for that matter.

As always, thanks for tuning in to my particular wavelength. More as it happens from my frequency..

Guitar Town

2009-03-02T01:19:00.000-06:00

March 1st, 2009 from 2 to 5 at The Trading Post in Spring field, IL.For the uninitiated, this was the second annual event. Guitar Town is a 3-hour concert wherein local players from a variety of stylistic backgrounds participate.

I didn't do last year, but was in on it this year, and I must say, a most enjoyable time. Figured it would be, given the people on the card, all friendly spirits as well as good players. Rock, jazz, country and blues(as well as the occasional 'eclectic mix')were represented as far as styles. For the most part, all guitar duos, which was the bill of fare this year.

I'm thinking of the joke, "how many guitar players does it take to screw in a light bulb". The response is, "four. One to screw it in, and the other three to sit in the audience, going 'I could do that' ". There was none of that kind of attitude at this event, at least none exhibited. Everybody was there to play, and to support the other players as well.

I think it was as mellow an event as it was because pretty much all the participants have some miles on us. We're too old and too tired to get too worked up about much besides the playing and camaraderie. Had we been younger, dumber and more full of cum, we may have had more of that competetive edge, that attitudinal "bad cholesterol" that unfortunately goes with the vigor of youth.

Still, a bit disconcerting to play for a room full of guitarists. Even if you are among friends. But then that gives you an incentive to push your shit a little bit more. It's all good. And as I said, everybody was encouraging.

There is always some banter though. Usually it's good-natured, and was on this day. Someone, himself a keyboardist, said to me(and twice at that- he just had to get it in again)"hey, what're you doing hanging around all these guitar players?" I shook it off, until a bit later when he commented about a point in the music, that it'd sound great with keyboard in the mix. I probably had that look on my face a boxer has when he sees a terrific opening. "You're right", I said. "Wonder if there're any keyboard players here today".

So, score a counter shot for Rog there, one right to the snotlocker . Then again, I took a pretty good verbal klop to the chops myself, later on .Someone, another inveterate musician-type(guitar)had his picture taken with me--or was it my picture taken with him- and in so doing I asked, "what, are you gonna put this on your MySpace site?" to which he replied, "no, I want to attract people to the site".

Ouch! I should've seen that one coming. All in good fun though. Personally, I only insult those whom I respect. Strangely enough, if I think that you're a shitty keyboardist or guitarist or whatever, I'll probably be a lot nicer to you.

Anyway. Viva Guitar Town! A successful event. Not that it didn't before, but Springfield now has a well-defined guitar community, made up of quality players in a variety of styles. And most importantly, I heard the bar made money, so there you go. That's the real deal, at least as far as next year's location. But it's nice when something succeeds philosophically as well.

See you next year!

Weak from Work

2009-02-28T00:01:00.000-06:00

As workweeks go, some fly by(until Friday afternoon-which, in breathless anticipation of that 4:30 whistle, drags like a drummer on Darvon)and others, like this past one, crawl through incrementally, excrementally, crunching your ass at every turn.

A week of meetings, moves and counter-moves, some executed and some merely extrapolated, their possible outcomes bouncing off the walls as we tried to formulate a plan. And then waiting to see what came of it all. Waiting to find out our fate. Not unlike, of course, being at a Hospital waiting for lab results. Despite our staunch efforts to remain calm, it gave us some jittery moments. C'mon, Doc. Give it to me straight.

Without getting into any gory details(at least those specific in fact), I can say that my working unit has gone from 2 and a half to 3 back to 2 then to 1 then back to 2 and now back to 1. Some zigzagging in there, but a basic degeneration, a dismantlement not unlike that in the swordfight from Monty Python's "The Meaning of Life". Currently hopping about on my one leg, but hoping for a medical miracle as far as regenerating another limb.

Well actually we've gone not from 2 to 1 but rather 2 to 1(1). That is to say, there are still two of us working my job, just in different locations. 1(1) as it were. To once again analogize from the world of entertainment(hm, why does the word 'anal' suddenly seem so prominent in that word?), this time from TV, it's sorta like when Krissy had her scenes done separately from Jack and Janet.

Only unlike the actors on Three's Company, we're not mad at each other. Quite the contrary. I could even say on some days, particularly with a certain green sweater involved, that I was mad about her. In a platonic, co-worker kinda way, you understand. These schisms always involve some kind of feud, some kind of pissing contest, but it certainly isn't between us.

So we've tied tin cans between our respective locations and hope to maintain communication, to keep a pulse going in the program. Or maybe we'll use walkie-talkies. Speaking of walkie-talkies and the world of entertainment, highly recommended viewing, if you ever come across it, is the episode of The Andy Griffith Show where Opie and his friend Arnold hide a walkie-talkie in their dog's fur and have Goober convinced the dog can talk!

I don't know how I got there, from point A to point B to point L. But suffice it to say a rough week. It's funny that a rough week is still a rough week as far as its basic wear and tear on the body, but how it takes it out of you can vary in quality- that is, the flavor of asskicking you get.

For some years I worked in a noisy office filled with clients and their problems, which could of course come after you through the office's other orifices(i.e. the phones, et al)as well as in person. A bad day would chew your ass off like a wild animal on a liquid diet. I now work in a quiet office in which problems still have the same intensity, just not(usually)the same decibel level, thus more implosions than explosions. A bad day here instead grinds my ass into a fine powder. You see, it's a qualitative difference ..

So here I sit on what's left of an ass that wasn't all that substantial to begin with(though not all that bony either, to defend it), still trying to catch my breath. Rough week. Yeah, I did say that, didn't I?

At this point, I'm on vacation. My 37.5 hours this coming week. Between my ears, I'm not yet there, still hashing out what was and what may be. Still sort of working my way here as far as that goes. But I'll get there. Or here, as it were.

I make the joke sometimes(maybe more often, in which case sorry!)about getting through the workweek unscathed. About not getting any on me. In terms of damage, albeit minor, kind of like-to again borrow from entertainment-the scene from Animal House where they're trying to leave the Dexter Lake Club(after hearing Otis Day and the Knights)and Flounder's car hits every car in the parking lot on the way out.

That's what my chassis feels like on this Friday evening. But a bit of lubrication in the form of Corona(what did you think I was going to say?)and I'm feeling on the mend. Did I mention that this was a rough week?

My (Ig)noble Genes

2009-02-25T18:06:00.010-06:00

There are, among other things, three basic hereditary strands in my family, three prominent traits : shortness, intelligence and alcoholism. Shortness is probably more prevalent in Mom's side, but the intelligence and alcoholism run down both sides of the genetic fence.

So how does this trickle down to me? Well, at 5'4", I definitely got the short end of that DNA stick(thanks so much for that, Mom!), so that's one. As far as alcohol, I was a prodigious beer-drinker in my 20's and early 30's, but then so was everybody else. Much as I hate the whole idea of genetic determinism, I may well have inherited a tendency toward alcoholism, but haven't ever had a real problem with it.( I am drinking a beer while writing this, but that shouldn't be a factor here..).

As to intelligence, we do have some truly smart folk among my kith and kin. The highest IQ in the family that I know of belonged to my Uncle Phil, who had a score of 164, which is of course up there in the cognitive stratosphere, in the 99.9th percentile or thereabouts. Two of my cousins are members of Mensa, and thus themselves probably in at least the 140's-150's range. One of them teaches at Oxford, for what that's worth.. Their sister is also smart as hell.

Likewise my brother, Mom, Dad and other cousins et al. It's a humbling experience being in this family. I guess I inherited some intelligence in the deal(along with the shortness and perhaps a latent alcoholism), though perhaps not in such measure as a few others. My IQ is 29 points lower than my Uncle Phil's, which puts me in the 98th percentile. Not a genius, but not a dummy either. I have my perspicacious moments- along with, by my own admission, a lot of stoopid ones!

I suppose it's a nice thing to have, but the only time my IQ score ever really helped me in this life was once as a freshman in College. There was this kid- Dennis - who was your basic schmuck, at least towards moi. Not evil, mind you- not a "terrible person" by any means, but still, at times, an abrasively insecure one . The sort who makes flippant, insulting remarks to others just to boost his own shaky self-esteem. "Rog- you're dumb!" was said to me on several occasions, just out of the blue with no provocation on my part.

So one day a group of people, including Dennis, are sitting around a table in the cafeteria. Dennis was holding forth about his various accomplishments and personal honors. I was tuning most of it out, but I remember hearing, "..and an IQ of 128".

"My IQ is 135", I said. He got this sort of HUMPH expression on his face, and then the table enjoyed a moment of silence. Man that was fun. A small personal victory. At least he never called me dumb after that..

If he hadn't insulted me on those occasions, I would have kept my lousy 7 extra IQ points to myself and just let him ramble on. I'm not into one-upsmanship, and besides, I come from a family wherein several people could wipe the floor with me in that regard. So humility has been hammered into my ass. Still, there are those times when you need to win one by whatever means necessary. And this was one of them.

So that was the one time my not-great-but-not-shabby IQ came in handy. Even though I'd love to have an astronomical number like my Uncle Phil's(and of course the brain to go with it!)it was probably more effective that mine was just a little bit higher rather than several stadium steps above good ol' Dennis. Just enough to make the point--and to stop his sonata of self-praise, if only for a moment..

Well that's me I guess. A short smart drunk. I'm fine with what I've been given. Well okay I would like to be taller, but I've more or less accepted my height--my feet reach the ground anyway. And alcohol is not a problem- even if I am drinking a second beer while writing this. And even though it's not way up there, I'm okay with the IQ I have, even semi-proud of it--although I don't think it makes me better than anyone else. Or even necessarily more intelligent. I've met folks who didn't do quite as well - Dennis, for one- whom I felt were just as bright as I. And conversely, I've met folks with higher scores than mine whom I felt didn't really have anything on me in that area.

Just like drinking , one's self-image needs to be kept in check . Keep your perspective. Easy to run away with oneself as far as one's "worth" and all, one's "sense of entitlement" in this world. I suppose I could just as easily be the pompous individual sitting in the cafeteria going on about his accomplishments, and then have someone I'd blithely insulted on a few occasions cut in, "My IQ is 142".

And then I'd be the one with the HUMPH expression, all pissed off to their delight and vindication..

* As a sort of post-script to this piece, I wanted to mention that I did share it with one of my cousins. She wrote back to say that she enjoyed it, and shared some of my sentiments in there. Also mentioned her brother's kids, who were "super-smart. And short. And one is in AA. " Nice to see that family traditions continue...