Roger U Roundly

My New View

2012-01-28T20:41:00.004-06:00

This is the view I now enjoy from my new deck. As far as actual physical views, actual scenic vistas, there are certainly better and worse. What's most important is that it's a very comfortable spot in which to sit, whether viewing the world figures into it or not. It just feels good. Simple as that.

I remember before I committed to buying this place, back in 1996, I came over a time or two and just hung out on the back porch. And I recall feeling very-- comfortable. Muy simpatico. Strangely enough, I never sat out there much after that, partly because it was just a little too small, and later falling apart. Maybe all it needed was another 12 feet.

I had to wait until I could afford it though, and that ended up being late last year, around Thanksgiving. Not a lot of nice days left in the year to enjoy it, but there have been a few. And a few this month. Well, plenty of days await this year as we move into Spring-and then Summer and Fall. So far, just a place to sit with my coffee, but I'm sure it will become a place to sit with my beer as well--and even for others to sit with their coffee and/or beer or whatever.

Actually, it's not a new view at all, just a different perspective. But it sure improves the view..

My Pal

2012-01-28T17:20:00.003-06:00

As far as things domestic, since becoming a homeowner, this little guy has been a big help to me on many an occasion. I should say at the outset here, that I am not in any way shape or form a handyman of even the lowest order. A bit of a regret, but one moves on with one's life, and works with what one has.

Not being particularly handy or mechanical, there are nonetheless a few simple things I can manage without assistance. I can change a mean light bulb(and also the filters on the furnace in the basement- yeah, I'm trying to impress you here!), and also unclog a mean sink or toilet.

This latter skill would not be possible without that unsung unclog hero the plunger. So here's to you, pal, for all those fixes to my toilets and sinks. And thanks to you, besides the lightbulb-changing ability, I have an actual domestic skill.

I'm not too shabby at boiling water either..

Back Porch Makeover

2012-01-28T17:00:00.002-06:00

Well it can now be told. This is a classic before-and-after situation with my back porch. As you can see from the before picture, it was about ready to fall into the abyss- and take me and more than a few bucks with it! Real Dogpatch USA stuff.

But then you can see from the after picture that I'm not necessarily into elegance either. Well-built functionality is just fine with me. And my new deck has both these qualities. Plus it's very comfortable. It feels good to hang out there. Unfortunately, this work was done very late in 2011, around Thanksgiving, so not a lot of nice weather in which to enjoy it. But until Spring gets here, I'll take my unseasonal days when we get 'em.

Like I said, it's a very comfortable space. So far it's just been me with my coffee, but I'm sure come the warmer weather that it will be a nice place to enjoy that Corona after a roughass Mnday at work. Plus a place to actually entertain guests- food, drink and merriment.

You've gotta enjoy your small victories in life, and this back porch makeover was one of them. Looking forward to many nice times out on the deck.

Vacation

2011-11-14T12:12:00.004-06:00

No I'm not homeless. And I'm in a better humor than the expression on this pic would indicate. This is the picture of a man on a much-needed vacation. Just took it myself(of myself)a minute ago. Thought it might give things a certain spur-of-the-moment quality, as if to say 'this is me right this minute, like it or lump it'.

I'm now on my first official vacation day. Official here meaning that I'm getting paid for it. Well, I had this past Friday off as well for Veterans Day, but that was a day we all got paid for. Sorta like Texas Hold 'em, where you have common cards and then cards that only you(or your opponents)hold.

So I'm on my cards now. The last two days of my vacation--'officially' anyway--are the two days we get for Thanksgiving, so I'll end my vacation back with common cards. With the stuff in the middle. (I used to host a Poker game for some years, and we called Texas Hold 'em "Shit in the Middle" because of the common cards: the shit in the middle. Well, okay, we did a bit of imbibing during those games..)

Actually my vacation began this last Thursday at 4:30 in the afternoon, when I left work. This is my fourth vacation day out of 17. Whether it's charged to vacation or holiday leave, regardless of the cost center or budget code(s), time off all feels the same.

It may not sound like a lot of time, but I've waited six months for this two-week reprieve from the rigors of daygig. My last vacation was a week and a day, at the very beginning of April; then a hypertrophic weekend around the 4th of July(5 days); then a day or half-day here and there, until finally my time was here!

I'm grateful to have the job I have, especially in this day and age, but also appreciate getting the hell away from it for these periods. Without divulging what I do from 8 to 4:30 Monday through Friday, let's just say it has to do with helping people who don't have jobs- and as such, business is especially booming these days, as you can imagine. Very draining at times, given the problems you hear and try to help solve.

And that's all I'm going to say about work. Glad to have it, but also glad to be up and outa there for a little while. Away from the daily grind. It'll be there when I get back..

For now, I'm on vacation! One thing I do every time out is overeat, just like a teenager on a break from school. I don't drink all that much anymore, so this is where the binge instinct manifests itself. Usually junk food, normally Cheetos. And then I pay the price with throne time. Already gotten that phase of things out of the way in the 'pre-vacation' segment of my time off(Fri Sat Sun), both the excess Cheeto ingestion and the penance time moanin' on the throne.

Actually fostering two good habits this time out: regular guitar practice and semi-regular hours. Well, my pets have something to do with this second item, since they're on me in the morning to get their breakfasts going and a few of my other morning chores. There is one window the cats like to look out of, so it is my morning duty to make sure those blinds are raised. I'm both cook and custodian as far as they're concerned.

Ah, vacation! Still very early on. I can't believe I've got two whole weeks. In the words of Elmer Fudd, "West and wewaxation at wast!!" With that, I'm sure more blogs will follow. As always, thanks for stopping in here.

Celebrities' Real Names

2011-10-27T22:19:00.005-05:00

There are a number of us at work who have an affinity for trivia. I have participated in a couple of Trivia Night events over the past year or so, and had a ball with it. One category that's come up is Celebrities' Real Names. Someone brought in a list, courtesy of the internet. Naturally I got a copy of it..

Here is a list of all the ones I can remember, some from the list and others I just knew. Interesting to note the differences between the nom de voyage and the real name: the stage name is either more anglicized(more white-bread)or just more euphonious or exciting.

Judy Garland--Frances Gumm
Jack Benny- Benjamin Kubelsky
Jane Seymour--Joyce Frankenberg
Woody Allen- Allen Stuart Konigsberg
George Burns- Nathan Bierbaum
Mel Brooks- Melvin Kaminsky
John Denver--Henry John Deutschendorf
Sally Field- Sally Mahoney
Rock Hudson--Roy Scherer Jr
Suzanne Somers- Suzanne Mahoney
Danny Thomas--Muzyad Yakoob
Angie Dickinson- Angelina Johnson
Kirk Douglas--Issur Demsky
Billie Holliday- Eleanora Fagan
Karl Malden--Mladen Sekulovich
Orson Bean--Dallas Burrows
Jerry Lewis--Joseph Levitch
Red Buttons--Aaron Chwatt
John Forsythe--John Lincoln Freund
Michael Landon--Eugene Michael Orwitz
Bea Arthur--Bernice Frankel
Gene Wilder--Jerome Silberman
Robert Blake--Michael Gubitosi
Tony Randall--Leonard Rosenberg
Tammy Wynette--Wynetta Pugh
Jimmy Dean--Seth Ward
Eric Clapton--Eric Clapp
Huey Lewis--Hugh Cregg
Sandra Dee--Alexandra Zuck
Bobby Darin--Walden Robert Cassotto
Alan Alda--Alfonso D'Arbruzzo
Eddie Albert--Edward Albert Heimberger
Lee J Cobb--Lee Jacob
Ellen Burstyn--Edna Gilhooley
Whoopi Goldberg--Caryn Johnson
Dean Martin--Dino Crocetti
Inger Stevens--Inger Stensen
Shelley Winters--Shirley Schrift
Shirley Booth--Thelma Booth Ford
Nicholas Cage--Nicholas Coppola
Tony Danza--Anthony Iadanza
Jill St John--Jill Oppenheim
Raquel Welch--Raquel Tejada
Lauren Bacall--Betty Joan Perske
Michael Caine--Maurice Mickelwhite
Jamie Farr--Jameel Farah
Jodie Foster--Alicia Christian Foster
Elvis Costello- Declan McManus
Roy Rogers-- Leonard Slye
Dale Evans--Frances Octavia Smith
Natalie Wood--Natasha Gurdin
Lana Wood--Svetlana Gurdin
William Holden--William Franklin Beedle Jr
Ted Knight--Tadeus Konopka
Anne Bancroft--Anna Italiano
Shirley MacLaine--Shirley Beaty
Martin Sheen-- Ramon Estevez
Charlie Sheen--Carlos Estevez
Ringo Starr--Richard Starkey
Richard Burton--Richard Jenkins
Twiggy--Leslie Hornby
Les Paul--Lester Polfus
John Wayne--Marian Michael Morrison
Larry King--Larry Ziegler
Bernadette Peters--Bernadette Lazzaro
Cheryl Ladd--Cheryl Stoppelmoor
Chad Everett--Raymond Compton
Cary Grant--Archibald Leach
Burl Ives--Berle Ivanhoe
Diane Keaton--Diane Hall
Michael Keaton--Michael Douglas
Tom Cruise--Thomas Cruise Mapother IV
Harry Morgan-Harry Bratsburg
Lou Diamond Phillips--Lou Upchurch
Tim Allen--Timothy Allen Dick
Tina Turner--Annie Mae Bullock
Bobbie Gentry--Roberta Streeter
Mark Twain--Samuel Langhorne Clemens
George Orwell--Eric Blair
Candace Azzara--Matilda Azzara
Billy Idol--William Board
Sting--Gordon Sumner
Donna Summer- LaDonna Andrea Gaines
Don Ameche--Dominic Amici
Pat Benatar--Patricia Andrezewski
Crystal Gayle--Brenda Webb
Muhammed Ali--Cassius Clay
Barry Manilow--Barry Alan Pincus
Marilyn Monroe--Norma Jean Baker
Chevy Chase--Cornelius Crane Chase
Bob Hope--Leslie Towne Hope
Lou Costello--Louis Cristillo
Rodney Dangerfield--Jacob Cohen
Kim Hunter--Janet Cole
Meatloaf--Marvin Lee Adair
Troy Donahue--Merle Johnson Jr
Moe Howard--Moses Horwitz
Curly Howard--Jerome Horwitz
Shemp Howard--Samuel Horwitz
Olivia Hussey--Olivia Osuna
Tony Bennett--Antonio Benedetto
Sophia Loren- Sofia Scicolono
Sigourney Weaver--Susan Weaver
Dyan Cannon- Samile Diane Fiersen
Pat Martino- Pat Azzara
Fred Astaire- Frederick Austerlitz
Joan Crawford- Lucille LeSeure
Morgan Fairchild- Patsy Ann McClenny
Roger U Roundly--Sam Crain(who?)

Okay, that's all my brain can muster in this sitting. More than a few others, but seemingly half-remembered. Seems like these could easily be categorized into Actors/Actresses, Authors, Musicians, and General Celebs. Maybe next time. Hope you enjoy these. Might be one in here you didn't know.

Celebrity Dump

2011-10-02T19:12:00.006-05:00

I guess I'm thinking along the lines of a Reality TV Show, where different celebrities are filmed performing that usually brief but intimate personal act of elimination. Not too graphic, necessarily, most shots from the waist up would be fine- but we'd definitely want to catch that furrowed brow, that frown which signifies that a loaf is indeed being pinched. The act of defecation, which makes it a --Celebrity Dump.

Of course, this is where the actor's craft comes in. The struggle to release that recalcitrant rectal rocket, that leviathan Lincoln Log of fecal matter, and how that plays on his or her face. Or they could play it in less epic terms, as an everyday event, or with great subtlety of understatement. But this would be the climactic point of each celebrity episode: the release, and how it's played on the face of each celebrity taking a dump.

Now I didn't mean for this to include only the theatrical community(that would be Shitting with the Stars). No, Celebrity Dump would include celebrated persons who are not and will(hopefully)never be actors: politicians, lawyers, doctors, you name it just as long as they're--celebrated. Not too graphic, mind you--mostly shot from the waist up, but the wiping and flushing would be filmed in some manner.

No, the main thrust of this series is that all the people taking dumps are celebrated persons. People whose lives we often live vicariously. People we'd often rather be than ourselves. Sorta like Ozzy(???).

Amore No More

2011-09-15T20:14:00.007-05:00

Well maybe it wasn't really "amore" after all. Maybe more a matter of convenience, of going for what's in front of you in life. Sometimes the way to get ahead in life, if you've been in a 'drought' situation(whether in your employment or your love life)is to take the first "yes" you get and go from there. The "yes" you respond to may turn out to be your dream job or dream person and end up fulfilling all or at least most of your needs in this area.

Or maybe it won't.

If it doesn't look like it's going to fit the bill, if there's more potential unhappiness than happiness, then you would do well to exit the relationship. This depends of course on how much time and energy you have invested. In my marriage, I hung in there and hung in there and hung in there some more, until it was finally evident that we at least needed some time away from one another. We talked about reconciling, but I decided not to, figuring that we'd get into the same arguments, the same power-plays, all the same stuff that drove us apart in the first place. Best to just keep going and not look back.

This current relationship was just a couple of months. Many phone calls and emails and a handful of get-togethers. She came into my life during what was a tough time for me. I had some health issues, some things with me that needed fixing, over which I was a bit apprehensive. One of the things I had to tend to earlier in the year was cataract surgery, something she'd already been through. This was implicitly reassuring, the fact that she'd already covered the ground I was afraid to walk over, the hot coals of my uncertainty. Plus she was an intelligent person, seemed to be well-educated and not without her charms.

I should probably add here that this was an internet meeting, from a dating site we both subscribed to, and that she initiated the relationship. She wrote first, and I decided to go for it. An attractive person, as it turned out, a bit tall for my taste, but I decided to try and overcome my prejudice in this area.

And I have, at 5'4" , been the recipient of height prejudice(in the other way of course), so I was thinking something along the lines of not doing unto her as I've been done unto. And with that, speaking of 'amore no more', maybe I was even thinking past her already(before even starting off), hoping that my lack of prejudice here would somehow karmically affect some woman down the road into a similar attitude toward me. Some short woman would pick me over some tall guy.

So for whatever reason or reasons, however convoluted or just pathetically chimerical, I decided to look past the height differential. She's intelligent and clever and attractive, and very complimentary towards moi, always telling me I'm gorgeous(believe me, I know I'm not, but it's nice to hear)and so forth. And it's a time when I'm most vulnerable, looking at friggin' eye surgeries and all that entails. What's not to go for here?

Naturally, as you get to know someone, you learn all the crap they carry around with them. All their problems, whether familial, social, physical or mental. Mainly door number 3 here, which of course can open up door number 4 on occasion. Well we've all got our problems, our issues, whatever door they come out of. I certainly have mine, but try to manage 'em.

Her health problems(which I will not enumerate here--protecting the innocent and all that)are from all indications, pretty serious. At times, they're incapacitating. There were occasions where she'd have to leave here to go home and take pain medications. She had her good days and bad days with all this, but mobility was definitely an issue.

The mobility was of course most apparent when we were out together. I am(at least so far)more of the Speedy Gonzalez school: a peripatetic, zippin'-around kinda guy, and she was cousin Slowpoke Rodriguez, so I had to slow it wayyyy down. This plus the height difference(about 5 inches)made me a bit uncomfortable. Us out in the world was perhaps something I could've adjusted to eventually, but it didn't feel good.

Most of our get-togethers were spent seated, as it turned out- either out to dinner or on the couch at my place, usually the latter as time went on. I have one room in my house which is designed solely for TV viewing. It's a small room with French Doors and a giant TV in it which kinda dwarfs everything else. Oh, and a threadbare couch barely big enough for one person, let alone two. So our relationship sort of morphed into an event we called "movie night", which consisted of watching movies and such snuggled on said threadbare couch.

A very compartmentalized relationship, but as compartments go, not too shabby. Movie night was fun, it was something I enjoyed as well. I think it might have worked over a longer term had it moved from its PG rating into something beyond the point of parental guidance, could've stayed compartmentalized but as movie and sex night. For that matter, that could almost work indefinitely, provided you had both good movies and good sex...

What's most important to me in a relationship, even more than height and physical infirmities is the fact that it's a two-way street. I show you mine, you show me yours. It is part of things(see earlier paragraph)but I'm not just talking genitalia. If you know where I live, where I work and have met my friends, I should in turn know your address and where you work(or what you do to pay for yourself, or who pays for you). Seems only fair to me. If this kind of reciprocity is not going on in the relationship, then it's like the brown-skinned baby born to Chinese parents.

Sum Ting Wong.

So I decided to exit this relationship. A difficult thing to do, because I don't want to hurt her feelings. But despite the cool things about her, it just wasn't a good fit for me, at least after awhile. I think for me it just ran its course. There are things and people in your life that show up at certain opportune times, to serve a certain purpose, and I think that was the case here: to alleviate anxiety about my surgeries and to provide female companionship, something I hadn't had in awhile. And to provide companionship for her-something she hadn't had in awhile.

A relationship, it seems, is sort of an organism in itself. If you have one part out of whack, and everything else is running smoothly, the organism will compensate for it. If it's not running smoothly otherwise, if there's no homeostasis, then that one part will continue to fester and plague you. In this case it was the height difference- which, if all else were cool, would've probably made less and less difference to me. But as it was, with other stuff in there, it kinda nagged me.

So I'm back on the open market. Fortunately this woman was cool about everything, no craziness or histrionics. She thanked me for the time we had. Thank you right back, it was good for me too- maybe not for the long pull, but for what it was, you bet. And I'm glad I provided you with companionship as well, something you needed. Hope you can find someone who's a better fit for you, who can pick up where I left off.

We'll see what, if anything, life throws at me in the way of another female. It'll be what it is. I think I have a bit more to bring to it, now having had this one. For one thing, I had somebody tell me I was 'gorgeous'...

Of Crummy and Ideal Realities

2011-08-19T23:24:00.007-05:00

Well let's consider this the 'before' picture(the one below). My back porch is a funky, fading thing, something I've wanted to fix for the longest time.Without getting fixed, it's not long for this world. So, something that doesn't have to get done right this minute, but in the next available one. Hadda get the finances somewhat, like, together, before embarking on any home-improvement projects. So now I'm ready to proceed.

I had a backyard lawn that had grown into a menagerie of plant life- mainly along the fence, but the two sides were starting to meet each other. It was a jungle. This is obviously the 'after' picture. Funny thing that sometimes you can't see one problem for another. Once all the shrubbery was cleared out, I could see with much greater clarity the state of my back porch. And maybe once the back porch is taken care of, this will illuminate yet another problem. Or, hopefully, at that point I'll just be able to hang out on my expanded back porch and enjoy it.

One step at a time. I've always wanted more of a back porch, one I could sit out on first thing in the morning or last thing at night drinking whatever fluid is appropriate for that time of day. This is where my dog has his meals, so his dining room will expand along with my back porch. Actually I'm thinking more along the lines of a deck, adding another 10-15 feet or so.

There is the present crummy reality, as pictured, and then the picture in my mind of a nice deck suitable for all manner of activity: lounging, sunbathing, eating, even screwing if the lights are off. But we ain't there yet. We're still in the present crummy-ass reality. Then again, like so many of our present crummy realities, it can be fixed. In this case, just involves getting up off of a few bucks(well more than a few).

Soon these will both be 'after' pics. Then on to another 'before'..

I Don't Understand Some of the People Here

2011-07-31T17:59:00.005-05:00

I had kind of a perplexing Facebook experience just this past week. I think, with the unrelenting heat, it was just one of those times where everybody is a little bit on edge. Extreme heat is more enervating, more stressful, than bitter cold. So that could account for it, in part.

Just the other week there was something on Facebook, a funny link with commentary from various folks on it, one of whom I know real well and at least one I don't know at all. One of the folks I didn't know on the comment string caught my eye. I liked their FB monicker(made me laugh), and the fact that they were a young student in their college's jazz studies program- and an instrumentalist to boot(not that there's anything wrong with being a vocalist, but I love seeing girls who want to be players too). So I did something I don't usually do. I sent out a Friend Request to someone I've never met.

Sometimes you do things that aren't "you" just to change your program around, to try to set new patterns(and thus new results)in motion. And sometimes you do it purely on a whim: just because it's something you wouldn't ordinarily do. In this case it was the latter scenario, a case of 'oh why not?' Strangely enough, it was something I didn't expect to hear back on. I figured she'd get it, and go, "Ewwww- why is this middle-aged man writing to me?" And from there, just decline the request.

To my surprise, she accepted. So we became FB friends, which meant I was in her network and she was in mine. We could see each other's FB commentaries, and add our own. This is apparently where I stepped on my schvantze. She'd put up a picture of herself, which elicited a few comments, one of which was from the one friend I have(excuse me, had)in common with her. It had to do with the picture bringing out the mischief in her eyes. I clicked that I 'liked' that comment.

The next day, I brought up my Facebook page, and noticed something missing. I had one less Facebook friend. Her. Dropped her a line, saying basically "whazup?", and to her credit got a prompt reply: 'It just makes me a little uneasy when a middle-aged man I've never met likes my profile'.

That made me very uneasy, as far as that goes. For one thing, I had to realize that I am middle-aged. But seriously- or as seriously as I can take this- if you want to get technical, I indicated that I liked the comment made. This to her was tantamount to liking the profile picture itself, a much more heinous offense here. It's apparently quite inappropriate for me to like the profile picture, although I'd think it'd be okay to like the comment made, provided you make that distinction. "Like" still seems to me pretty mild, pretty innocuous though. Maybe Facebook should put another link, called "lust after". Now if you were to see that clicked by your picture, you might have something to worry about..

Being a middle-aged man, I don't go after girls this young, on Facebook or otherwise. The boundaries she was afraid were being overstepped were already in place in my own mind, only difference being that mine go just a few feet further. To me, there's nothing wrong with appreciating a nice picture of a young girl(and it was just a face shot at that, for chrissakes!). That's not grounds for de-friending someone in my opinion. What would justify hitting the zap button would be if I made off-color or suggestive remarks. But again, I'm not trying to get anything going with some girl one-third my age. Let's leave that to Hugh Hefner--though his are more at the one-eighth mark!

If I examine my motives, this is a person that I would've gone for had I been 30 years younger. Or they were 5 years older. Again, me with the jokes here--okay 25-30 years older herself. So maybe there's a little buzz in the hypothetical realm here, in what-if-world. But in the so-called real world, no I wasn't trying to get anything going. Just add a new FB friend. I mean, what the hell-maybe she has an older sister.

In situations like this, I just have to remember how differently the world looks to different people, based on where they are in their lives: what phase of life they're in, what kinds of experiences life 'throws' at them. A 19-year-old female who is petite and fairly cute is going to have quite a different spate of things made available to her than a soon-to-be-57-year-old man. The world is still a wondrous place, but peopled by more than a few creeps of the male persuasion, whose attention she's going to attract. Her uneasiness at having this strange new person 'like' her picture is justified. At least from her perspective.

One advantage to being 57 as opposed to 19 is that you don't sweat stuff like this. By the time you get here, you've been lied to and shit on a lot more, and you've had a few dreams that didn't turn out the way you wanted them to. I guess that's the price, the trade-off. All told, I still think this is probably a very nice young lady, whether she wants to be my FB friend or not. As far as the possibility of 're-friending' I don't know. I didn't know how to close things out with her, once we'd seemed to resolve this little imbroglio. Just said, 'I think we're good here', and sent her a music page of mine which has a tune or two featuring the one friend we have/had/in common.

We'll see. Not having what I consider to be good social skills, I try and work on this in just about every interaction I have. In this case I did the best I could as I do every time out. Put my best foot forward, even though it sometimes ends in my mouth.

End of the Character

2011-07-21T22:35:00.002-05:00

I find it interesting seeing actors from one's favorite TV show or movie interviewed, noting how different or how similar they are to their characters. Larry Linville, who played Frank Burns on TV's M*A*S*H series for the first couple seasons, was 180 degrees away from the character he portrayed: low-keyed, soft-spoken, and reportedly well-liked by his castmates.

One of the comments he made about Frank Burns always stuck with me: "if Frank were to become suddenly liberalized, that would be the end of the character". Frank would, for all intents and purposes, cease to exist.

This was apparently one of his reasons for resigning from the show, the fact that he'd exhausted the potentialities of his character. Nowhere else to go with it and still keep the essential- annoying quality of Frank Burns.

The reason this remark stuck with me is that I've known people in this life who, among their various aspects of self(some of which might be wonderful), have that central something that just irritates the living shit out of you. They could be a rabble-rouser, for instance- someone who just loves, just lives to stir things up, to add drama the way you'd add salt(or A-1 sauce!) to a steak. An incendiary. More plainly put, a shit-stirrer. We have one person in particular from work who fits this description. Well okay, they embody this description.

Or they could be a nasty gossip. Someone who spreads rumors at the drop of a hat, and bad-mouths whoever has just left the room. We have someone in the musical community- well, several such someones but one in particular- who fits this description to a T. He's referred to in some circles as the Town Crier. Actually a Jekyll and Hyde thing going here: a very nice kind individual coexisting with(but frequently eclipsed by) a major asshole. Well I should say a terribly, sometimes pathetically insecure individual whose insecurities drive him to act like a - major asshole. That's the best way I can put it.

Both these individuals are my personal Frank Burnses. The rabble-rouser seems to create trouble and drama almost without intending to, like it was second nature. Like some self-destructive psychic force pulls them in. It's happened at every location they've worked: walk in, sweet-talk everyone, and then proceed to create and spread drama, and then move to a new worksite(with the staff they just left singing, "Thank God and Greyhound you're gone")and probably went on way before working for the same company as me. This behavior is so central to them, their whole socialization process, that if it suddenly ceased: if they came in to work and got to it without meddling or stirring up trouble, you'd either suspect head trauma or be looking around for pods.

Likewise the Town Crier. His deeply ingrained socialization process is not so much to stir up trouble in a given community or setting as to balkanize it. To divide people into 'in' groups and 'out' groups, with himself in the 'in' group of course: always a small and exclusive membership. And he does this in just about every social setting he finds himself in, just as second nature as the 'rabble-rouser' does their thing. He just kicks into automatic, and some sort of polarity is set up between who's "in" and who's "out". I've seen him do it, time after time after time after time. Again, if he were to suddenly open up and be more accepting, less judgmental, less insecure, you'd figure it was either a pretty good bump on the noggin or Body Snatcher time. I think if I ever heard him say, in reference to some bit of potential gossip: "well gee Rog, that's none of my business.", I'd probably faint.

End of the character. Maybe the character as such is part of one's purpose in life, that is to overcome its imperfections, its insecurities. And once that is achieved, it's the end of your 'mission' here. If Frank Burns were to suddenly become liberalized, he'd have a satori moment- and then get hit by a Bus.

Fat app and other fun

2011-07-16T09:54:00.006-05:00

The mind is its own place, and can make a Heaven out of Hell, or a Hell out of Heaven.

I don't recall who came up with this one, but I think it was William James, author of The Varieties of Religious Experience. As far as its application in my experience(religious or not)I've found it to be true. You can take an inherently positive, fun situation like a musical band- something designed for you and others to make beautiful music together , reveling in the joyous interaction and comradeship- and with the right combination of alpha personalities it can become a snarling morass of ego conflicts and silly snits and power plays among its membership.

And you can take an inherently unfun place like a government office, with its never-ending line of disgruntled clients, seething negativity through every pore. They always want at least to bitch to you about their situation if not bitch at you about it. Questions, problems, complaints/questions, problems, complaints/questions, problems, complaints. With the right combination of non-alpha personalities though(beta? gamma? theta?), it can be a place where you actually have a good time amidst the emotional squalor around you.

I have been in both these situations: the bands that become decidedly unpleasant due to personality conflicts(those doggone alphas), and the office job that would be unbelievably grim if not for some of the folks I worked with. Currently in the latter situation. It's still unbelievably grim at times, given some of the people we have to deal with, the saving grace being the positive attitude and humor of some of the people I work with.

We do have fun at the office. Everybody more or less joins in on this, but the people who seem to get into it the most are either the newest employees--who aren't yet burnt out--or the old-timers, who are burnt out but for whom retirement is just around the corner.

One thing people were goofing with this past week was a program you can have downloaded to your phone(provided it's an iPhone or similarly advanced model)called "Fat-app", which adds lbs to anyone's picture. The enclosed shot is of me, after being fat-app'ed. I wasn't the Ugliest Mug in the Office, but I do feel I was a contender for that dubious honor. Actually the 'winner' told us he'd kill us if we published his picture, so I just went with mine here.

We have one individual in particular who adds to the fun element(some days you might say fringe element, as in lunatic). His antics vary, from dressing up in Arab garb and playing a recorder to blasting music first thing in the morning. Naturally the music is anything but low-key, usually Opera or the Village People, the latter often accompanied by Steve Martinesque dancing. The other morning he announced he was going to play YMCA and 5 or 6 people groaned all at once. (Had it been a cartoon, we'd have all shared a dialogue balloon.) He played it anyway, and about a minute into things, our manager came out of his office and made him shut it off. I thought this would bring a round of applause, but it was the sound of just one person clapping.

Me.

Much of the time at 8:02 in the am, I'm not up for frivolity. I'd rather not hear Macho Man or
In the Navy when I'm trying to drink my coffee and wake up, but I'm glad the frivolity is there. Our job is at times a real Hell-on-Earth, given some of the people we have to deal with. As one of the old-timers, who has been burnt out for awhile now, and sometimes wonders how he's going to get through these next three years(before retirement), the horseplay definitely makes it an easier ride. Maybe not Heaven, but at least a higher Astral region..

Within that cell as well, Nell(and isn't that swell?)

2011-06-25T19:55:00.005-05:00

Of course, it's perhaps too early to tell,
but what the hell.
By the way, what's that smell?

Well things don't always jell
at the ring of a bell(which could put you under a spell).

Resuming transmission here at Roger U Roundly after some time away from blogdom. Once in awhile I fade from the airwaves, into temporary dormancy- but always seem to bounce back. Very busy on the 9-to-5 front these days, even more than usual. The dayjob kicketh my ass(and doth taketh names).

The office where I work is more often than not a charged atmosphere, rife with emergencies big and small we're called upon to handle. Nerves can wear thin and tempers can flare. In this past week we had the equivalent of a 5- car pileup on the Interstate:

Person A was trying to organize some send-off cards for a number of people leaving, and person B was trying to interject another way of doing it(which he should or shouldn't have done, all things considered, but he did it nonetheless); person A gets pissed with person B for interfering and throws up their hands in exasperation. Person C later lands on Person B for what they did to Person A, as Person B is relating the story to Person D. So you have both Person A and Person C pissed with Person B, who is possibly pissed himself at Person A but definitely at Person C for interfering themselves(and vociferously at that).

A bit later, Person C lands on Person E for something work-related. So you now have Person A pissed with Person B(yeah yeah, we knew that); Person B possibly pissed with Person A but definitely at Person C; Person C pissed with both Person B and Person E; Person D is, I figure, neutral in all this; and finally Person E, along with Person B, pissed at Person C.

Oy...No wonder I need rest and relaxation on my weekends. This one featured merriment, and I was just too damned tired. Feeling a bit more spry now though, with a bit of sit-on-ass time in today.

That's reality for now. Always something entertaining going on someplace.

The Twin Cities of Normal and insane

2011-06-09T21:47:00.003-05:00

Some years back, a friend told me about one of his crazy clients who had left his grocery store job because he was getting subliminal messages about the grapes. Now this being second-hand information, I don't know the point of origin of these communications, whether it was other produce items(say, the mangoes- I hear they can be a bit twitchy)or perhaps another psychic vector to which this person is attached, but he was definitely getting the vibe on those grapes.

I don't mean to make light of this poor guy's dilemma. This stuff obviously caused him a great deal of psychic distress, being all too real to him. We all have our demons. There are days when I feel I myself should get a room in the Hoo-hah Hotel.

Case in point: this is my view from the throne in the upstairs bathroom. Now is it just me, or is there something going on here between the space heater and my tennis shoes? It sure looks like there's talking going on. I think they stop the minute I come in there. My brother used to record the activities of his pets in their house while the humans were out, and said it was quite entertaining. I'm sure between them, my dog and cats kick up their heels a bit in my absence. Add to that the space heater and tennis shoes, though I'm not sure the two entities interact.

Kinda makes life one big Flintstones cartoon, with the anthropomorphic appliances(all talking- just like the animals), though I don't know if that extended to fruits and vegetables. Even on the Flintstones, that's pretty "out there".

I have no idea where I was going with all this. That's my view from the upstairs throne though. Hope the grapes guy got some help all around. I guess, from my view it's easy to see how someone could enter that world. A distinct but fine line.

The Institute for Piss Removal- and other harebrained ideas

2011-06-09T20:57:00.003-05:00

Seems like I've always had weird shit floating around between my ears. At the age of 8 or 9, I had a dream that I had a disease called funk, in which my eyes would blur and I'd levitate. And at the age of 56, I still have goofy bizarre-ass ideas that pop into my head. So of late I've taken to carrying around this "idea book" with me.

And so far it's yielded one blog, which I posted a week or so ago, called Anima/Animus. Plus this here blog. So far, the only new idea is one of those cerebral UFOs that just kinda appear between the ears: a business called THE INSTITUTE FOR PISS REMOVAL.

Hey, don't blame me. I didn't think of this. Well, I did, just not in any kind of conscious formulation is all. Just kind of occurred to me, and with no connection: I hadn't had to clean up any piss(I have three pets)and haven't been in an institutional setting, and don't think I need to be Institutionalized(you may disagree with this by the time you're done reading, however..). A mental non sequitir, got nothing to do with nothing.

The Institute for Piss Removal. It sorta works because it's both quasi-important sounding and completely stoopid. Pompous and hollow. This wasn't from a dream, just a midday sort of "reverie", if you can call it that- although it sounds like something from the world of dreamland.

I love the "place" these ideas come from, and am grateful that I have an occasional pass to there, to bring something back on my ephemeral visits. The imagination. I can't imagine life without it. So hopefully this little book will bring about more such ideas, which have little or no application in real life but are funny to read later.

The Institute for Piss Removal. Urine- you're out!

Okay, sorry for that one...

More on Movie Night

2011-06-02T21:11:00.003-05:00

I've talked about movie night in here for awhile now, and in two different contexts: a solo experience, initially an alternative to beer-drinking of a weekday evening; and a shared experience of a weekend evening, watching the show from the cozy confines of a couch barely big enough for one person let alone two.

The coziness is of course very much a part of movie night for both of us, but still the movie has to be right. We each have our tastes in films, which we've brought into alignment at least thusfar: she likes Vampire films and horror in general; I am amenable to these but am more of a dark comedy and/or drama kinda guy. And, being a guy(and a typical one in this sense)I also favor adventure movies. We watch all of the above fare in the course of movie night.

One of the things about converting movie night from a solo to a duo experience is that you want to share movies you've enjoyed by yourself. And one of the movies I shared on this past occasion was the old James Bond film From Russia with Love.

I like all the old Sean Connery Bond films, but this one is my favorite. I first saw it as a little kid, maybe 10 years old(1964)in the theater, and have loved it ever since. I know every bit of action, and every bit of dialogue, but still watch it over and over all the same.

One of my favorite scenes is where Bond and Tanya are aboard the ferry boat outside Istanbul, and he's recording information from her on a little reel-to-reel tape recorder about the Lector Decoding Machine:

BOND: How large is the machine?
TANYA: Like a typewriter. In a brown carrying case. Brown, like your eyes..
BOND(sternly): Keep it technical!

When viewing this film in the privacy of my movie room, I say this last line along with Sean Connery. It got a startled laugh from the person sharing the couch with me. I guess I've seen this movie so many times, it's turning into a Rocky Horror Picture Show kinda thing with audience participation on certain lines..

One other thing I was able to share with her is a detail from the scene where Kronsteen and Klebb are standing before Number One(whom you never really see, just hands petting that white cat)--these are probably my favorite scenes in the old Bond movies--getting their comeuppance for Bond getting away. Always the old switcheroo as far as who gets it- in this case a poison boot right in the shins. The henchman pivots from Klebb, Kronsteen gets kicked, goes down to his death. Kronsteen obviously makes some kind of face from the floor up at the SPECTRE henchman who's just kicked him, as you see him stifle a laugh. It's very quick, but it's there.

Movie night is one aspect of my life these days that makes it worthwhile.

Foods to be eaten naked

2011-05-30T08:04:00.004-05:00

Barbecued food. Chinese food with chopsticks(to be eaten naked in bed). Cheetos. I'm sure there's more, but I got these from a pretty good source. Makes me want to stock my kitchen with these items for when she next visits me..

Anima/Animus

2011-05-29T11:02:00.005-05:00

In the office where I work, there's a lot of ribbing among the staff, a lot of horseplay. Most of the time this is one of its charms. Whatever you do(or don't do)is bound to catch someone's attention and set a few tongues to wagging- right down to how you park your car in the morning! You know, whether it's perfectly aligned within the two yellow lines. It starts the minute you're on the property, and doesn't end until after you've left for the day(if there's anyone still there to talk about you!).

One of the people I work with recently had a couple ceramic kittens on his desk, apparently from his wife, and a bouquet of flowers from an unknown source. Normally his desk just contains the bare essentials to perform the daily tasks, everything relegated neatly into folders: the right tool for the right job. A desk that would pass a military inspection if such a thing took place in the office(and thank God it doesn't!). So the ceramic kitties and the flowers did kinda stick out. Maybe not like a sore thumb, but certainly a manicured one.

And so the razzing starts. "Gee, Bob, your desk is looking a lot more- girly these days". "So what's next: some knick knacks, maybe some curtains?"

I decided to play Devil's Advocate and stick up for him. "C'mon you guys, Bob is just expressing his feminine side", which was taken(even by him)to mean expressing his gay side: oy, here come the Liza Minelli posters and the Opera records. Pretty soon he'll be bringing in quiche for us to enjoy, there'll be the clandestine phone calls to someone named Sheldon, and then we'll see his vehicle parked outside one of our town's fern bars and that'll be it. And to think it all started with a pair of ceramic cats..

Folks, this was not what I meant! For the record I don't think Bob has a gay side- and I could care less if he did. But like all men(yes, all men)he does have a feminine side. And it seems most unhealthy to me to not even acknowledge it, much less give it expression.

Our society is so fucked up. Roles for men and women are so fucked up in their rigidity- and they're much more so for men! Women can wear men's clothes, and get away with it(well past a certain point it does look dykey), but if a man wears women's clothes,that's a one-way ride to the fern bar. A woman can have a one-time experience with another woman and she's exploring her sexuality; but if a man tries that, he's a God-damned dick-smoker!

It's all based in fear. We're afraid of what's different from ourselves, and we're really afraid of what's different inside ourselves. So us guys continue with our posturing, making sure the contents of our desks and our lives can pass inspection. But like Lenny Bruce once said, it's the suppression that gives it its power- equally true whether it's the word nigger or a set of ceramic cats..

I would love to live in a society where people aren't afraid of their various sides, and don't feel they have to shut off some of the rooms in their houses. Where they can leave flowers and ceramic cats on their desks without fear of being thought to be light in the loafers. This was a sentiment expressed about the recent Gay Pride Parade: I'd love to see who was there, but wouldn't want anyone to see me there. Much fun was made by a few folks in the office..

Folks, it's healthy to be in touch with the different parts of your personality: of both your 'feminine' and 'masculine' sides. Without both,you're missing some essential "nutrients" to be a balanced human being and end up malnourished in one way or another. Once people stop being afraid, they realize they're not as weird as they thought they were. What's truly weird is our pathetic efforts to "fit in", our Procrustes' Bed of attitudes and notions that lead us to indict those who might have a spare ceramic cat or a few flowers on our desks..

I told him he was my role model except for the flowers and ceramic cats on his desk, which got the intended laugh. Actually this person could be a role model for me in some ways, having some qualities I lack: organizational skills, equanimity(to name two). Strangely enough, he'd be my role model if, in addition to these nice qualities, he didn't care about having flowers and ceramic cats on his desk. That's the one place where I'd just as soon be me.

Halcyon Daze

2011-05-16T18:59:00.004-05:00

I've remarked, often enough at any rate, that I'd like to be a cartoon character. Well, no, not necessarily someone else's drawing, but more in the sense that I'd like to have some of the properties of cartoon characters: they go through some of the vicissitudes of life but never age! The things and people around them don't wither up and die like they do in real life.

Everything stays the same.

Of course, you'd need to pick the time carefully in which you were "frozen". There are a few years I'd never want to go back to. 1967 was such a year. Seventh grade- a terrible experience. 1984 was another tough year, on several counts, but at least ended with me on the road(which made a lot of stuff better). 1991-92 was yet another rough patch, with a brand-new job I seemed to be learning trial by fire.

Strangely enough, each of these bad periods was followed by a much better one. In the Eighth Grade I had a whole different circle of friends and a more congenial social life; in 1985 I was out on the road and light years away from all the crap in Springfield that'd gotten on my nerves; and in 1993--well actually I got laid-off from my job in '93 and also went through a divorce, so in that instance I went from one bad scene to another. But after that things improved. At least there was no more "trial by fire" on my dayjob.

Still, those are years I'd never want to repeat, even if they did clear the way for better times. Even if it is, as they say, all good. All part of the process. After all, we're here for the experience.

Aren't we?

But as far as that experience, there are a few fine patches from my life I wouldn't mind putting repeat marks on. Whether I learned anything from them is beside the point, but they sure went down easy:

About six to eight months in 2008. A job assignment I'd been on since the previous November had settled in and become blissfully comfortable. I've had some nice times on my job(along with a lotta shitty ones), but I was probably the happiest I've been at work. It continued into the following year, still palatable but not as nice as that period in '08.

From July of '87 into 1988. This was a good period on several counts. I'd just started seeing a new girl, whom I ended up marrying in '88(and divorcing in '93, but oh well); my brother had just started seeing a girl himself, whom he ended up marrying(and yes, divorcing); and our folks had just retired from their jobs.

This is the period I'd like to be frozen in, that eighteen month stretch. Well actually there's about a week and a half to two solid weeks in there where every night the wife(or was she still a fiancee?)would come in the bedroom and say "I'm going to take my bath and then come in and boink you". And she did. I mean, there were plenty of other times, but I do remember a concentrated little slab of time where it was a nightly occurrence. I could've used a couple years of that..

So we were all four in a good place. My Dad had finally gotten to retire, something he'd wanted for years, Mom was also enjoying the additional free time, and my bro was enjoying his new girlfriend. 1987. A blessed year, at least in memory. The Roundly's and girlfriends: a cartoon family set in 1987..

The problem with real life is that everything runs its course. My folks enjoyed their retirement, but they started to get on each other's nerves(though not seriously)and then Dad got sick and died, leaving Mom to hang in there until she finally got sick and died. My wife and I, after an idyllic beginning, had personality differences that surfaced after awhile and turned us apart. We scraped by on our low-paying jobs(another tension) and much help from my folks, and oddly enough, once I got a decent-paying job we split up. And my brother had his host o' troubles(I'll let him tell you!).

And the problem with being a cartoon character, as desirable as keeping everything nice may be, is that it's static. Then again, with everything set for optimum comfort(72 degrees, no money or health troubles), the mind is free to roam and contemplate the higher truths in life- much like Maslow's "actualized" man's hierarchy of needs. Naah. Your personal paradigm would be something like a map of Pleasantville, where Elm St always turns back into Spruce St.

Stoopid Street. But all in all, being a cartoon character in the year of your choosing would be more- pleasant, soporific or not. Especially if in every strip, you're reading in bed and your wife(or was it fiancee?)comes in and says, "Well, I'm going to take my bath and then come in and boink you!"

Well I might as well face it. I can't be a cartoon character, but I'd like to be the guy in the picture for awhile longer, especially at bedtime. Seems like the best we can do in life is to have it pretty good for awhile in there, on as many occasions as we can muster. '89 was a pretty good year too, as memory serves.

At the moment I'm working on 2011.

The Bellicose Spirit

2011-05-14T12:14:00.005-05:00

It's all in whatever you've got to get out of your system. Kinda like you've gotta do unto others what they've done to you. There is a character I work with who seems to have an unlimited reservoir of pent-up anger. Much of this is I believe from a somewhat tumultuous upbringing, being bounced from place to place and of course having to re-adjust time after time. And some of it is just from his particular body chemistry. He loves Football and MMA(mixed martial arts)and is smart enough to do Sudoku and the like but prefers video games where something or someone gets blown up.

The other day, late in the day, several of us were sitting around in the break room, and he was feeling a bit keyed up. "Man, I'd love to see somebody get beat up", he told us. Not a fight as such, mind you- just someone getting the daylights beat out of them. And then relayed a story from his middle or high school days of someone getting pounded into dog meal- which still gives me the willies...

Actual violence in general gives me the willies. Just the rawness of it, the horror.Can't stand to see it. But I must admit I enjoy a good boxing or karate match, provided some degree of sportsmanship is observed(I once observed a boxer sucker-punching his opponent after the match, knocking him out cold, but that's another story)and it's not a completely one-sided affair. And knockouts are cool to see, even though you don't want to see anyone seriously injured in the process. It's the action you like to see, not the damage.

I think my co-worker has a few extra issues here, a few 'injustices' to avenge in one form or another. It's somehow cathartic for him to see someone trampled on a football field or beaten insensible in a mixed martial arts match- he's getting even with someone or something from his past. But most of us have a little of that in us, usually coupled with revulsion: the car crash we can't quite turn away from. I think here of the Thomas Wolfe short story where he relates the horror and fascination on the faces of the men and women at a dance where one man beat another man to death.

There are people from my past who have I felt treated me unfairly at times, and thus whose behavior angers me when I think of it. And yes, I've vividly imagined those folks being viciously pummeled throughout the midsection, interspersed with a couple good shots to the snotlocker and one or two right in the kisser. But strangely enough, in real life I wouldn't want to see them hurt--maybe grabbed and shaken vigorously but not really hurt.

It's not the violence as such but the motivation behind it that gives me the creeps. The three boxing matches between Irish Mickey Ward and Arturo Gatti were as brutal as they come, yet it was for the sport- to win the contest, not demolish your opponent just to do it. These guys were the best of friends outside the ring and had a deep mutual respect inside it.

True, there are pressure-points that if tapped correctly will make an early night for your opponent: the point of the chin, the sternum, the temple, right below the ear(a bundle o' nerves there). One of Mickey Ward's trademark punches was that shot to the liver. If landed just right it causes your opponent excruciating pain for about 10 seconds. This seems to serve a dual purpose: if in a boxing match, long enough to be counted out; in real life, long enough for you to get a good running start and get the hell out of there!

I hope my friend from work is able to exorcise some of these demons of his. Revenge ain't necessarily the answer though, whether actual or virtual. There are a few characters from my past, two in particular, whom I've imagined beating the stuffings out of. Mainly knocking the wind out of both of them. But in the fantasy, strangely enough, I feel bad after the damage is done and end up buying their drinks for the rest of the night.

Zen, zuddenly--or, just a sittin' and a-scratchin'

2011-05-09T18:51:00.006-05:00

The beginning of the workweek varies in its seismic effect on my system, but is always to some extent a jarring experience. It means people, phones, problems. Movement where there was repose. A whirlwind of activity, in sharp contrast to what's usually been a quiet peaceful weekend here at chez Roundly. This one was about a 5 on the Richter scale.

Well it's a necessary evil, this workweek I have to trudge off into every Monday. So I'm not really complaining. It pays the bills. Still, it's good to vent a bit about life's irritations.

As with many Mondays, I'm enjoying a Corona, my one beer for the day. Okay, it's a "fatboy"(a bit more girth than your average cerveza), but still only one beer. What has seemed to help on this, yet another jarring Monday, is simply to sit and do nothing. My Mom used to refer to it as where you just sit and scratch.

Sometimes the best course of action is no action at all.

Gilligan Therapy

2011-05-08T21:14:00.005-05:00

Okay, tell me if this is too crazy, too off-the-wall(or just too stoopid): a form of Psychotherapy based on the old TV series Gilligan's Island.

Yeah, that's about what I thought you'd say. And maybe I'd say the same thing, but- it just might work. I mean, consider the basic premise of the show: that they're stuck on an island, unable to escape. The island becomes a metaphor for the self, imprisoned by false beliefs and self-defeating habits, unable to break free from them. Just like on the show, the goal of Gilligan Therapy is to help the patient get off the island!

And along with one basic premise of Gilligan Therapy, that we are each stuck on our own personal islands, is another: that we as individuals our selves are made of seven different components (much like the Freudian concepts of ego, superego, id and so forth):

Gilligan- in this basic core part of the self, we find our self-destructive urges, our propensity toward failure in everything we do. We as people have to work against our inner "little buddy".
The Skipper- our sociability and zest for life, our "inner child"
The Professor- our rational mind, our ability to reason
Ginger-our vanity and selfishness
Mary Ann- our nobler impulses, our selfless giving
Thurston Howell III-power and survival
Lovee Howell- spouse of above(still working on this one..)

Well okay, this form of psychotherapy is in its infancy. Still working out many details, including how if at all would Sherwood Schwartz figure into all this? And that gets into the whole area of Sitcom Metaphysics. Plus begs the question about other such TV series and their psycho-potential as forms of therapy: F Troop, for example, or The Brady Bunch(although I'm thinking that one might make the individual worse!)

Could Gilligan Therapy help you get off your island and onto new personal terrain? Who knows- but we're now accepting patients..

movie night revisited

2011-05-07T23:27:00.006-05:00

A pretty good movie night this past Friday, as movie nights go. We try and get one in every week if possible. The original idea behind movie night was a diversion, an alternative to Corona night(celebrated particularly on Mondays, that being quite often the most harrowing of workdays), and it was a solitary activity. Just me, some popcorn n' soda and the movie of my choice.

Movie night is now something I share with one other person, and with that, my reason for doing it has changed as well. Where before I instituted movie night to not drink(a healthy alternative, except maybe for the popcorn), I now do the movie nights so as to have time with the person who watches the movies with me. Wow. The face of movie night has changed.

Performing the same basic actions(well, as far as watching the movies anyway..), but with a completely different motivation. What you call your paradigm shift. Still the popcorn n' soda added in, though I do the soda and most of the popcorn- and the movies viewed are now our choice, not just mine. Or hers, for that matter..

Feels a bit like being on a street which changes names in the course of getting you from your point A to your point B. Same street, just a different name or names and thus a different point of reference as far as the cross streets. Every city has these, but I really noticed it in New York City, walking from the Theater District(47th & Broadway)to the Village and beyond.

So I hope movie night continues(by whatever name we choose to give it). It's a whole lot more fun with this person added in than it was without her.

these boots were made for..

2011-05-07T22:36:00.004-05:00

Throughout our lives we get things dumped on us by various folks for various reasons. On occasion, I get things literally dumped in my front yard- usually an empty can or bottle of something or other, the contents of which long since drained away. I usually exclaim something like ^)%_&^&9, half under my breath, and clean up the mess.

Today's "offering" was a box once containing Seagram's Gin bottles. It had since been used to house different kinds of glasses and from different local establishments(one of them long since defunct), and even those had been picked over to a large extent.

The only thing left in the box was a couple wine glasses, a champagne glass, and these two beauties. In case it's not discernible from the picture, the saxophonist is Boots Randolph. Hence the boot shape of these glasses.Ahh, kitsch at its finest. My brother would appreciate this stuff.

Yes, not everybody who dumps on you is your enemy. Well, most of the time but there is that one occasion every so often where they unwittingly do you a kindness by giving you something you enjoy. So to whoever you are, thank you for the Boots Randolph glasses and the other stuff you didn't want out of the box. You made my day just a little bit better, even though that wasn't your intention at all- one might even say, despite what were at least less-than-positive wishes toward me in the act of dumping a box on my lawn.

Haven't tried out the wine glasses as yet, but these Boots Randolph babies work just fine. There is something in drinking out of a glass shaped like a boot, you can't help but feel a little bit like you just lost the game, the non-victory drink(in that case, I think I'd want my opponents to drink out of something shaped like my underwear)but otherwise very functional.

Again, thanks for the nice stuff.

another of Rog's endless introspections

2011-05-01T11:59:00.009-05:00

I'll just bet that there's no one in the world sorrier than me to see the weekend come to an end every week. Especially if it's been a creative weekend, one in which much musicmaking and/or blogging occurred. You don't want to let go of the dream.

In the office where I work, I'm probably the biggest curmudgeon of 'em all on Monday morning. Where everybody else arrives happily back to work, making lively conversation about their weekend, I'm a total crabass, just making my way to my desk in stony silence. Buoyed by several cups of coffee, I begin my descent(or would it be an ascent)into the workweek, outwardly acquiescent but inwardly kicking and screaming. Eventually, around 9ish, some sociability starts to return, and I chat with my co-workers about the day's topics. They usually know to give me an hour before talking to me. "Gee, did I say 'good morning'?"

My shift begins at 8, but my day starts around 7 in the am, jarred into awareness by my alarm clock or just something in my subconscious telling me to get up and get moving. From there, I feed my three pets, fix myself some coffee and down my three meds. I usually have a nice 30-minute window in which to sit at the dining room table, drinking coffee and feeling sorry for myself. Sometimes I'll work a Sudoku puzzle, which usually abates the morning self-pity by distracting my brain..

My workday ends at 4:30, at which point I return home. From there, I again feed my three pets and often pour myself a beer(especially early in the week)- and then have maybe a 60-minute window in which to sit at the computer drinking beer(and, if it's been a bad day, feeling sorry for myself). Quite often though, I'll listen to jazz with my beer, which usually quells any self-pity. From there, seven hours remain.

I look at my days in terms of "pockets of time". Each workday has that morning half-hour(Sudoku n' self-pity), that midday 20 minutes, and then roughly 8 hours in the evening. Actually, that's a fair chunk o' change. I tend to savor the half-hour and 20 minute pockets more since they're smaller, but could always make more intelligent use of the 8 hours in the evening(currently misusing it by drinking beer and blogging).

It would be nice, ideally, if I could see my life as one fluid process, as one seamless motion in which the dichotomy of "work" and "play" didn't exist. Then there would be no dread of Monday, since all days and times of day are just part of the dance. Well I'd like to be taller too, but that ain't gonna happen either.

No, work is work and play is play. There are just parts of your day, of your life, which are nicht zu fun, that you have to simply get through. No savoring involved. Just get 'em over with. I was thinking maybe I compartmentalize too much, but in reality I don't do it enough. Particularly on that 8-hour stretch between 4:30pm and 12:30am.

Another noble resolve: to make better use of my time. Especially since for the most part, only a third of it is for my personal use-the other two thirds spent working and sleeping. We'll see how it all plays out..

the pause that refreshes

2011-04-12T19:50:00.004-05:00

It's about 7:50 in the pm. The sun has just about set on a beautiful Spring day. Coming down from a moderately irritating day at work. It was one which the bright sunlight outside kept from being a severely irritating day inside. Usually does in our office- despair comes harder in the sunshine. That plus the fact that you can, at least to a large extent, refuse to let things get to you(thank you Albert Ellis!).

I've just enjoyed my beer du jour(see earlier blog about regimen of meds), and am commencin' to fix dinner. (Commencin' is of course a Jed Clampett-ism, meaning I'm kinda getting around to it. )When I first started this "regimen" I tried my beer at bedtime, but at that hour it stirred me up more than relaxed me. Don't know the precise medical explanation for this but it has to do with sugars- either already in the body that get stirred up, or by the beer, or both. So as an experiment, tried it right before dinner. Perfect, especially with tunes on the CD player. Especially jazz, and there of the mellower variety.

At this point in the day, exercise is probably a better plan. Indeed, perhaps down the road apiece the beer du jour will give way to some sort of daily perambulation, but for now I'm going to enjoy my minor vice. My moderate debauchery..

What the hell. One beer in a day takes off a bit of edge from your workday, sands down whatever the sunlight and one's own attitude(RET-inspired or not)fail to do. I can remember in the not-too-distant past, after some particularly harrowing Mondays at work, having a bit of an evening bender-not only taking off the edge, but the whole side of the building!

Tomorrow may or may not be a beautiful sunny day. We will assuredly have disgruntled folk visiting our office then, sunny day or not, who may or may not get on my nerves. With these variable probabilities going, I will probably have my one Corona right after work, my beer du jour(and probably avec musique). See you a demain.

Generic Ambition

2011-04-05T16:44:00.008-05:00

Bob Sills has got what it takes to take him to the top!

Carole Waterford has got what it takes to take her to the top!

Ted and Alice Berford have got what it takes to take them to the top!

Yes, there's something that irritates me here, but I can't quite put my finger on it. The same undefinable paroxysm that shoots through me when I'm watching Wheel of Fortune and one of the contestants yells, "C'mon big money" when they spin(personally I think they should dock them when they say it). Maybe it's the unbridled greed, maybe the lack of personal imagination.

Whatever it is, it bugs me. I dunno about you, but I get tired of hearing people tell me they want to be World Champion, it gets--generic--after awhile. So I've had this idea for awhile now, a monthly magazine called Generic Ambition which featured nothing but the same stock quote, from and about 3 ambitious people. The types of work these individuals would be engaged in would be quite diverse, although the ambition and its expression much the same from person to person. You'd have three people who just plain want to be number one in their respective areas and will do what it takes to get there.

I've got what it takes to take me to the top!

Again, the type of work runs the gamut. Bob is an Insurance Agent, Carole a part-time cashier at Wal-Mart, and Ted and Alice are in a BeeGees/BeachBoys singing group(singing groups are usually prequalified, particularly if they're of the tribute variety). But despite the different paths they've chosen, they're all on their way to the top!

And of course there could be a Seminar/Workshop, with special motivational speakers- maybe a company called Winners Inc or some such nonsense. And from there, no doubt a photo gallery of all the people we've helped take to the top once things are off and running(provided it actually works!), as a testament to its success.

As to the seminar, I could see the program being patterned after the old David Carradine movie "Circle of Iron", where the protagonist, Cord, the young martial artist/philosopher who goes up against a series of adversaries on his way to Zetan, the great master who is also the keeper of the Book of All Knowledge. Cord is very focused through all this, and chops down a series of opponents(all played by Carradine)on his way to the master. "My goal is Zetan", he says at least once in the movie.

I could see that in the training program, to internalize Zetan, to personalize him into whatever or whoever is holding that book. The Book of All Knowledge, as it relates to your life and career aspirations. It could be the book of all Shoe knowledge, but if it helps get you to the top, that's the book, and Zetan(whoever or whatever he manifests himself to be to you)is its keeper. So the focus is on one's own personal Zetan.

Each session would begin with the trainer greeting the class, "G'morning class, what's your goal?" The class, as one, would respond, "My goal is Zetan!" And then from there, off to work..

Well whether that would actually happen is still up for grabs, but I do see a reality TV show in all this. It could definitely work. The only question is whether I'd actually watch such a piece of shit once it's off and running. Fair warning here: there may be more on this idea...

of Clotted Clouds and charred potatoes

2011-04-03T19:31:00.007-05:00

I've found this to be both alarming and comforting, but nonetheless true. Once you get get 'em talking a bit, you'll find that most folks will start telling you how much it sucks to be them. The litany of ailments both real and imagined, the breaks they never quite got. The hell that is their very existence, their utter themness..

In other words, they're usually just as screwed up as you are!(That's the part that's both alarming and comforting). Granted, they may not have the same problems you do, but they usually have about as many of their own problems. And they're usually just as consumed with solving them(or at least alleviating the suffering)as are you with your load o' troubles.

What got me going on this was talking with someone in the office whom I thought if for no other reason than age should have a life relatively bereft of problems. Early 30's, apparently healthy and so forth. Once we got talking, I realized he had all kindsa stuff wrong with him just like me. Alarming and comforting in one shot.

Come to think of it, I can remember being 30 and having no fewer problems than I do now. Just different ones, a 30 year-old's problems. Actually I can't think of an age past 10 where I didn't..

I think you get in this life just as much as you can "barely" handle(or at least perceiving yourself as barely handling it), your own very personalized load o' troubles, made only for you and - well, your capacity to handle it. So yeah, it is a bit comforting to know you're not alone in this. In the words of The Ghost of Christmas Past(played by Sam Kinison)on an episode of Married, with Children delivered to a distraught Al Bundy, " You think your life stinks, pal- well get a whiff of mine!" Kinison often played characters you'd want to be downwind of under any circumstance.

So, yeah, we all have some Joe Blftsk in us(the character pictured here, from Al Capp's Dogpatch USA comic strip: the character with the perennial raincloud who is always a jinx when he appears), our own specially issued rainclouds. The umbrella is up to us.

Life Goes On

2011-03-29T21:53:00.005-05:00

These are my current medications. Out of the three different eyedrops, I'm down to one- and only have to do my right eye 3x per day now as opposed to 4. Still doing Lorazepam once a day, plus Nadolol and Lisinopril. I saw my Doctor this morning, and he prescribed a slightly higher dosage of this last one, which apparently also contains a diuretic(wonderful- I'll be peeing a bit more now).

The bottle on the right is something I'm allowed to have now, but just one a day, beer or the equivalent. Now this is a medication(beer, that is) I could easily do in a higher dosage some days, but Doctor's orders are Doctor's orders. I'm really trying to tow the line here. Down the road a bit I may pick up some of the fatter Corona bottles(he didn't specify the size of the drink), but for now I'm just having one of the two lonely souls that have been sitting in my refrigerator for what feels like quite awhile.

Well at least things are starting to ease up as far as all these appointments. I go back to my Opthalmologist at the end of next month, and my regular Doctor the month after that. And as far as work, I have two more days and then a small stretch of vacation time- the first full week I've had off since last October.

I'm tired and out of sorts from the past couple months' activities, but for right now am looking forward to a nice hot bath and then one of those Coronas in the fridge- in a glass full of ice of course. Sometimes the simple pleasures are just enough to get you through.

Trivia Night

2011-03-27T19:15:00.003-05:00

Well I've now done two Trivia Nights, both at St Pat's Cathedral here in Spfld. Last November was the first one, invited by a co-worker. And I was flattered to be asked back for a return engagement. Last time I didn't feel like I did all that well, but I did get better in the course of the evening- depending of course on the category. Not so hot on the History questions, somewhat better on Literature, nailed the TV Trivia, and completely bombed on Sports.

What I felt to be my one saving grace last time out was a response no one else at the table had. I think the category was Celebrities' Real Names, and I had what is now known as a Charo moment.

This time out I felt my responses were considerably better. In the Civil War category I got William Tecumseh Sherman, among a few others; in the Name His Assassin(at least attempted)I got Sirhan Sirhan for Robert Kennedy; for Name the Cartoon Character I got The Lockhorns--and a few other correct responses which escape me for the moment.

But my Charo moment- the response which no one else had in this second Trivia Night was in the Name The Game Show Host. For the $1.98 Beauty Contest: Rip Taylor.

These events can be quite humbling, showing you all the information you either never knew or mistakenly thought you did. But they're also a perverse point of pride, that you remember what no one else bothered to.

I hope I get invited back again in November. And hope I have another Charo moment, for the sake of our team..

TMI?

2011-03-26T12:10:00.004-05:00

Tmi. It was used in reference to a series of blogs I just posted. I'm figuring it stands for "too much information". Actually that was sort of the point there, at least in the one called "Medicated Foo'", the array of medications I have to take and the litany of Doctor appointments I've had.

And then it begs the question: how much is too much information? Sort of like the Emperor in the movie Amadeus telling Mozart his Opera has "too many notes".

Well, more notes than one's ear can handle, or more information than one might want to know.

I live in a small city, one with roughly 112,000 residents- and within that, exist in a smaller community of musicians and music-lovers. And I also work in an office with maybe 40 workers total which breaks down into a smaller community of those who work for the same agency under the same manager. As such, both small communities can be very cozy: they become your working family since you see those people day in day out, particularly those you work with. You see them more than your actual family.

And with that you know about the events in their lives, and care about these things since you want the best for these folks(or let's hope anyway!): someone's divorce or new girlfriend or boyfriend, their new babies, surgery or death in the family. And from there it breaks down to their(or your)idiosyncracies: who drinks coffee like a fiend all day, or who is the biggest glutton in the office on Food Day, whose interview style with clients most resembles Simon Legree- or even who is the biggest gossip!

With both the small communities I inhabit: my office and the musical community, there is both a genuine concern for the affairs of its citizens and a constant "smack" being talked about them. This is something I've found bothersome in the milieu of local musicians, one big reason I'm "off and on" as far as being involved in the local scene--besides just the exhaustion of working a daygig plus playing. After awhile it starts to get on my nerves, particularly if some of the "smack" is about me..

But hearing it in the office, particularly in this last year when I've returned there, about everyone there including me, I'm getting a bit more impervious to it. I still consider gossip reprehensible, and try not to engage in it myself, but but am starting to take it less seriously- even when it's about me. Hopefully this burgeoning laissez-faire will carry over into my dealings with the local music community and I won't feel the periodic need to back off.

One method of coping I got from, of all places, a book by Chris Rock. I don't know if he's written more than one, but this one is called Rock This. He talks about celebrities, and their so-called private lives. When you're trying to keep your private life completely private, it's like you're walking around with one hand behind your back. This invites people(okay, The Media) to wonder what if anything you've got hidden back there, and to dig around. Speculating, conjecturing. But if you put it out there, nobody cares. They leave you alone.

As a musician(and erstwhile blogger)I love to communicate. Musical compositions of course. Musical performances on occasion. Ideas, notions, feelings about stuff. I love to communicate with people, and have them communicate with me. But at the same time, I like them to leave me the fuck alone. I don't like people minding my business, and in fact get pretty irate about it. You've got a question, just ask. I'll be glad to answer it. Again, I love to communicate. But don't presume anything. That pisses me off.

So with blogging, I like to put some information out there--whether or not it's deemed "too much" by some. Yes, I had some health issues. Yes I have a girlfriend at the moment. Or, no I'm not dating anybody at the moment and not looking- just enjoying 'baching it'. Or, I'm in perfect health.. That's the paradox: you put at least something out there, and people are more apt to leave you alone.

Or tell you it's "too much information"....

Radial Depressurization

2011-03-26T11:15:00.006-05:00

"Sir, do you know anything about cars?"
"Well, uh, no.."
"That's not a flat tire, it's radial depressurization. Gonna run you about 900 dollars. "

2008 was my epic year of auto repairs. And I always seemed to go to the same Service Center, who pretty much always overcharged me(or had me get services I really didn't need). They did and do good work, and they're conveniently located and nice enough to give you a ride to and from your workplace. But every time out, it was the same spiel: "Oh Mr Roundly, it looks bad. We could give you the cheap deal and fix it temporarily for $300.00 or we could give you the deluxe fix for $550.00 and really get it taken care of".

A time or two in there I did opt for the deluxe service, before realizing that it was the same song-and-dance every time out. So I had to get firm about it: no, thank you very much, just fix the motherfucker for as little dinero as is possible!

Today I had a problem with a nail that'd poked my right front tire. She was deflating fast, and as I'm planning to go out tonight, something that had to be attended to today. So I decided to give them another shot, since this was a relatively quick fix. The manager was very nice, remembered my name right off--not surprising, given all the business they've gotten from me back in '08. I knew it'd be a relatively quick fix this time, being as that they're just looking at a tire. No extensive repairs were quoted, but the mechanic did give me the option of the $12.00 fix or the $20.00 repair job.

I opted for the double-sawbuck deluxe service this time, but just had to laugh to myself that at whatever level of service, this still exists. Well, you figure they're there to make a buck. There was a bit of a delay, during which time I sat in the waiting area out front, working a Sudoku puzzle and half-watching Interview with the Vampire(my girlfriend and I had watched it just last night on the 'big screen' TV at chez Roundly), and listening to the receptionist, mechanics and manager going about their day's business.

The mechanics of course check in with the manager on repair options, and I overheard the manager say to the mechanic in question, "what, you gave this guy the cheapest service?!" and implicit in this you could hear the ass-chewing that may well have followed. My eyebrows went up almost involuntarily, and the receptionist seemed to look over at me and notice. I heard her rack up a few bills from people offering the more- ahem, comprehensive service. And I heard her, back in the shop, behind the glass, getting a bit of a butt-chewing herself.

So they're under a lot of pressure from this manager, who is probably under some pressure himself from his boss the District Manager. And so on and so on and so on. For a relatively quick fix, I'll still give them my business. They do good work and are very nice to deal with. But to save a buck on all this, it's best to have a friend somewhere, a shade-tree mechanic who's going to tell you it's just a flat tire.

Almost makes you want to go back and get another degree in Automotive Technology though, or at least learn something about cars. That way you can get your automobile fixed without being taken for a ride...

That's Amore

2011-03-20T13:42:00.003-05:00

Well one of the positive things to come out of this year was a new ladyfriend. Met her on Match.com of all places. I registered in there with a what-the-hell attitude, "winked" at a few women(i.e. sent a "wink" via match.com email), no response; had a few wink at me, not interested. But I did get a bite the day before Valentine's Day, as it turned out- when I'd pretty much given up on the prospect of meeting anyone through there.

She picked me out, said she liked my picture and what I had to say. I should learn by now that it's always the woman who does the selecting, whether it's on the Internet or in person or by whatever means of communication. Every relationship I've ever been in that actually worked(if only for awhile)has been one in which they picked me. Or maybe I'm just picking the wrong ones.

So we're a month and change into this whole thing. Going fine. I liken it to a big jigsaw puzzle, wherein every encounter, whether in person or by email or by phone, I get another piece of the puzzle. And I guess she gets a piece of my puzzle as well every time out. We're not doing this willfully, by design- it's just turned out this way. Actually it makes things that much more fun..

I don't know where she lives, only that she lives alone and a few doors down from her parents, with whom she has a close relationship. Mine have both passed away, in '94 and '07, but while they were alive, I was close to both my folks as well.

One thing I do know is that there's a certain type that always seems to go for me: fairly intelligent, bohemian, usually with a belief in the paranormal, somewhat artsy, a little bit nuts. I have the highest incidence of success with these women, maybe because it describes me as well.

So like I said, we're a month and change into this whole thing. Whatever happens, it's a good experience for the both of us. More as it happens.

Medicated Foo'

2011-03-20T12:09:00.003-05:00

As far as physical infirmity goes, illness is to me what snow is to the State of Georgia(or Texas): we don't see it very often, so when we do we tend to over-react. This has been such a year: Cataracts and High Blood Pressure, with a touch of Anxiety in there. So at present I'm on six different medications: two for blood pressure(Nadolol and Lisonipril), one for anxiety(Lorazepam as needed), and three for my eyes.

To one who's been basically healthy his whole life, this seems like a daunting array of meds. The two blood pressure pills and the Lorazepam are taken first thing in the morning and the eyedrops throughout the day. Two of the drops are done 3x daily and the third 4 times at this juncture. Since both eyes have now been operated on, the post-operative procedure is to do the first two meds 3x per day until they run out and continue the third for an additional seven weeks: 4x daily for 4 weeks, then 3x daily for a week, then twice a day for a week, then once daily for the seventh and final week. My right eye(which had surgery on March 1st) will be done with these meds on April 19th and my left eye(which had its surgery on March 15th)will be done on May 3rd.

Not much to doing the eyedrops, although I have had to refine my technique, particularly with the left eye. The right eye is comparatively easier, since I'm left-handed and thus put the drops in with that hand. I just have to remember to tilt my head all the way back and hold the dropper just outside my field of vision for it to go right in. Maybe a bit like dropping bombs from an airplane. Still, May 3rd will be a most happy day.

The blood pressure stuff may well continue indefinitely, but is a much easier ritual since I don't have to guage distance. Basically a 'down the hatch' process, and all done in the morning. But I must say, the blood pressure is coming down, from the astronomical reading at my first Doctor's visit.

It has helped me get over much of my 'white coat-itis', but I'm awfully tired of Doctor's visits. I've now had them on January 25th(regular Doctor), February 14th(Opthalmologist), Feb.15th(Doctor), Feb 22nd(Doctor), Feb 23(Opthalmologist), Feb. 28(Doctor), March 1st(surgery, right eye), March 2nd(Opthalmologist), March 9th(Opthalmologist), March 15th(surgery, left eye), March 16th(Opthalmologist), March 19th(Optometrist), March 21st(Optometrist again), March 23rd(Opthalmologist), and finally back to my regular Doctor on the 28th.

At least through all this I have what appears to be pretty good vision in both eyes, and blood pressure that's not yet at an optimal point but decidedly lower than what I started with. Hopefully the leash will loosen in these coming months and I can just check in periodically with these folks. About then, it'll be time to see the Dentist.

I have a feeling that all this is just a part of being over 50, and I might as well start getting used to it. At least my array of health care professionals are cool to deal with. Looks like I'll be seeing more of them in the next couple decades..

Through My Glasses Darkly or So Long Mr Magoo

2011-03-19T10:53:00.007-05:00

There is a term I heard on the local news just the other night, a contemporary word used to describe those who sometimes attempt to diagnose themselves via information gotten from the internet: cyberchondriacs. It got a pretty good chuckle for me, because I've had this "affliction" myself.

Some years back, 3 and a half to be exact, I had an eye exam, normally an incident-free experience, "Okay Mr Roundly, you need some stronger glasses". About every three years I'd go in and leave with a slightly more dialed-up prescription. This past time was a bit disquieting. I was told I had the beginnings of Cataracts, not a big cause for alarm. Then I was told he didn't like my responses to his questions, that there was evidence of pathology.

That was alarming. "Why don't you come back next week and we'll run some tests?" No, screw that, let's run them today if possible.(Being a bit of a hypochondriac, I knew I'd just worry until my next appointment!) So I got myself a driver(my brother)since they dilate your pupils for such procedures. As it turned out, things were fine. Clean bill of health.

I had a problem at first with the prescription he ended up giving me, and he said "that's because of your Cataracts". Dude, you told me I just had the beginnings of Cataracts. Make up your mind: do I have them or don't I? So he adjusted the prescription and made me an appointment with an Opthalmologist just in case this didn't work.

As it turned out, my eyes adjusted to the new glasses. No need for an Opthalmologist( more friggin' tests!), at least not yet. I was continuing to have the occasional Mr Magoo moment, especially first thing in the morning, but was basically doing just fine.

One discovery I made in relation to my eyesight in the last year or two, which may or may not have had any real bearing: as a person who's enjoyed his Corona and/or cannabis sativa, I found that abstaining from these substances(well okay, cutting back on them) seemed to facilitate my ability to read fine print. It may have been that they just raised my blood pressure and fogged things up from that angle, but nonetheless there was a cause-and-effect relationship going there.

And then one evening last Fall(October 29th to be exact)driving home from a job, I noticed a sort of double-vision as far as stoplights. I'd been cutting back on the Corona and cannabis and was enjoying what I thought was clear vision, but was tired and stressed that night, so I attributed it to nerves. Didn't happen the next night or the night after that, but I did notice another instance of it one night in November. Again, tired and stressed, driving home from a job, same double-vision with the stoplights.

In December I was starting to see 'halos' around lights at night, not just stoplights but all manner of nocturnal luminescence. My regular vision was just fine, or so I thought, until I realized, late in the month, that the halos were in one eye and the vision in that eye was blurry. My left eye had been doing most of the work.

2011 rolled around with me still pushing this problem to the back of my mind, but the halos started to happen inside the house: on the lights on my computer, my printer, the TVs. It was a problem I couldn't ignore anymore. I was paralyzed with fear, so scared at first I couldn't do anything, but got on the Internet to see what might be going on(see cyberchondria earlier in this blog)and found a million possibilities: some of them serious, some gravely serious, and some relatively innocuous. It didn't assuage my fears, only made me more confused.

Based on my last experience with an Optometrist, I figured I'd get another well-meaning but alarmist individual who'd drive my blood pressure up even higher, and I didn't have a regular Physician, having let too much time go by(12 years)between visits, so it took about a week of phone calls to get this lined up. As luck would have it, they were now taking patients at the clinic where my old Doctor still worked, so I was able to get back with him. I'd tried over the past couple years, but they were always understaffed and not taking new patients- until now.

That first visit back, I got a pretty thorough once-over, including shining a bright light in both eyes. Cataracts. "So that's what's been causing the halos and blurry vision?" "Yep." A huge sigh of relief followed on my part. Much of the anxiety I'd been feeling had to do with the unknown, with the plethora of possibilities I'd discovered on the Internet, any of which could have been the problem. The infinite becomes finite. Plus cataracts are a fixable problem.

Since that first visit, I've had several more. We're working on my blood pressure, which my Physician tells me is more serious than cataracts. It's lowering, thanks to a couple meds he has me on plus my awareness of the problem. Like cataracts, a fixable problem. But you have to work at it.

I've also had several visits to an Opthalmologist, plus cataract surgery in both eyes. The first was on March 1st, in the right eye- the "problem" eye. My vision there they clocked recently at 20/25- a damn sight better than it was before all these problems! My left eye was done just this Tuesday, and is still on the mend of course but getting there as well. It could've happened in the surgery or from jenius-boy here and his not-so-deft eyedropper technique, but I suffered a corneal abrasion, which is also on the mend and almost healed. I was a bit alarmed by this news, but the tech(my favorite of my Opthalmologist's staff of 3)assured me, "from one cyberchondriac to another, no worries!".

So it's nice to have tackled these problems with my health. The cataract thing was something in the back of my mind, halos or no halos, that I knew would become a problem at some point, and the blood pressure was also in the 'occipital lobe' as something to be reckoned with. At this point in my life, I have two blood-pressure meds plus a mild tranquillizer that I take every morning, plus eyedrops in each eye 4 times a day and a moisturizer eyedrop 3 times a day. I do meditation twice a day(an old regimen of mine which I've done for the last 30 years off and on).

The eyedrop thing goes for 7 weeks after your surgery(by the way, cataract surgery is a painless procedure, the only thing you feel is the IV going in your hand), which for me is May 3rd. Who knows with the blood-pressure meds, time will tell. Like I said, it's nice to be tackling these problems and getting them resolved. All this clean living is getting to me though. I miss having a Corona or several every now and then.

Bernie Madoff with our money

2010-12-13T20:40:00.005-06:00

I've got a number of harebrained ideas which I've been intending to flesh out into blogs, but never seem to have the wherewithal to sit down and do it. At least not yet anyway. So the stuff I do put in here is more of the extemporaneous, seat-of-the-pants kinda writing. At least so far anyway.

So here we are on another Monday. As you know, I don't like Monday much. It marks the end of a weekend I was usually just getting into, and the beginning of that five-day stretch we like to call the workweek. It means I gotta get up at a certain time and go do stuff I make the best of but probably wouldn't do if I didn't need the money.

But, yeah, I try and make the best of not only Monday but the whole workweek. I mean, why not? It is by its very existence another chance to get it right(whatever it may be to you), and as long as you've got a job you gotta go to, the week has to start sometime.

And I even try to dress it up a bit. Monday, for the past couple weeks, has been movie night here in the Roundly house. Didn't feel like tacking on any weekly raiment to Monday this time out, as either movie night or no beer night(abstinence from cerveza was another novelty feature). So I'm drinking a beer and not watching a movie. I did start a strict no-beer policy for the workweek, but after a few such weeks have figured fuck it. I'm already pretty moderate in my habits. Moderation in all things, including moderation.

One thing that happened today at work, one of the few that stuck in my mind, was that I helped someone- a co-worker- spell diarrhea. Actually I fucked it up, thinking it was diahrrea. Close but no cigar. So shoot me- I was thinking phonetically, putting that h in the wrong place. I've got the correct spelling down now, but if not, as a mnemonic, I could use Rhea Perlman(although it would certainly 'discolor' my impression of her..).

Well anyway, it ended up sparking another- yes, yet another of Rog's groaners:

Rog's Dictionary defines Diarrhea of the Mouth as Irritable Vowel Syndrome.

I have another blog somewhere in the Annals of Rog which has a few of these. Seems like it's actually called Groanerz if memory serves. Something in there that will probably make you laugh, or cringe, or both.

And that's another thing that gets me through Mondays, besides Cinema Sans Cerveza or Beer n' Blog(choosing the latter option tonight), coming up with a goofyass quip like the diarrhea one, or the one last Monday about Alice B's "Toklas" brownies. Maybe there'll be a quip every week now, every Monday. At least until I get tired of quips. Or just plain can't think of one.

Well that's my array of diversions, at any rate. Weekly palliatives for the Castor Oil that is Monday morning. But then, every week I get a new shot at "getting it right", as it were. At making Rog the best he can be(especially as far as being his most relaxed and peaceful, something we Roundlys don't come by naturally), which, yes, also includes how he treats his fellow humans as well as all that creature-gratification stuff.

We humans can and do perform atrocious acts, like tripping football players on their way out to the field and swindling people out of billions of dollars(you were wondering when, if ever, I was gonna tie this in), but we can at least work on ourselves.Try and get better. I'm sure there are things I never will get "right", no matter how many Mondays I have to work with, but what the hell.

For better or worse, it looks like I've survived another one.

Tuesday into Wednesday

2010-12-07T19:33:00.002-06:00

Two days down in the workweek. Everyone has their own way of processing this information, but for me, it's MT W ThF. Monday and Tuesday tend to go fast, then the time drags a bit tomorrow, being equidistant from the beginning and end of the week. But after tomorrow, the week starts its downslide toward the weekend. Thursday, the penultimate day of the workweek, has a sort of anticipatory buzz to it, being almost Friday. And then Friday drags, especially the last couple hours, since you can't wait for it to end.

That's my process at any rate. I've liked some of my jobs more than others, but I've never had a job where I wasn't glad to see it over and done with for the week.

It used to be that Corona helped me through my workweek, particularly after a harrowing Monday. For now, instead of swilling beers of an evening, I have movie night(s). I know eventually I'll tire of movies and soda and popcorn and have to come up with another diversion, but for now it seems to be working. Tonight's cinematic fare is the second half of Ben Hur.

I still don't feel as good in the evening as I did swilling a Corona or four(well okay, five), but I do feel better in the morning.

Monday: Gateway to Tuesday

2010-12-06T23:03:00.002-06:00

If you're allergic to smoke, Alice B's brownies may be a "Toklas" alternative.

There you go. That was the one clever thought I had today. It was pretty much first thing in the morning, before my brain was dulled from the onslaught of clients. They siphoned all my energy, just sucked it out through the phone lines, leaving me a mere shell of a man.

Man I hate Mondays! They almost always start with a bang, with people lined up out the door and the phones ringing off the wall. A jarring experience every week. Fortunately they go fast, and before you know it, the clock on the wall says 4:30 and you're out the door with your Monday remaining as only a bad taste in your mouth.

Movie night this evening was Ben Hur. Well, the first half of Ben Hur, being a lenghty-ass epic film. Part 2 will pick up tomorrow night, to move me from Tuesday to Wednesday. Hadn't seen this movie since I was a little kid. Still very entertaining, a film that grows on you as it goes. Right now it's bath time. The evening ablutions, followed by a hopefully good night's sleep. Four more workdays remain, but I'll pick 'em off one by one.

Thought I'd share my one creative thought with you though. Happy Tuesday.

mortar cum

2010-12-06T00:38:00.003-06:00

For some odd reason, my medium of expression lately has been writing. As in words. As in blogs. Particularly here at good old Roger U Roundly, though I've posted new stuff on my other blogsites. Normally I'm a musician first and foremost as far as what comes outa me, expression-wise. So it's unusual for me to concentrate on blogging like this.

I have had some musical ideas brewing, but they seem to be just below the skin- subcutaneous soundz, as it were. Not quite rising to the surface but definitely swimming around down there. As soon as they become- well, cutaneous, I guess, I'll put them into some sorta format-either on recording or on paper, or both.

But I've definitely been concentrating my energies on writing in here these days, as you can see from the increased volume of blogs. (Loud suckers, too!)Seriously though, I've got a couple more blog ideas I'm working on, which will find their way in here in the near-future.

Thanks for reading. More to come.

Movie night

2010-11-30T22:32:00.003-06:00

Monday night, heretofore designated as Corona night, has been re-classified. As of a week or two ago, the evening following that dreaded first-day-of-the-workweek is now movie night. Instead of Corona, it's popcorn and Coca-cola. All the escapism without the hangover the next day.

That was the problem with Corona night. All the day's tensions were dissolved into that bottle of beer avec lime--well, several such bottles. By 10 o'clock, I was, as they say, "feelin' no pain". But as 'they' are also wont to say, "what goes up must come down". So come Tuesday morning, I wasn't necessarily feeling pain, but something closer to pain than to the euphoria of the night before. Off-kilter. Left of center. Outa whack. As far as the workaday world goes, it made Tuesday a day to just sorta fight through.

With movie night on Monday, I may not feel quite as "good" without a couple beers in me, but I sure as hell feel better the next morning. And Tuesday usually goes down easier than Monday, if only by virtue of the fact that you're already a day down in your workweek.

The Paper was last night's feature. A Ron Howard film, with a great cast: Michael Keaton, Robert Duvall, Glenn Close, Marisa Tomei et al, about a day in the life of folks working for a newspaper in New York City. This week, movie night has extended to Tuesday, and tonight's cinematic fare was an old flick from 1981 called Fort Apache-the Bronx. Paul Newman, Ed Asner, Ken Wahl, and a very foxy and boobalicious Pam Grier. Great stuff.

So movie night is helping me get through the workweek, or at least 2/5 of it. All the escapism without the hangover. I may just keep the tradition going, at least until I get tired of popcorn and Coca-cola. And movies.

Another fucking Monday

2010-11-29T22:13:00.003-06:00

This one we knew was gonna be bad from the get-go, following a 4-day weekend and all. The intensity of our Mondays is directly proportionate to the amount of time we've had off. With a normal weekend, mild to moderate intensity/cacophony; a 3-day weekend, moderate to severe; and a 4-day weekend: Hiroshima.

The line of clients was out the door for much of the day, and the phones didn't stop ringing the whole time I was there. Fortunately, the morning switchboard person doesn't know me yet, or just has other designated people to transfer calls to, so my a.m. experience is relatively quiet(except of course for those folks who know my phone extension- and like a dummy, I give it out to people I think need my help). But the afternoon lady now knows me, or has been directed to start sending me calls, so my p.m. time is spent pretty much non-stop on the phone.

I am compensated for my efforts, and helping the multitudes is what we're there to do. So I'm not complaining as if all this shouldn't be happening. Or that I shouldn't be the one doing it. But it is draining, especially on Monday. I resisted the urge to pound a few Coronas tonight, opting instead to catch a movie with the standard movie snacks(Groundhog Day, with popcorn and Coke--as in Coca-Cola). True, I would feel "better" with a couple beers in me, but I'd feel worse tomorrow. Tomorrow is slated to be another rainy shitty day just like today, so a hangover is not the cherry I'd want to put on top.

Another fucking Monday. I'm glad to have the job I have, and there are aspects of my job that I truly enjoy- as daygigs go. Monday morning ain't one of them though. The beginning of the workweek is a jarring experience by itself, even a beautiful sunny day following a normal 2-day weekend(those you can somehow make more "purposeful"), but a rainy shitty day following a 4-day holiday weekend just has too many minuses in there.

Well it's not fatal, or even injurious. Just irritating and draining. A Corona would really hit the spot, but that's the problem. Trying to hold off until Friday evening as far as that goes, when the whole workweek is in the books. But at least Monday is out of the way for a whole week. Four more days remain until another blessed weekend, this one just a 2 day'er. But then that's the same principle as drinking Corona early in the week: a 3-day weekend would feel "better", but then worse next Monday.

Four more days.

All things Sudoku

2010-11-28T00:21:00.006-06:00

It happened at work, awhile back. For years my chosen drug(as addictive puzzles go)was the crosswords, getting my daily fix from the newspaper. Then one day, a co-worker introduced me to Sudoku. I've never been the same since.

At first it was all but incomprehensible. Couldn't get a lock on it to save my hide. After some practice, I can now do the Level 4(or "Evil")puzzles with some dispatch. I still get stumped from time to time, or(worse)get most of the puzzle only with a duplication someplace- but if the wind is with me can solve it in about 20-25 minutes on the average. If the wind is with me.

Sudoko is, of course, the game where you fill in the missing numbers so that each row, vertically and horizontally(not, thank goodness, diagonally as well)and within each of the nine grids, contain numbers 1 through 9. It's not a numbers game as such--you could use any set of characters just so long as there were nine different ones--but rather one of logic, of deductive reasoning.

Where it gets fun(as in tricky)is in the integral interrelation of every number to every other number on the board. Getting all the rows as well as all the grids to add up to 9 with no duplications means that every number is where it is(or should be at any rate)because of every other number being where it should be. So if one number is out of whack, you'll at least have a puzzle that doesn't quite solve or a total mess.

But where it gets fun(as in genuinely enjoyable)is when you start to see the patterns, the contingencies that make each number in its "necessary" place. When you start to 'get it'. The aha moments, which for me usually come after a prolonged duhhhh period of staring at the board and not having a clue.

So, Sudoku has become an enjoyable pastime for me. I do the puzzles at home and at work, and have been sharing them with a few of my co-workers. "You're a sadist", I've been told. "Yeah, well I'm doing it to myself too, so I'm a masochist as well" was my reply. So we all pull our hair out on trying to solve these nasty-ass Evil Sudoku puzzles.

Soduku is a Japanese word(meaning 'single number' or 'single digit') but the game itself was developed by an American- one Howard Gams, a retired architect from Indiana, who was a regular contributor to Dell for word and number games. It was first published in 1979, by Dell, as Number Place. Gams died in 1989, and thus never lived to see the game he invented achieve world-wide popularity.

Thanks for the game, Howard. It's one of the things that makes my life fun. Well, bearable at any rate..

Extreme Leisure

2010-11-27T15:41:00.004-06:00

" When I got up this morning, it looked so nice out that I decided to just leave it out all day".

I don't know which comedian came up with that line(my money'd be on a Vaudeville or Borscht Belt performer), but they hit the nail on the head here. "It" is safely tucked in my pants, but everything else is hanging out..

And of course that's the beauty of one's "days off", those days of such total repose that you don't even have to get out of your pajamas(or whatever it is that you just slept in). You don't have to go anywhere or do anything or see anyone, so there's no need to change anything about yourself from the minute you roll out of the sack.

I took this principle to the extreme the morning I took this picture(haven't got the dog quite able to take pictures for me on my cel phone). Granted, I may not be a lot better-groomed than this on workdays, but it's exactly what I woke up with, what I looked like the minute I was out of bed. And being one of those blessed Saturdays which required no action on my part, I left the hair looking just like you're seeing it here for the whole live-long day.

Likewise my beard on these weekend days. I cut myself some slack on the shaving on at least one day in there, the whole one-less-thing-to-fuck-with idea(one of the tenets of the Philosophy of Extreme Leisure). The resulting stubble can look good on you, if you're under 40. As you get older, the look seems to have diminishing returns. By the time you get to be my age(mid 50's), you most definitely don't look cool with a day or two's beard on your face. You look homeless.

So that was one of my days of Extreme Leisure. I should add here, perhaps, that aside from occasionally letting the hair and beard go their ways I am otherwise at least a hygienic slob. Baths are still taken and teeth still brushed. Otherwise, a not-so-leisurely experience for the nasal passages. Even extreme leisure has its limits. Moderation in all things- including moderation..

Crazy Beautiful

2010-11-26T20:23:00.004-06:00

"Crazy beautiful". That's what I was saying to myself this morning as I opened the blinds and shades to let the day in, and felt bombarded with sunlight- certainly more than I'd seen in the past couple days.

A bright sunny day after three dark and dismal ones is crazy beautiful, downright surreal. The light is almost too intense, to where you feel that any minute the smile of sunlight will turn into a hideous scowl. Almost too nice a day. You're waiting for that other shoe to drop.

Fortunately, no dropped shoe, Alan Funt didn't appear in any form to tell me it was all just a showbiz thing, the day stayed beautiful for its entire run.

Of course, it's all relative. Both extremes create each other. But that also presupposes that the person experiencing the day is on an even keel themselves. With a brutal hangover for instance(something I haven't experienced since my early 30's)a day like today would be an oppressive pain in the ass.

You'd be saying, "please, give me a dark dismal-ass day I don't have to pull the shades on". Thus, dark n' dismal would be the refreshing(or at least non-invasive)day, the positive option.

But for me, with pretty much enough sleep last night and no hangover, an almost crazy beautiful day. Almost too good to be true. But just almost.

Tacos for Gringos

2010-11-21T19:12:00.003-06:00

We all have our things that get us through the week. Besides the promise of Friday off in the distance, one of mine is a Taco Gringo restaurant that came up in our neighborhood about a year ago. It's become my usual-and-customary spot for dinner on Friday, signifying the beginning of the weekend.

Being a creature of habit, I take my every-Friday-at-Taco-Gringo thing a step further and pretty much always get the same meal: two Sanchos with no lettuce and medium sauce, and an order of "Mexican rice". I mentioned this to a co-worker, my choice of cuisine, and he cracked up.

"That's hilarious! A couple of Sanchos! You do know what a Sancho is, don't you?"

I had to confess that I didn't know this other meaning, the Sancho Subtext, as it were..

"A Sancho is the guy who screws your wife while you're in Prison!"

Well, actually a Sancho, as defined by the Online Urban Dictionary, is the other man. From there it can have different shades of meaning, but the most common is the inmate usage. I thought perhaps some of the other menu items would have other definitions, and asked about Burrito.

Nothing there. Sometimes a Burrito is just a Burrito. I did look up Taco, though, and the basic etymology is "filling a hole". Hmm. Still good food, and I'll still eat there every Friday so long as it's good food, but it'll be tough now to order a Sancho with a straight face. Or a Taco for that matter.

And the name Taco Gringo is just a little bit funnier, thanks to their menu items. At least the ones I know about..

Converting Logic into Kisses

2010-11-13T13:31:00.005-06:00

I had a dream not too long ago involving two people both of my acquaintance, who are probably not mutually acquainted and may never be, but did meet(or at least referenced one another)the the theater of my dreaming mind. As well as the 'six degrees of separation' we experience with the layers of acquaintances we have around the world, it looks like we do that when we're dreaming as well. Sort of an astral Facebook or Twitter..

Anyway, one of the characters, whom I'll call Bob, is a former neighbor who lived around the corner from me and used to leave me badly-written notes about my dog's barking. He was on disability, so he was home all day to hear what were probably less-than-dulcet sounds coming from my "howlin' hound" whom I left in the backyard while at work(sorry about that, Bob). I think I mentioned, in another blog, that he even went so far as to bring female dogs into my yard for my dog to mate with, just to try and calm him down. "I can't figure out why he's so hyper, Rog! He got him some pussy twice!"

I don't think Bob has any idea how funny that is, which is, in a way, one of his charms. He moved out of the house some time ago, along with several others, and now lives around the corner again, but across the street. Far enough away not to be impacted by anything at my house, be it barking dogs or what-have-you. I see him from time to time in his yard there, me in my vehicle on my way someplace, and always give out a smile and a wave, which is always returned. Whatever karma we had has apparently been worked out. End of Bob and his story.

The other character in this dream I'll call Zooey. She's mentioned in an earlier blog or two, a pharmacy clerk whom I had a brief crush on, maybe a month or so ago. About 18 or so(too young to ring out beer when I've bought it there), not what would appear to be a whole lot of intellectual curiosity. Not dumb, as such, but kind of a trailer court weltanschauung . Still, very pleasant, and very cute! The crush seemed to come and go of its own accord. When I go in there now, it's still pleasant but no more infatuation. Just as well. End of Zooey and her story.

So in this dream(to finally get to the point--if there even is one!), Bob is telling me, "Yeah, I know Zooey! She forwards your emails to me, and converts the logic into kisses!" And here, he shows me a graphic of the converted logic in the form of little hearts.

It's funny that so often in your dreams, your mind is assembling, juxtaposing hopelessly disparate elements or images, things you'd never consciously put together. This is of course what you laugh about the next day when remembering it. In this case, it's words that would never come out of Bob's mouth: she forwards the e-mails to me, and converts the logic into kisses. No, Bob had more of a Larry-the-cable-guy thing going in his speech patterns and choices of words. His making a remark like that is about as likely as me becoming King of Jupiter.

Yes, a very un-Bob thing to say. So therein lies the comic incongruity here, the unlikely juxtaposition of disparate elements. But the two characters in my dream: Bob and Zooey, are more of a pair, much more kindred, at least socio-economically.

Socio-economically. Jesus. Listen to me with this drivel. Anyway, they're somewhat related, at least in my perceptions: Bob is on "disability", and Zooey aspires to a job where she can make $12 an hour with benefits. They're both kinda dangling on that societal rung, at any rate. I try and take the broader view, one I'd take at work if they were our clients, that they're both people who need some help. For that matter, who the hell doesn't?

So, taking this dream thing a bit further, it really has little or nothing to do with Bob or Zooey of course, rather more about my perceptions of them. And since I'm playing all the parts in this dream, what qualities am I imbuing Bob and Zooey with, and why? What are they, as characters, trying to tell me? In other words, what am I trying to tell myself?

Everyone we meet has something to teach us, even if it's only that we really wouldn't want to be them. Hard enough being ourselves, right? And besides, maybe that's the lesson we give to them: that if nothing else, they've learned that they wouldn't want to be us.

Converting logic into kisses. Whatever it means to you is what it means, I guess. Some of that inscrutable hillbilly wisdom. Maybe there is a hillbilly guru somewhere, a backwoods Bodhisattva who goes by the name of (please forgive me for this one)

Bubba Ram Dass.

ground level zero

2010-11-11T15:11:00.004-06:00

I can't seem to plan them, though I do try and create what I think is the optimum climate for them to grow and flourish in. Whatever preparations I make, they seem to happen when and if they want to, almost completely independent of my ministrations. All I can say is, nice when they do..

Talking about what I call ground level zero days. Days when you wake up not just feeling "good", but several degrees more relaxed, more at peace with yourself and your world. Normally I have them(again, if I'm to have them)on vacations, and there usually the third day in- provided that the previous two were both days free of stress.

My most recent vacation, 11 days last month, was of course I time I was hoping to reach ground level zero, but it never quite happened. About five days into my time off, I did reach a point where I was a little more chilled, but this was more an intellectual realization than the kind of experience I'm talking about here. Ground level zero is more of a body high, a physical, respiratory "whew", a deeper breathing kinda thing. Reaffirmed, literally, with every breath you take, since they are deeper.

Today has been such a day. A more relaxed, deeper breathing day. All the more meaningful, since I tend, more often than not, toward the other end of the spectrum: the less relaxed, shallower breathing, crabbyass, pissed-off-at-the-world approach to life. Anxiety seems to run in the family, at least the male members(no pun intended here, but take it-what the hell): my Dad and brother, and, I'm told, nephew. All of us were compensated with a sense of humor though(even about ourselves), so the laughter diffuses some of the tension- but not all, of course.

So the mellowness is something I've enjoyed today, partially of course because it's in direct(and refreshing)contrast to what I usually feel, but mostly because it's just good in itself, self-evident in its auspiciousness--and of course as such it's a feeling you don't want to lose, being sent back to the all-too-familiar nervous irritability. I did experience one such moment driving home, my inner impatient motorist starting to rear his ugly cranium as I trailed behind a slowpoke right in front of me, but otherwise I've had a day of near-total equanimity.

I wish all my days could be ground level zero days. If I knew the secret(indeed if one exists), that would certainly be the case. I did have one thought around the time I woke up(the usual hazy awakening, which begins whatever kind of day I'm going to have)thinking something to the effect of "well I don't have all my problems solved, but that's okay". If I had anything to do with the kind of day I've had in terms of a conscious(or, being first-thing-in-the-morning, semi-conscious)decision, it's that I apparently decided not to carry all that shit around with me, if only for 24 hours.

Hmm...

Political Strategies and Perspectives for 2010

2010-10-17T21:53:00.004-05:00

Yep. That pretty much says it. "This is you, Bill Brady." "No, this is you, Mark Kirk". (Well, substitute the name of your candidate..)There has always been a degree of mudslinging in election campaigns, but this year it's really gotten out of hand. 2010- The Year Things Got Silly. It reminds you of something you'd hear in a Grade School playground during recess.

Makes you not want to vote for anybody.

Roger U Roundly: Paragon of Virtue

2010-10-15T17:58:00.005-05:00

This is the eighth day of my eleven-day stretch of vacation. Most all my vacations follow the same basic pattern: two or three days feeling numb, then a 'ground level zero' relaxation kicking in(didn't get that this time)followed by a period of industry, more sloth and then a flurry of some kind at the end.

We are currently in the 'period of industry' phase of things. I changed the air filters for the furnace(what with Old Man Winter around the corner), changed the sheets on my bed, took out the trash, and did much cleaning up to and including the major transformation you see in the pictures.

My sleeping hours are all outa whack this time out, which is probably why I haven't had the sahaj samadhi experience of waking up on that third or fourth day feeling all those tensions lifted away. Maybe I've just got more tension to lift away this time.

Three more days. And the house is getting cleaner.

Taffi Tuffkrak

2010-10-14T23:31:00.005-05:00

Ever heard of her? I wish I had a picture to post. Seems like I heard this name some years ago, and again just recently. She may have been one of those one-hit wonders, the hit being, "Liq m' luv krak, Jack". The band was, let me see- Spaz Attack. Spaz Attack featuring Taffi Tuffkrak.

Well okay, I just made all this stuff up. Just wanted to see what Taffi Tuffkrak would look like in print, and now I know. In person, I imagine some sort of amalgam of Janis Joplin and Wendy O Williams, with maybe a sprinkle of Melissa Etheridge thrown into the mix.

Okay, that was my original vision.. My revised one is more of a Pat Benatar/Avril Lavigne mix- with, yes, still some Melissa Etheridge in there for good measure. And yes of course I'm thinking Spandex. With a name like Tuffkrak, c'mon!

And of course, lotsa attitude. An upper lip permanently curled into a contemptuous sneer. A chick singer I hope I never ever work with. Taffi Tuffkrak, lead singer with Spaz Attack.

Ye gods, what hath I created?!

Actually, upon review here, I'm convinced. Avril Lavigne is Taffi Tuffkrak.

..but I'm a Wheel watcher

2010-10-13T15:28:00.003-05:00

Yes. Most TV does, in fact, suck wind. Thank goodness there are always those few exceptions -in our era: Jeopardy, the news, a very short list of comedies and dramas- and Wheel of Fortune.

I got to watch them film the show back in 1985. Even got my picture taken with Vanna. I was a road musician at the time, with a group based in LA, and our singer had a connection with somebody on the show, so we got passes. They filmed in Burbank at that time, in a dump of a studio and did three or four or more shows in a day's time. Probably concentrated it all in a couple days' work I remember that the Big Winner for the episode we saw was a guy named Chuck, who wore three-toned shoes and said 'indubitably' an awful lot.

During the 'photo session', which ran all of about 5 seconds, I tried to talk to Vanna, but she was basically this plastic smile for the 5 seconds it took to snap the picture and that was it. I wasn't offended in the least.

Pat came out and talked to the studio audience for a moment before they started filming. Even though he's a bit on the curt side with his guests at the very end of the show as I've seen them on TV, he seemed like he was probably a nice guy in real life. I did hear him say, though, in a moment of boredom or exasperation, "time flies when you're doin' a game show. "

And time has flown. I think they're on the 26th year of doing Wheel of Fortune. Both had other ideas as far as show business back when they started, but Pat's talk show fizzled--he didn't have it to be Cavett--and Vanna's film career similarly tanked. She was a 'no show' for Monroe. But what the hell. Ride the ship that'll take you as a passenger. Both of them look like they're hanging in there, although Vanna does look a bit tired when they flash to her after the Big Winner has won.

Personally, as a viewer, I like the show. Sometimes the puzzles seem too simple, and others I get stumped myself. I don't like it when the contestants yell out 'big money!' and think if anything they should be penalized when they do that- but otherwise have no malice toward those involved, and have their best interests at heart, including seeing them win big money.

The other thing I really like about Wheel of Fortune has nothing to do with the show itself but rather when it's aired. For some years(and, I hope, more than a few to come)it's been on every weekday at 6:30. This is a perfect viewing time, since I'm either starting or finishing dinner. I've already seen the local and national news, am somewhere in the process of having my dinner, thus finishing the afternoon's activities before commencing with the evening's.

Wheel of Fortune is, then, the dividing line between afternoon and evening. Once they're in the Bonus Round, I'm saying that wistful goodbye to the day, knowing that it'll be night soon, It's not just a game show. Wheel of Fortune is the portal between the two parts of my daily existence. It helps define my way of life!

evil TV

2010-10-13T14:36:00.004-05:00

I've got one of those TVs and VCRs in my bedroom which are fast approaching Stegosaurus status as far as workability. The VCR is currently stuck on cable channel 40, which is MSNBC. I sometimes watch the news and have an occasional morbid curiosity about the show "Lock Up".

So I've been watching the channel 40 fare of late, while I figure out what to do with the recalcitrant VCR, and on comes a show called "To Catch a Predator". On it, sexual 'predators'(or those who could be termed "predator-curious")are lured to a domestic location, a private home, wherein the show's host, Chris Hansen, then appears like an Evil Allen Funt, to let them know what's going on. From there, upon leaving the premises, the show's 'guests' are arrested and booked.

Personally, if it were my show, I'd have some kind of sound effect when Chris Hansen came out to greet the guest, something like the doorbell from The Addams Family(or was it The Munsters?). And unless they had a prior record(or a prior appearance on the show!)I wouldn't have them arrested. I mean, being on national television for something like this is enough punishment, I should think..

So I really need to get this VCR fixed. Or set to friendlier programming. I don't think Allen Funt ever had anybody arrested on Candid Camera, did he?

the hump-day of vacation

2010-10-13T10:48:00.008-05:00

I'm on blessed vacation at the moment, eleven consecutive days free from the rigors of daygig. Now on day # 6, which puts me at the exact midpoint. Five down, five to go. This is the hump-day of my vacation.

Every three or four months I manage to have enough leave hours built up in there to cut myself loose for a week or so. At this point, I earn 12.5 vacation hours every month, which gives me a week(37.5 hours)every three months.

This is a slightly longer vacation period than my usual-and-customary five days, one I waited a bit longer to enjoy. I'm trying to adopt the 'type B' approach of less frequent but longer stretches, over my heretofore 'type A' burn-it-as-you-earn-it policy. Longer waits but more time to work with once you get there. And you can make the wait a big epic thing: I had weekly sticky notes with descending numbers starting with 8 to mark my increasing proximity to the goal.

Next time out, I've decided, is a full two weeks. Sixteen consecutive days free from the rigors of daygig. I'll have to wait until March of 2011, which is a haul, but can be done. A distance that can be traversed. Talk around the office(a place not without its fun, but certainly not without its stress either) is that you need two weeks, since the first is spent just unwinding- decompressing is another term I've heard used.

My old work environment of the last 2 and a half years was less stressful, and thus you didn't have the unwind, decompression time to get in on your vacations. So when you took a week off, you didn't spend the first couple days in recovery. I took a week off every third month, like clockwork, and my system, my threshold was set to a quarterly vacation schedule. I'd start "needing" that time off every three months.

Coming back to a more stressful(but fun!)work environment, I realize that my threshold was set on WUSS. So I'm pushing that envelope. Less frequent but longer vacations. I'm still enjoying my eleven days, even though it is just a glorified week, a week that knows somebody. But becoming increasingly aware that a week just ain't enough, at least not in our office. Readjusting how I do things, how I need to do things.

The hump-day of my vacation. We'll see what, if anything, the second half brings, but the first has been spent unwinding, decompressing. As far as any musical or blog ideas(including this one), I've felt some muffled stirrings, but pretty much a climate of recovery, of convalescence. The stirrings will be more audible to me as I gain recovery, I'm sure. Unless they've gone and sought out another host body...

It might just be that my entire vacation is spent unwinding. If so, then so be it. At least I'm 'un-wound' to the degree I was able to unwind. Sometimes it just takes awhile. I gotta say though, it has been beautiful outside every day I've been off. Still unwinding, but not unappreciative, as far as that goes.

The mind is its own place, and can make a Heaven out of Hell, and a Hell out of Heaven.

Still on vacation. Still unwinding. Five down, five to go.

The Perils of Pauline

2010-09-11T22:16:00.004-05:00

It was Friday, and I was heading for my usual and customary take-home meal from Taco Gringo. Two Sanchos w/ no lettuce and medium sauce, and an order of Mexican Rice. Sometimes I get a Pepsi to go with it, but that's my order every time out. So yeah, I'm heading east on Vine, and find this chilling scene once I get to Spring Street. Had to take a detour, due to the street being blocked off.

I didn't know what to think at the time, but heard about it on the news, after I'd returned home from my circuitous drive to Taco Gringo. It was a murder, but they didn't give the victim's name.

Found this out later, from a phone message. Turns out, it's someone I know. Hadn't seen her in some years, but we did run in at least intersecting circles for awhile in there. I gave her a couple guitar lessons back when, to do with jazz improv, and we played together in a band- her on bass and me on guitar. It was fronted by a local singer, who used to do a variety of stuff from jazz to country. I told my wife at the time that her engagement ring was paid for by "lotsa choruses of Delta Dawn".

So that's my connection. Again, someone I hadn't seen or thought of in years, but now that I remember, a very nice person, pleasant to be with. Sorry to see you go, Pauline. I had fun playing gigs with you, even if we did have to play endless choruses of Delta Dawn.

Just My Fuckin' Luck

2010-09-07T23:13:00.004-05:00

Of course, my real destiny is not a major babe like Zooey Deschanel(or even a contender babe like the Zooey who works at my favorite pharmacy/convenience store-see previous blog), but a Door Number Three item like this one.

Just kidding. Thank you kindly, I'll wait for a Zooey. Or at least someone less than equadistant on the Zooey/trailertrash continuum. Above pic courtesy(or perhaps discourtesy)of the People of Wal-Mart website. The ground level zero of trailertrash.

Strangely enough, Just My Fuckin' Luck is an actual tune, a musical composition. Supposed to be a nice tune at that. It's in the Woody Herman library, and if I ever hear that band again, I'm going to request it. Well, privately with whatever band member is unfortunate enough to be at hand.

You understand it's not the girth I'm talking about -even though that in itself is a deterrent for me, not being into big women- but rather the lack of couth (for lack of a better word)to wear such a dirtbag-tasteless t-shirt out in public.The only thing more outrageous than this that I've witnessed was a cashier in a local Denny's wearing a t-shirt reading Happiness is a Tight Pussy. I think he even made a comment about the food as we were paying him for it, "I can't believe you ate this shit", or something to that effect.

But I digress. The chick wearing the t-shirt in this picture has every right to live in this world that you and I do. She has a soul, and a divine purpose- a karmic mission to live out in this lifetime. I just hope, in this world, that I'm not standing behind her when her upload is complete..

Code Name: Zooey

2010-09-07T20:17:00.003-05:00

Okay, there's this girl I see at least a couple times in the workweek. She works, at least for the time being, at a pharmacy/convenience store a couple blocks from my office. I'm part of a "walking group" at work, a peripatetic posse that pounds the pavement twice a day in search of cardiovascular fitness, and we stop by the pharmacy more often than not for "health products"(vitamin drinks, protein bars, that kinda stuff). She's usually there.

I'll call her Zooey. Not really her name, and she doesn't look quite as good as the Zooey pictured here, but the same basic idea. Dark hair, blue eyes, very young, very cute. And very friendly, at least to me.

Over the past couple months, I've gotten to know Zooey just a little bit. I know where she's from, and I know she's discontented with her job. Then again, it's the kind of job you have when you're her age, though retail can be a kind of quicksand you can get stuck in. I understand her motivation to want to dig herself out.

I don't know how old Zooey is, but I know she's under 21, since she has to get someone else to ring out the beer I buy there occasionally. My guess is 18 or 19. Yours truly just turned 56 last month, which makes him 37 or 38 years her senior- roughly three times her age! I'm probably older than her Dad. This young woman could be my friggin' Granddaughter, for chrissakes!

But young cute girls are still young cute girls, and you never stop appreciating them, no matter how damned old you get yourself. Or flirting with them just a little bit. I don't know that I actually flirt with Zooey, but it is very friendly between us. She seems to light up when I come in there, and I too get something of a buzz from her attention.

Now I know that Zooey is not romantically interested in me, and I'm really not romantically interested in her- even though she is very cute, and I find her attractive. Besides, along with the age difference are other huge disparities as far as our interests. I'm sure our tastes in music, books, movies and other things are worlds apart. This would be evident the first time she wanted to watch American Idol or Minute to Win It, or whatever other kind of pap 18-year-olds get into.

Still, it's a nice fantasy. I have never been with a woman way younger than myself. If there's an age difference, they always seem to be older. So it would fulfill a stoopid unrealized dream I've always had- well, since I became old enough to be the "older man". But I know better, at least intellectually. I have a pretty good idea how it'd end, and of some of the repercussions of dating someone one-third your age.

So I'll try and keep myself in check here. Continue to go in to the pharmacy for my health items like the vitamin drinks and protein bars, and my "non-health" items like beer. And continue to enjoy the buzz I get from seeing her. Even though someone else has to ring out my beer.

wake n' bake weekend

2010-09-05T13:24:00.003-05:00

Feels pretty damn good too! All I know is I woke up today feeling a little more peaceful than usual- and for one who's genetically predisposed toward just the opposite frame of mind, that's an extra bonus. Saturday is generally my wake n' bake day of the week, and this past one served admirably as far as getting a few kinks out of my system. That plus a good night's sleep prompted me to just keep doin' what I'm doin'(or not doin', as the case may be), to declare this a wake n' bake weekend!

Wake n' bake weekend. I suppose you could set it to music, perhaps to the tune of Rock n' Roll High School. So I'm havin' me a wake n' bake weekend, only without the music of the Ramones. And certainly without that stoopid movie. Well okay I've never seen it in its entirety, but what I did see was abysmally dumb. Wake n' bake nonetheless.

Unlike its original connotation, wake n' bake doesn't necessarily have to have anything to do with consumption of substances. A wake n' bake day is one in which you never get out of your bathrobe. You will hopefully enjoy the hell out of the day, but never 'address' it.

So you can have a perfectly dandy wake n' bake day just drinking coffee. But one's substance of choice definitely enhances the experience. Or so I'm told. Well, if you'll excuse me I have a wake n' bake weekend (sans The Ramones and PJ Soles)to get back to.

********************************************************

My brother tells me Rock n' Roll High School is not too bad. So maybe I'll suspend judgment until I've seen it from start to finish. I may conclude that it is abysmally dumb, but at least I'll have seen it. I did like "I wanna be sedated" by the Ramones, though I liked Devo better as far as bands of that era. And PJ Soles was real cute in Stripes. So much for disclaimers. But I hate to talk sheis about people or things--except maybe those fucking Chipmunks!

But I digress.

The Orifice

2010-09-03T21:13:00.004-05:00

It's a head-massager. The contraption on my head, that is. Given to all of us in the office by one of our co-workers. A quiet, demure(and attractive)lady who works about 10 feet in front of me. She recently treated a few of us to lunch, and more recently, treated all of us to this wonderful head-gear. So I'm finding she has a magnanimous side to her as well. Back in May, when I started, I told her she was muy bonita(in espanol since she is of Hispanic descent)and she told me I needed stronger glasses. How do you say, "you're too modest" in Spanish?

Another co-worker said the head apparatus kept Martians from reading his thoughts. Hmm. Perhaps this was a problem he was having- but apparently one which, thanks to the wonderful pate protector, has now been eliminated from his life, wiped clean from his plate. May not save him against Venusians or Neptunians though. Or Plutonians, for that matter.

Well, that's some of the kind of fun we have in what I've grown to describe as the local orifice. This is, I guess, a follow-up blog on my progress(or perhaps regress)since rejoining the ranks. It took a little while to re-acclimate myself, especially since there's essentially a whole new crew I'm working with. And since(which should perhaps be most important)they had to figure out what to do with me as far as my job duties. But all is well. Unlike some other choices I've made in my life, deciding to come back was one I don't regret.

So I'm relearning some things, and learning a few more anew. I mentioned in the first blog that we remember things comprehensively, as a total mood or feeling that characterized at least part of our experience, while the actual experience was in fact full of changes and uncertainties(and problems). Somehow in the remembrance, our minds gloss over that stuff. Maybe it's self-preservation, maybe it'd drive us nuts to remember all the crap, or maybe the real stuff is the feeling behind the experience rather than the grisly details.

What's going on now in the office is a climate of uncertainty(speaking of uncertainties)concerning a new computer system we're grappling with. A learning process for everyone on board. Much gnashing of teeth, as it were, around the office right now..So after all the changes I've had in the past four months coming back, here's yet another one- but at least one we all share.

One nice thing about where I work, though(and this was a big motivation in coming back)is that there's always a sense of humor. Sometimes gallows humor, but laughage nonetheless. Laughage. I guess that'd be somehow quantifiable laughter. In increments of yuk. But I get my minimum daily requirement. And then some.

And it's still a bunch of misfits as far as the personalities, a melange of eccentricities. You can't not fit in with a room full of square pegs. Another part of the learning experience, besides the new computer system and whatever the hell it is that I do there, is learning the new folks' moves(which of course are themselves subject to change), and of course them learning mine.

It's not yet like I never left, and won't be for some time to come. But I'm back.

Welcome Home

2010-05-03T19:33:00.004-05:00

As of today, I've returned to my old job. Sorta like Fred Flintstone going back to work at the quarry. I was there from April of 1991 to November of 2007, then got moved(a part of my job there and me with it)to another work location, and in April of this year--just last month--opted to go back.

It's a place that deals with the public, so it's often full of folks. Not always noisy, but does reach a certain decibel level when the place is packed. You can take that as cacophony or a certain lively vitality, depending on your mood and saturation level.

The place I've been for two and a half years is just the opposite. There is no contact with the general public except by phone(when they can't get through to the 'noisy' offices)so the atmosphere is much quieter. After 16 years in a noisy office, this was pure Heaven at first. I reveled in the stillness, the lack of hubbub. Very refreshing.

In life I think you only know things by their opposites. You have happiness when you have sadness and have it taken away. Conversely you know sadness when you have happiness and have it taken away. Life is.

The quietude which was so nice at first had been getting to me. It was becoming a stark silence, which was at times deafening. What was a liberating lack of noise was turning into a straitjacket. This I interpreted as a sign that maybe it was time to move back to the noise- which now feels "refreshing".

Many of the folks I'd worked with during my 16 years there have moved on to other jobs(and yes, usually in quieter offices), but there are still a few stragglers. With them I still have the camaraderie that a decade and a half brings. One of them even toilet-papered my work area before I arrived.

Lots of new folks hired in during my two and a half year hiatus. I figure I'll get to know them a little at a time, just like the ones who are still there from before. And by the time I retire in roughly four years, I'll have a good camaraderie with at least a few of them.

The "good old days" I remember were actually times just like the present. Full of changes, and the various life challenges from that particular period. Your mind recalls these things in more of a comprehensive way, as a total mood or feeling that may have characterized part of what was going on. Somehow the crap that was actually going on in there gets wiped away. Four years from now, I'll probably remember 2010 in much the same way.

Welcome home.

Almost Spring

2010-03-12T21:38:00.004-06:00

Well I should probably update this picture. It's about a week old, and there was snow on the ground at that time. My tree out front, which didn't quite make the picture, is still bald as a billiard ball, so in my book that makes it still "almost Spring". A very cool tree as trees go, my front yard tree--it's covered in another blog here at Roger U Roundly(called "My Cool Tree")down the page aways. Not sure what kind of tree it is, either a Japanese Maple or Red Maple, but still cool. Small but mighty.

Yeah. Almost Spring. There's a certain buzz in the air when Spring is right around the corner, a certain breathless anticipatory energy as we get ever closer to it. Particularly after a rough-ass Winter you're all too glad to see gone for another year. Of the 4 almost-seasons, my favorite is almost-Spring.

In the workweek scheme of things, I get a similar feeling on Thursdays, particularly as the day progresses and I can see Friday(and from there Saturday and Sunday)with increasing clarity. Regardless of the meteorological situation outside, the clouds part and the sun shines for me once again. Almost the weekend.

I think a lot of the time, at least with me, the anticipation is a bigger high than the experience itself. By the time Spring officially arrives, we'll have rain or some other form of less-than-clement weather to deal with and will be in the midst of all that; and during the week, by the time Friday at 4:30 finally once again rolls around, I'm often too worn-out to fully appreciate it and require at least a couple hours of wind-down time.

All the same though, for now I think I'm gonna just enjoy its being almost Spring.

My Aunt Rose

2010-02-25T20:12:00.006-06:00

Well I don't have a monopoly on this relationship. She was other people's Aunt Rose as well, had other nephews as well as myself, plus a few nieces in there. And she wasn't my only Aunt. But of my Mom's two sisters and three sisters-in-law, she was definitely my favorite Aunt. And I'm sure she was as well to my brother and many of our cousins.

Rose Hicks Lewallen was born November 7, 1921 and died February 20, 2010. 88 years old, would've been 89 this year. Her husband Gilbert, whom we called Gib, preceded her in death, and was favorite Uncle to many of us kids growing up. We lived 200 miles away from them, but Mom was very close to her sister Rose, so there were many visits over the years. And I had what I considered a special bond to them.

In 1954, right after having me, Mom came down with Thyroid Cancer. Mom was just 25, had been married only a year. Even though the Cancer hadn't spread, they weren't sure if she was going to make it. So during this precarious period, while she was being treated, I stayed with Aunt Rose and Uncle Gib. Literally cut my first teeth on Uncle Gib, a story he enjoyed telling for the rest of his days.

If she hadn't pulled through, I guess I'd have been raised by my Aunt Rose and Uncle Gib there in Indiana, with Dad seeing me as often as he could. I'm sure my Aunt and Uncle would've done a good job with me, and I'd have been even closer to my cousins there, all of whom I always liked anyway. But of course I would've had no memory of my Mother, and the heart-wrenching experience of only seeing my Dad part of the time. Plus, speaking of Dad, who knows as far as the possible stepmom and half-siblings down the road..

Mom had had a childhood ravaged by all manner of illness, from Rheumatic Fever to blindness, and the Cancer she came down with at the age of 25 was just a nasty cherry on top of that pathological cake. But she beat Thyroid Cancer, and as it turned out was disease-free her whole adult life. So I got my Mom back. But if I hadn't, then Aunt Rose would've been, in effect, my Mother, would've raised me as another son.

So I always felt especially close to my Aunt Rose, always enjoyed our visits, and the story goes even wrote to her as a little boy of 5 or so. The letter was addressed simply to Aunt Rose, Lebanon Indiana- and Lebanon being a very small town, actually made it to her!

And I've kept in touch with her over the years, at least the semi-regular phone call. Aunt Rose had a sauciness to her, a persnickety side that was more evident with the years, and brought out the occasional crass(or at least judgmental) remark or observation. The last time I actually saw her was in 2008 when I drove over to Indiana for a visit, and she immediately started in about the 'extra' weight around my middle. Usually in our phone conversations she'd dredge up some memory of me which was embarrassing or at least highly unflattering. Something I'd just as soon not remember. There was no malice in all this, but still I could tell she delighted in irritating me, in hearing me groan.

Persnickety. Well okay, the word is actually persnickative. But it's one of those permanently-bastardized words that we only know in its incorrect form. Like "Elephantitis"(elephantiasis). But she was persnickety.

I tried to complain once, about the fact that every time we talked she'd pull out a story that made me look bad, and she just laughed. Not a derisive laugh, more from the puckish spirit of one who loves to tease. So I threw up my hands at that point. We love our people despite these things, and sometimes all the more because of them. Aunt Rose was still my favorite Aunt. And I'm sure she'd have made a good Mom. But if she'd raised me as her son, as far as the embarrassing stories, she'd have really had some ammunition...

My Aunt Rose. I love her to pieces.

R.I.P c.u.p

2010-02-14T00:11:00.003-06:00

Well since there aren't supposed to be any accidents in the Universe, I guess it had to happen. And it had to happen just when and how it happened. I was in the bathroom, had it in my hand, experienced a butterfingers moment, it slipped out of my hand, fell against the porcelain surface of the toilet and shattered into two pieces.

I'm talking about my coffee cup. Not just any coffee cup mind you, but my favorite coffee cup. The one I always reached for here at home, the one that was always there for me(well except for the times the cleaning lady uses too much Palmolive to clean it and I've gotta soak it in water to get the detergent taste out). A lot of coffee has been poured into that cup over the years. It's served me a lot of cups of joe, morning noon and night, my sturdy Vessel of Java. And now it's gone.

Shattered into pieces in a mere second. Amazing how your whole world can change like that in just the blink of an eye. From being a person with his favorite coffee cup to a person without that fave kitchen utensil. A cupless eunuch. From day to night.

Then again, even though it was my favorite coffee cup, it was after all just a damn coffee cup for Chrissake. I mean, I didn't have a cute nickname for it or anything or take it to bed with me. It was just the cup I was, shall we say, accustomed to.

So the search for a new Main Cup is now on. I have other cups in the cupboard for the time being to cover, but it's just not the same. Just personal taste, but I like my coffee cup just a little bigger, more capacious than average. Gotta hit a store or two- probably Wal-Mart, which as I remember has a whole wing of such items- which should take care of this Coffee Cup Conundrum.

It's been long enough now since my cup fell and shattered. A day is probably enough time to mourn a coffee cup. I'm ready to move on. Rest in pieces, cher cup. You've served me well.

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...

Djbipitod and Horrencchia

2009-02-21T10:25:00.000-06:00

Like many folks in their 50's, I've lost both my parents. Dad died back in 1993(lung cancer) and Mom in 2007(complications from Alzheimer's). They're both still sorely missed.

Dad's passing was at least relatively quick and painless. He was diagnosed in July and died the following March. Mom's was more of a gradual degeneration, her condition worsening over the years, finally reaching the point where there was no communication of any kind. Just hanging on by a thread until Death, at long last, came to get her. In that sense, it was a blessing that she would be the one to hang on. Dad would've been much harder to take care of if he'd been the 'survivor'.

But however they left this Earth, they're both gone. They've completed their respective assignments on this plane of existence and moved on. When people close to you pass away, I do think they stop in on you from time to time to see how you're doing. I've felt them hanging around. No great profound message from beyond the grave, just a presence--their presence. And of course I have had this sensation with both parents, especially Dad.

I suppose it's much like when you make a change such as change of residence or employment, that part of you is still tied to that old home or job. You check back in at that old location for a while, but there comes a point when you've got both feet planted in your new situation and you just don't look back so much. No time for it.

Now I have no idea what goes on beyond the grave of course. I do have a pretty good idea that we live on past our physical death, and that that realm of experience is tied to this one. And I do think that you repeat this earthly experience in various forms.

That said, my parents--that is, the souls who took on the roles of my parents--have each completed one in a series of earthly existences. And thus, upon death, they've shed their temporal identities as John Benard and Jacqueline Hicks Roundly. Their names now might as well be Djbipitod and Horrencchia.

I don't know Djbipitod or Horrencchia. At least not yet. The identities I knew were John and Jacqueline- sorry, Mom and Dad *. So that's how they appear to me. They put on the Mom n' Dad suits for their occasional visits, so I'll recognize them. (Yes I was thinking of the movie Cocoon, wherein the aliens could assume human form but were in reality glowing bands of light).

I miss my folks. They're right here with me but they're a million miles away. It's a paradox that you have to experience yourself to truly understand. Well for me, my earthly assignment is still going. So I'll continue my identity as Roger U Roundy until such time as I've completed whatever it is I'm here to do. And at that point I'll shed my earthly trappings, my Roger U Roundliness.

Until such time as someone close to me here needs me to come back and be Roger U Roundly for them..

* As a kid I once addressed my folks by their first names and was stopped in my tracks. Kindly but firmly. Years later I had a similar experience in Japan in which I walked across a hardwood floor with my shoes on. Stopped in my tracks after just two steps..

Livin' the dream, dreamin' the life

2009-02-10T19:56:00.000-06:00

Our boss at work, when asked how he's doing, has a stock reply. "Livin' the dream!"

Nice work if you can get it. Few of us(even him, probably) can actually say we're living our dreams. Well if we're not already there, at least we can imagine our lives just as we'd like them to be, doing and living all the things that make us happiest. Actually I think it's a healthy exercise, however chimerical, however ridiculously improbable in reality, to put yourself in those shoes. Imagine you're really living your dream. At least you come out of it refreshed, feeling like maybe you could bridge that gap just a little bit--the gap between what is and what one would prefer it to be.

My ideal scene could be just about anywhere, so long as it's not too hot or too cold. It has to do more with the community and its acceptance of me as a musician, that sort of climate rather than relative distance from the Equator. For the sake of argument, let's just say my hometown, since this way I wouldn't have to move.

In my dream existence, I make enough money from gigs and lessons and CD sales so as not to have to work a dayjob. Actually there's enough money--I guess from the CD sales-- so that if I want to I can take a break from the gigs and lessons and not feel any kind of pinch. But I love to play and enjoy teaching, so I'm usually in there pitching.

Every day there are at least a few messages on the machine from clubowners wanting me to play in their establishments. Of course all the local spots are included(despite the fact that I'm from here!)but also venues from other cities and even other states. And the out-of-town places always offer lodging and travel expenses, sometimes even backup musicians.

The gigs themselves are always packed with people, but they're always quiet once the music begins. Of course the people love what we're doing, and every evening's performance ends with at least one encore tune. There are 'biz' people there who want to talk business with me on my breaks- but I've got a manager for that stuff, who handles it and gets back with me later. And there is always at least one beautiful girl who wants to meet me.

Flattering(and tempting) as it may be having all this attention from beautiful women, I have to be faithful to my girlfriend. She usually comes with me to the gigs anyway- and is a very pretty thing herself: very short(5'0" or even an inch or so shorter)with long straight hair and very large breasts. Being a musician herself(flute/saxophone or piano)she is sometimes in the group with me, but is usually there anyway and I have her sit in if possible. She always comes with me to my New Year's Eve gigs and is there to give me a big smooch at the stroke of midnight- and a big something else when we get home..

My CDs, once released, always get reviewed in the local newspaper as well as the local indie weekly without my even asking. In fact, they read the News page on my website and request advance copies of them once they find out about it. And there is a CD Release Party every time out, usually in one of the ballrooms of one of the local hotels, with a capacity crowd. Hundreds of CDs get sold that night.

Okay, then I wake up from the dream. I'm in Springfield fucking Illinois, the same town I made into a Utopia. I've overslept and have 5 minutes to get to my dayjob. No messages from clubowners, local or non-local. I have to call them and bug them, and usually get the runaround when I do get them on the phone. On the rare occasions when I get a gig from them, it's sparsely attended and quite often they sit in front of us and talk the whole time. And there are never any women who want to meet me, beautiful or not.

My CDs don't get reviewed by either local rag, even after dropping them off to the proper parties.. I did get a feature article in the newspaper some years back, but only because I called and bitched about the weekly paper ignoring my new CD.( The guy who used to write music reviews had it since March of that year and come New Year's Eve hadn't even touched it, just stuffed it in a drawer someplace and forgot about it, so I got miffed, to say the least- and this still pisses me off just a little.) Otherwise they just go unnoticed, just like me.

Well okay, there's the dream and there's the ugly reality. And then there's the actual situation, which is still far short of the dream but maybe not quite as desolate as the ugly reality, or at least my depiction thereof .In actual fact, I do get musical solicitations on my answering machine, not from clubowners(that aspect of life really does suck but I don't care anymore)but from other musicians wanting to hire me for gigs or people looking for a band. Not every day, but often enough.

I don't get a lot of ink from the local rags, and have had to push to get what I get. But I did forge a nice professional friendship with the guy who wrote the feature article- he would ask me questions about music or musicians, for which I was always glad to provide info on whatever he needed, and in turn he was very supportive of my musical efforts. And the guy who now writes for the weekly I think doesn't relate to what I do musically but at least tries when I ask him to put some words in there for me. And he has given me the "recommended listening" icon on occasion when I've had a gig listed.

Likewise, I've had to push for gigs, but have been called upon to play the Great Local Events from time to time. And there are the people who sit in front of you and talk- sometimes they sit in front of you and talk about you- but there are a few folks who are genuinely supportive of what I do, who enjoy my playing and so forth.

And though I don't meet nearly the women I'd like to--actually just one really good one would do, and if possible roughly the description above, in "Utopia"--it does happen. So not never. Just hardly ever. But it has happened. And of course I hope it happens again..

I guess I was doing what the late great psychologist Albert Ellis would call "awfulizing" in describing the ugly reality that is my existence, horrifying myself about everything that's happening- or NOT happening in any event. And then I tried describing it without the "awfulization". It still sucks, but at least I can continue to try and bridge that gap between what I have and what I'd like to have. I think I'll start with that short chick with the long straight hair and other attributes...

Long-ass week, long-ass month

2009-01-31T19:45:00.000-06:00

Well it's been a long-ass month what with taking a new job, working it for a less-than-happy two weeks and then returning to my old one. My ephemeral career as Revenue Analyst 2 , comparable to the life span of a fruit fly or Hotel Food & Beverage Manager(this is probably only funny to musicians who book gigs in such establishments)or perhaps Trini Lopez in The Dirty Dozen, is barely a page in this chapter, but was necessary in satisfying a curiosity about what goes on up there. So ultimately a happy month of course, but all the same, the changes kind of take it out of you. You feel them cumulatively(at least I do!)at the end of all the activity. One big wallop.

So, yes. A long-ass month. Whew!

And this has been a long-ass week, to top it all off. Why? Well, for starters, every day was just cold enough to make it uncomfortable at work. Plus the 4-day proceedings of the Impeachment Hearing of our now former Governor.

The normal programming of the classical music show on NPR was pre-empted every day by the trial from Monday through Thursday. Most everybody else was riveted to the proceedings, but I really would've preferred having the regular fare of classical stuff going while I was working.

My disengagement from the whole thing reminded me of a story I'd heard while a college student. Mozart, according to this account, lived in Paris for a time during the French Revolution, and out of all the letters back to his family in Salzburg, none of them mentioned the political and social climate of the day. He just talked about what tunes he was working on! "Yeah, I've just completed an Opera. There was some noise outside my window all day, but I managed to tune it out!".

Given Mozart's dates(1756-1791)and those of the French Revolution(1789-1799), the story is probably apocryphal, but it is a good musician story and I saw myself in it as well. We just want to work on our tunes..

Actually the whole trial held a lot more interest for me after work, and I was following it much more closely on the TV news and Internet. And, as a gov't employee, it was quite a sight seeing his name scraped off our front door on Friday.

And finally as an Illinoisan, I did like the speech given by our new governor on Friday. Naturally his stance and policy are going to be antithetical to that of the previous administration, so that was an expected part of things- the talk of returning integrity to state government and the cessation of pay-for-play, quid pro quo politics.We'll just see how he delivers. At least he's actually going to live in the Governor's Mansion, unlike his predecessor.

No doubt more cold weather awaits us in February before Old Man Winter is done kicking us around for the year. But at least the trial is over. I'd rather listen to Mozart while I'm working. Maybe even something he wrote(allegedly anyway!)during the French Revolution, his Muse trying her damndest to drown out the noise from outside.

ven der putz shteht

2009-01-31T11:08:00.000-06:00

There is an old Yiddish expression that goes something like this: ven der putz shteht, lich der sechel in drerd. Translated, "when the prick stands up, the brains fall to the ground".

Very true. When this happens, somebody else is driving the bus- and all the while hollering, "Use me! Use me!" It's amazing that you'd even get out of the driveway with all this going on, much less reach your destination.

So every so often when I'm on the Internet, the little head gets control and I end up cruising the cybernetic Red Light District- and often enough taking home a new website. This last time it was DivineBreasts.com .

DivineBreasts.com has women with HUGE boobs--according to the Model for Us link, at least an E cup to be considered. That being the primary requirement, often the face going with that stupendous rack is one that could stop a clock. Or the body is of zeppelin proportions.

But there are a few who are relatively petite, aside from their E+cup titties, and also have a pretty(or at least pleasant)face. Or they have just the right amount of chubb. Actually this quality is one I'm beginning to appreciate a bit more- particularly if they seem to enjoy their own bodies.

There are pages and pages of videos, little 30sec to 5+minute things featuring these girls of all shapes and sizes--but all with at least an E cup rack. As a new member, it's quite easy to go a bit nutz with downloading, given the Wal-Mart-like expanse of choices. Aisles and aisles of boobs.

So after my first day as a member, and having downloaded a ton of video clips, I suddenly could download no more. Well, for 24 hours. They have a limit, I don't recall the amount but it's in gigabytes and I exceeded it. A day later, all was back to bizniz and I was free to download a ton more--whatever the little head was dictating that day.

I remember looking in My Documents at all the video clips I'd downloaded on that first day. An embarrassingly voluminous collection . Sort of like a binge drinker looking at all the beer bottles he'd emptied the night before. And I've since gone through them to see which ones I'd just as soon delete. But then the blood starts rushing back there to the putz area and I'm once again incapable of rational judgment. Ven der putz shteht..

The World of Work(and Japanese Hotels)

2009-01-18T20:05:00.000-06:00

I must admit, I've got a decent situation going in my current job. (Actually I like to think of it at this point as the job I'll probably retire from, in roughly five years.) A good job, but fraught with paradox- much like life itself.

Paradox? Yep. Two examples come to mind. One, we're under constant pressure to produce, yet the amount produced is up to us. Two, we're in a fairly restrictive work area, yet the way we use that space is entirely- again, up to us.

Likewise, how we do the work is our call. Just as long as it gets done, and we're showing production, the Powers That Be could care less about our particular methodology or even whether or not we have one.

It still boils down to that "organizational chart" that came out on email some years back with the birds on different perches with Director(or, if you will, CEO) Bird at the very top and then a descending order of 'administrative' perches with more and more birdshit covering each row of birds. Our Powers That Be may drop something on us, but usually only when it's been dropped on them from above.

So, all told, I am in a nice niche where there's not too much falling fecal matter. True, I am at a place in the building which gets more cold air than I think we deserve, but I am also at a place in the building where(unlike other, warmer spots) I can listen to the radio. This is only a trade-off during the Winter. I work with one other person--we get along great--and spend most of my day putting data into the computer, reviewing stuff, much of that time while listening to beautiful classical music on WUIS Radio(the collidge station)
.

My job before this I held for 16 years, and was quite different. A big noisy room full of people--we dealt with the public--where my phone rang constantly and you almost always had a problem someplace. It was a long stretch of road, those 16 years, and with just a few landmarks(one of which was being laid-off for 6 months--which you could possibly interpret as hitting a pothole!) but then you can get very comfortable in your job, just by virtue of the familiarity- happy or not!. Before you know it, you've got 15 years in and they're giving you a pen commemorating your decade and a half of service to the company(or agency if you will).

In the Fall of '07, at a point where I'd just had the job all "broken in"(but was inwardly tired of the noise, and of the sameness), I was told that they were shipping me to a different work location, effective mid-November. This is the job I have now.

I must admit I felt a bit uprooted for the first couple months. Missed the people I'd worked with, and the mobility of my former job(you could get the hell out of Dodge on occasion), plus the easy familiarity a decade and a half brings. I did not miss the cacophony that a big room full of people can produce, or my constantly ringing phone, or a few of the personalities I had to deal with. What makes a job change easier is having at least one aspect(in my case, several)of the job you'd gladly leave behind.

So after about 3 months, I was acclimated to my new surroundings, and no longer wanted to go back. (You kinda get hooked on the quiet in a job where you no longer deal with the public, strangely enough!)About a year into it though, we went through some staffing upheaval, losing our third person to the office she was "sprung" from to work with us. Very sad, but these things happen.

On her last day, I got a call to take a different job. It was something I was on the eligible list for(yes I work a Civil Service job..)but never figured I'd get called to do. Same building, more money, and being as that the call came on our 3rd person's last day, I took this--mistakenly perhaps--as a fortuitous event, perhaps even a harbinger of things to come, the 'sinking ship' as it were. So I decided to go for it. Take the plunge.

Strangely enough, I remember liking the look of the workplace, how everybody had their tall(well, to me!)cubicles, working away in their own private little worlds. Accepting the job, I remember thinking how cool it'll be to be working away inside my own cube, my own space.. But once I was there, it was a different story. Never quite felt right.

Picture if you will a big room lined with private offices all along the walls,(right, they get the windows!) and within it 4 rows of cubicles. I worked in the second row about 60% in on the right. Obviously other people are just fine with this sort of work environment but it was getting to me. Feeling very boxed in, compartmentalized if you will, and further suffocated by the fact that there were no windows. A cross between a Prison and a Japanese Hotel.

Within my cubicle, I did begin to get a comfort zone going after a couple days. But leaving my cubicle, and likewise coming into the work area from outside, I'd definitely feel the pinch all over again. I never thought of myself as claustrophobic, but maybe I have some of that in me. At any rate, a strong feeling of confinement. Even though it contains the word fine, there's nothing fine about confinement. At least not to me..

So I decided pretty quickly that cube life wasn't for me. Plus if you're used to working on your own, it's difficult to go back to working under direct supervision.

Not a lot of muss or fuss in the process of going back to my old job. No hard feelings on the part of the folks I left and lotsa good ones on the part of the folks I was returning to. Kind of an emotional morning when I told them I wanted to come back. My co-worker in our once-3-now-2-person unit gave me a big hug(I'm sure as much out of relief as friendship and camaraderie, but still glad to have me back). There was a pile of work easily a foot tall on my printer waiting for me when I got in, but I was glad to see it.

And on the food table on the 1st floor there was an array of foodable items with the sign "Welcome Back Rog" on my first day back on the floor. This was something I didn't see coming. Way cool. They downplayed it, "just an excuse to bring food", but still a nice gesture.I thanked everyone profusely and proceeded to stuff my face with bagels and the like. Ended up getting heartburn pretty good from my gorging, but otherwise a very nice day..

Well what the hell. At least you learn something about yourself in the process if you're paying attention, in situations like this. I know I do best(or at least am happiest)in a relatively unstructured, unsupervised setting, and should make this a top priority in decisions like this one.

It also helps to have a window you can stare out of when the mood strikes you. This is another of the perks I've returned to. Plus, as I said, we get better radio reception. Music heals the savage breast, and helps thee get through thy daygig..

The only downside to where I've returned is, as I've said, that you freeze your ass off in the Winter. Well there are blankets and comforters(space heaters are verboten in the building)so it's not an insurmountable problem but a pain in the ass all the same.

Seems like every decision has at least a small price to pay, a life tax or better, karma tax. Oh well.At least it's getting paid. At least I hope it is.

Hearth and Hame

2008-12-20T11:33:00.000-06:00

Ye gods it's been awhile since I've written in here. I should get back in the habit of putting my crazy thoughts and notions down in blog form. My not writing in here was not due to any lack of aforesaid crazy thoughts and notions--like the bills, they just keep coming!--but just slipping out of the habit.

A nice calm, almost sleepy day here in Rogland(pronounced rodge-land). Me seated at the computer nursing a cup o' coffee, my cat Maxine sleeping in "her" chair and my dog Lester sleeping on the floor. On these days where I'm hanging around the house all day, they kinda hover around me-always to be found just a foot or two away.

I've had my dog and cat since 1997, going on 12 years. From puppyhood and kittenhood. Got them separately, the dog first, but within a nine-month period. The same girl got them both for me, the dog near the beginning of our relationship and the cat near the end.

Well, shit happens. At least I got 2 nice pets out of the deal. Being the only other inhabitants of the house, we've developed a closeness over the years- bonded, if you will. We sorta fuse together into one entity on days like this.

And the two quadrapeds have their own bond, though they have their sibling-like squabbles. I remember one evening around bedtime, the cat is sitting on the bed getting petted and fussed over, reveling in all the attention. We hear the toenails-on-wood sound of the dog coming up the stairs and she gets this disgusted expression on her face, as if to say "Oh great! Here comes asshole!".

Just like kids. And strangely enough, my pets seem to like it when I sit between them and pet them both. A completely fair, equitable world..

Cats and dogs can coexist in relative peace- and even be better friends than they'd have you believe-but they're very different animals(despite their biological similarities).

My dog views me as the Master of the House, and is very aware of my approval or disapproval--and I do vary the inflection in my voice to get the point across to him.. He likes to please me, and will come try to cheer me up when he hears me losing at Poker on the computer(based on what he hears out of me, he probably thinks the game is called "Oh Fuck!")which I thought at first was an ill-timed ploy for attention but later realized was his regard for my feelings.

To my cat however, I'm more like her attendant. Waiter, and, when she's in the mood, masseuse. I'm here to take care of her needs. When she feels like being petted, she'll often just sort of throw herself on the floor in front of me, almost coquettishly, as if to say "Okay. Pet me." At mealtime she gives me a couple seconds to get the food in her bowl and then the meowing begins. But, like her canine housemate, she's also loyal, and is a warm purring bundle o' fur when I go to sleep and when I wake up pretty much every day.

I've thought of adding, say, another cat to the mix. One of the Vets(as in Veteranarians)at the place I take Lester and Maxine to advised against it, and I can see how that'd be a major adjustment. No, we already have our balance as far as quadrapeds. Maybe another female biped, at some point, at least as a frequent visitor. Hopefully someone Lester and Maxine approve of as well.

Ode to Monday(?!)

2008-09-28T14:10:00.000-05:00

A partly sunny Sunday. Back to work tomorrow. Probably a busy week ahead, given the time of year and end-of-quarter and all that. Many more Mondays to serve between now and when-I-get-to-quit-doing-this, but at least Mondays now are quiet. I come in, fire up the computer, get coffee, say good morning to a few people and off I go.
Though like most folks in their 50's who've worked for at least the past 20 years, I look forward to being able to retire at some not-too-distant point, I try not to think about how many more Mondays still await.

Well okay, 288, give or take a few. Taken all at once, an appalling number. If it were M & Ms, you'd probably have the trots. So, best to narrow one's vision as best one can, and knock 'em back one at a time. That day will come eventually when you're on your last Monday and can cash in your chips.

For now I have some Sunday left to enjoy, partly cloudy or not, before tackling Monday # T-288. It'll be here soon enough, but then come 4:30 in the pm, I'll have one less of them to plow through. But I must say here, even though I've been doing them for some time now, I'm still glad to have someplace to go on Monday morning. Keep 'em coming. At least 288 more anyway.

Pondering Porn

2008-09-23T21:34:00.000-05:00

When I was a kid of course, it was Playboy. Just about everybody had a friend who had an older brother, and that was usually your source, your "connection". "I feel like a pusher", said my friend's older brother- who was also yes, my Porn connection at 13, smuggling me copies of Cavalier and some mag names I don't recall but still filled with buxom babes. About that age or a little beyond, my Dad had a nice comment on all that. "Gee I'd probably buy Playboy, but that'd spoil the fun of you guys sneaking 'em in the house".
That's the age--about eleven, twelve, thirteen--when your hormones kick in and you discover a whole world out there you never knew existed. As well as a whole world inside your own body. Playboy and Cavalier and other such mags become holy relics with the sublime babes within their pages(which, yes, soon get stuck together)spreading their--wisdom for seekers of all ages. Prepubescence is the magic of Santa Claus and other fabled characters, and postpubescence is the magic of Christy Canyon(fabled porn actress)and other such delightful creatures.
All well and good. If your son is about this age, no doubt he's starting to notice these things. Only instead of a stack of magazines under the bed, now it's a handful of sites Mom finds on the computer. Sites with names like " Busty College Girls" and "Subway Sluts".
I've known some Moms to freak on this stuff. A couple things could be said here. One, it's a perfectly natural thing at his age, and in this day and age the visual stimuli(aka porn)is found more in cyber than pulp form. Two, even in the magazine age, there were mags every bit as raunchy as what you'll find online. And finally, it could be a lot worse as far as what he's checking out. Just imagine finding something like "Bound for Pleasure". Or "Hot Cock".

Whatever your age, internet porn is something just about every guy has checked out. A friend of mine once stated that when you first get a computer you spend the whole first month looking at pornography(hmm instead of a computer, you could almost call it a pornograph--okay, sorry), and it was certainly true of me.

As far as their effect on our civilization, there have been three milestones: 1)The Invention of the Wheel; 2)the Quarter video games like Space Invaders; 3)Internet Porn. I've said it before and I'll say it again. A boner and a credit card is a most dangerous combination--a veritable Molotov Cocktail(no pun intended)in terms of its repercussions.

Fortunately, your average kid, in terms of that most dangerous of combinations, has the former but not the latter, so no real damage can be done. Actually it's us grownups who can wreak the real havoc as far as that goes, just like the 900 phone numbers. But there are of course the free sites(one of which my then-17-year-old nephew turned me on to !)you can check out without Mom or Dad's credit card.

Every age has its particular challenges, but in that way it would be cool to be a kid in 2008. You have a wealth of things to view, much more than I as a 12-year-old checking out a centerfold in Cavalier. Just as long as you remember to delete the History before you log off the computer.