once again, remember the premise, i'm old. but am i senile?
some say that if you ask that very question, it's proof you're not. kind of like madness. if you ask, am i crazy?, the answer is: no, if you were, you wouldn't think to ask, you'd just be.
but i'm not sure about the senile question, because it happens in degrees. you don't sleep in the buff for 60 years and then wake up one morning and say what happened to my pajamas? or suddenly walk into a starbuck's and think do i take sugar or splenda in my grande venti half-caf, decaf, chocolate mocha espresso machiato? no, i'm thinking it begins with little things. and i think we write it off as getting older, becoming forgetful, senior moment, that sort of thing, and that may be correct, but how do you know when you've crossed that invisible line?
we've all done certain funny things. what did i come in here for? that's a pretty common one. where did i put my keys? regular forgetfulness. that nice republican gun-toting actor, the one that played moses in the ten commandments, what was his name? marginal. is that nice george w bush still president? ok, we've crossed the line. so i think you see where i'm going with this. how do we know when we're not just aging, but losing it?
example: i come home, the milk is on the counter. hmmmm..
me: husband, did you use the milk?
him: yes. i had some with lunch.
me: are you finished using it?
him: yes, why?
me: just curious.
but of course i'm more than curious. he put everything away and left the milk out. (ok, i know what you're thinking. big deal. it happens. and you're right. it does.)
my turn.
i've been out shopping, at the grocery, and i come home, open the garage door, pull in, pick up my phone off the car seat, disconnect my itouch from the sound system in the car, take the keys, get out of the car, and walk into the house. i put the keys away where they belong, and my toys down, and take a drink of water, walk into my office to check my email, and suddenly i remember, there are groceries in the trunk, including ice cream, i've completely forgotten. (it happens? senior moment? could be.)
here's a good one. ever done this?
you're in the mall. you come out of macy's, bloomie's, saks, kmart, walmart, (whatever your particular financial and shopping level is, no snobbery intended), and you're carrying packages and suddenly you stop. where did i park? ok, that's the first panic. then you suddenly realize, you're not even sure you came out the same door through which you entered the mall. from the parking lot, macy's has 4 doors. now that sinking feeling in your stomach. you pause, think really hard, and usually it comes to you, and you head toward your vehicle, a little frazzled. (ever see that commercial for that item you talk into, and it will record up to 30 seconds? i'm starting to think about getting one. i'd speak into it and say something like this: schmuck. when you come out of the store all glassy-eyed from retail overkill, you're parked in blue parrot zone. i think that would help. you know, i'd be one of those people that puts a tennis ball on the top of his antenna to find the car, (you've all seen that in florida), but the 2009 honda accord builds the antenna into the windshield, so there's no rod. i could glue a tennis ball to my back windshield, but it's not the same. can't see it from a distance. i might wander for hours in the hot florida sun looking for a gummy tennis ball with glue running down my window. bad plan.
the older i get, the more i think about this stuff, and notice things.
once there was a time, and it was for a very long time, when everything that i ever knew was lurking right in the front of my brain, (frontal lobe, i think it's called. you know, the one they poke in a lobotomy when you actually do lose your mind and become violent), but there, just waiting to spill out onto the tip of my tongue when called upon, like the a.d.h.d. kid that i always was. now, the distance from that front brain area to the tip of my tongue is somehow much further. sometimes the thoughts just don't make it anymore. long distance calling.....too far. too much effort.
then, there are the times when jeopardy will come on the tv.
digress.......
there's no way any of you could know this, (except of course for the few of you who really do), but that nice young mormon man, who was on jeopardy for about a year and won over a million dollars, because nobody could beat him, whatshisname, (just kidding on this one, it's ken jennings), had nothing on me. i could kick some serious jeapardy ass, like you read about. it's a gift. comes from being full of shit. i know shit. i know a lot of shit. i know all kinds of shit. can't explain the sponge in my head that has recalled all the trivia, minutiae, useless facts and figures and other assorted crapola that i absorbed throughout my entire life. scary. very scary. my loved ones will testify. for years i was the unequaled champeen. people would say to me all the time, you should go on that show. probably should have. could have made some serious money, and used it on elder care for myself, right about now. oh well.........probably would blown it anyway.....
back......
these days, when jeopardy plays, i'm still good, but clearly the brain cells have slowed down considerably. makes me crazy, because i know the answers but i can't bring it out of the brain to the tongue like i used to. old man? losing it? maybe. or maybe i should just take up a different game. tic-tac-toe is nice. it's a thought. (write that down before i forget it). i've actually taken up sudoku puzzles these days. very logical exercises that work the brain. i'm trying to keep the juices in the synapses flowing so that my neurotransmitters will occasionally fire, enabling me to shriek who is willa cather?, when the answer on jeopardy is she wrote oh, pioneers? i always get that right. or in a moment of jubilation, cry out, what is a dodecahedron? when the answer is a solid figure having twelve plane faces. (see, some of it still works, that's the scary part. all that shit is still in there, i just can't reach it consistently anymore.)
i guess i'll just tool along, hoping that when i walk from the kitchen to the garage, i'll remember what i went out there for, and hopefully, i'll get to the ice cream before the trunk stinks like sour milk. but husband and i made a pact. and i'll hold him to this.
when the day comes, that i get up out of bed, and put on my striped blue shorts, with my yellow checkered shirt and argyle socks, and the orange cardigan, (because i'm cold, wherever i go, even in the summer in florida), and check myself out in the mirror and think, hmm, this looks pretty good, he is instructed to put me down. even if i'm not actually senile, and it's just a senior moment, or an isolated incident, i'd rather die than have anyone see me dressed like that.
so the next time you say to yourself, what did i come in here for?, think about this blog and ask yourself, is it time for the tennis ball on the antenna?
Friday, August 27, 2010
Friday, August 20, 2010
the family way..........
don’t say i didn’t warn you way back in the beginning……
i’m old and i’m kind of strange……
sometimes i lie in bed at night and i wonder about stuff. who doesn't?
so, last night i was lying in bed, stroking my pussy, (the cat, you ninnies, what did you think i meant? minds out of the gutter, everyone). she’s attached to my hip. i lie, she lays. i snore, she purrs. (there’s a vaudeville act in there somewhere). so i’m lying, she’s purring, husband is reading and the conversation goes something like this:
me: do you remember lassie?
him: of course.
me: the original, i mean.
him: yes, the one with tommy rettig, who played jeff? long before jon provost played timmy? that one?
me: yes. i’ve been thinking. how come there was jeff, jan clayton as mom, and george cleveland as gramps, but no dad? and gramps? who’s grandpa was he? jeff’s? mom’s? and where was gramps' wife? all these people living on a farm, and dad and grandma were missing. lassie can find jeff when he falls into the well, but she can’t find grandma? so it was kind of a very modern family. a mom, a kid, a senile old grandpa figure and of course the dog, who was smarter than a fifth grader.
him: you think too much.
me: yeah, i know. but while i’m on the subject, remember that danny thomas show, make room for daddy? who’s uncle was uncle tonoose? danny’s? the wife’s? the kids’? (in which case it would have been danny’s brother).
him: uncle tonoose? who the fuck was he?
me: hans conried. a great character actor.
him: really? what else did he do?
me: a bunch of b movies. never mind. and while we’re on the subject, do you remember the real mccoys? that freakin’ jingle still haunts me,
want you to meet a family, known as the real mccoys
that’s grandpappy amos, the head of the clan
roars like a lion but he’s gentle as a lamb
and now there’s luke who beams with joy
since he met kate, mrs luke mccoy.
from west virginny they came to stay
in southern califor-nia (this part oddly rhymes)
old grandpappy amos and the girls and the boys
of the family known as the real mccoys.
me: anyway, who’s grandpappy was he? there was luke and kate, and of course little luke, who i think i remember was their son, and a mexican illegal named pepino, (although nobody seemed to mind back then) and an old coot named grandpappy amos. was he luke’s daddy or his grandpa? kate’s? or was he little luke’s grandpa? in which case he’d be big luke’s pa. i was little then, so i didn’t give it much thought, but it’s goddam confusing.
him: wow, you know you’re really disturbing me.
me: yeah, sometimes i scare myself. moving on....how about bonanza? do you remember that one? three sons and a dad. dan blocker played hoss (that's western-speak for horse, which is the animal he most closely resembled, adam, played by pernell roberts who was a dark haired hottie, in chaps, (a young budding gay boy's fantasy), and of course the adorable little joe, played by michael landon, who was by far, the most handsome. now, as i remember, ben, the dad, was married 3 times and had a son by each marriage. one might ask, where were the wives? all dead? well, let's face it; if you had to wake up every morning and look at lorne greene you might just die as well. but how did a face like his produce little joe? i'm thinking the milkman's kid. (or whatever the wild west equivalent was......the well digger's kid? the chicken feed salesman's kid? something like that.) but once again on tv, a dad, 3 sons, no mom, no love interest of any of the boys, and yet another illegal immigrant cleaning and cooking, this time chinese, named derisively enough, hop sing. (what happend to skip jump, his twin brother? probably left him in china town, or, since this took place in nevada, maybe he was busy doing construction on the hotels on what would one day be the strip, in vegas).
him: you really think hop sing had a brother?
me: probably. a brother, but no wife. hmmm.
him: maybe i should have married your brother.
me: yeah, i know, but you married me, live with it. and btw, i’m not done yet. i had a sleepless night the other day. how about the beverly hillbillies? you had jed, right?
him: you have way too much time on your hands, you know that?
me: humor me a little longer, ok? so, do you remember jed clampett?
him: yes, the buddy ebson character.
me: right. and ellie may who was his daughter, and jethro bodine who was his half-witted nephew by way of pearl bodine, his sister, i guess, played by bea benaderet. there was also irene ryan as granny. so let’s do this again. who’s granny was she? jed’s? ellie may’s? (in which case she’d be jed’s mother? (so why are we calling her granny?) jethro’s? (in which case she’d be jed’s aunt?) and where’s grandpa? dead out in the cement pond? so this is the family in the 60’s. jed, his daughter, the brainless nephew, (who dallied in drag, playing his own twin sister jethrine….which was coincidentally my very favorite part of the entire show), someone’s granny, and let’s not forget the mannish, bookish, lesbian named miss jane hathaway. (ellen degeneres owes her, big time). yet another modern family.
him: i know gay marriage is not legal in florida, but is divorce? you’re one sick fuck.
me: don’t sidetrack me, i’m on a roll. how about the rifleman? chuck conners? (he helped make me gay. but that’s for another discussion). here he was, out in the wild west, strutting around in leather chaps, (there's a trend happening here, with all these hot, wifeless men in chaps, don't you think?), with a boy. the kid called him paw. (that’s how johnny crawford pronounced it). so there was lucas mccain, and mark mccain, (the boy.) where was mom? and not even a gramps in this one? WTF?? what kind of families were they representing. i mean, i was no beaver, or even a wally, or a ricky or david nelson, (christ, those families were too pure. mom vacuumed in heels and pearls. it's not the heels and pearls that freak me out, it's the fact that they had a mom who actually vacuumed.), but i did have a gramps and a granny. (ok, truth be told, i never called my grandmother, who came from a shtetl in russia, and fled the pogroms, crossed the ocean in steerage carrying an infant until she settled in jersey city and spawned 4 more, granny. she just somehow wasn’t the granny type, if you take my meaning.
him: I’m getting sleepy.
me: wait, one more. how about bachelor father? remember that one?
him: yes, john forsythe?
me: that's the one. he played this unmarried guy in his, i'm guessing late 30's, who was so rich, that even his first name was bentley. and who somehow gets custody of a niece, apparently from some dead sister, and he has to raise her all alone, never having been a dad, with no help from an adult woman. he did have, however, i am so loathe to say this, yet another in a series of itinerant chinese housekeepers, named peter tong, played by samee tong. (i shit you not. but somehow amos and andy was the politically incorrect show, even in light of all this other crap going on. go figure. but one more time, it was an odd make-up of an american family. a batchelor, a teenage girl and a chinaman. (probably folding bentley's shirts into neat little piles). too wierd.
him: can the rest of this hold until i get some shut-eye?
me: sure. but i'm going to think about this some more. i think the reason it's upsetting me, is that it seems that if those were the pictures of families in our formative years, then why would, say, bill o'reilly go off on jennifer aniston for wanting a baby without a dad? she could always find a gramps or a granny, couldn't she? i'm guessing she probably already has a chinese housekeeper AND a mexican or two strutting around the grounds of her beverly hills mansion. or at the very least, she could certainly buy a collie. with her money, i'm thinking she could.........seems like a pretty foolish thing to tell people what constitutes a family these days, given our colorful sordid past..........don't you think? ok, babe, go to sleep...............
i’m old and i’m kind of strange……
sometimes i lie in bed at night and i wonder about stuff. who doesn't?
so, last night i was lying in bed, stroking my pussy, (the cat, you ninnies, what did you think i meant? minds out of the gutter, everyone). she’s attached to my hip. i lie, she lays. i snore, she purrs. (there’s a vaudeville act in there somewhere). so i’m lying, she’s purring, husband is reading and the conversation goes something like this:
me: do you remember lassie?
him: of course.
me: the original, i mean.
him: yes, the one with tommy rettig, who played jeff? long before jon provost played timmy? that one?
me: yes. i’ve been thinking. how come there was jeff, jan clayton as mom, and george cleveland as gramps, but no dad? and gramps? who’s grandpa was he? jeff’s? mom’s? and where was gramps' wife? all these people living on a farm, and dad and grandma were missing. lassie can find jeff when he falls into the well, but she can’t find grandma? so it was kind of a very modern family. a mom, a kid, a senile old grandpa figure and of course the dog, who was smarter than a fifth grader.
him: you think too much.
me: yeah, i know. but while i’m on the subject, remember that danny thomas show, make room for daddy? who’s uncle was uncle tonoose? danny’s? the wife’s? the kids’? (in which case it would have been danny’s brother).
him: uncle tonoose? who the fuck was he?
me: hans conried. a great character actor.
him: really? what else did he do?
me: a bunch of b movies. never mind. and while we’re on the subject, do you remember the real mccoys? that freakin’ jingle still haunts me,
want you to meet a family, known as the real mccoys
that’s grandpappy amos, the head of the clan
roars like a lion but he’s gentle as a lamb
and now there’s luke who beams with joy
since he met kate, mrs luke mccoy.
from west virginny they came to stay
in southern califor-nia (this part oddly rhymes)
old grandpappy amos and the girls and the boys
of the family known as the real mccoys.
me: anyway, who’s grandpappy was he? there was luke and kate, and of course little luke, who i think i remember was their son, and a mexican illegal named pepino, (although nobody seemed to mind back then) and an old coot named grandpappy amos. was he luke’s daddy or his grandpa? kate’s? or was he little luke’s grandpa? in which case he’d be big luke’s pa. i was little then, so i didn’t give it much thought, but it’s goddam confusing.
him: wow, you know you’re really disturbing me.
me: yeah, sometimes i scare myself. moving on....how about bonanza? do you remember that one? three sons and a dad. dan blocker played hoss (that's western-speak for horse, which is the animal he most closely resembled, adam, played by pernell roberts who was a dark haired hottie, in chaps, (a young budding gay boy's fantasy), and of course the adorable little joe, played by michael landon, who was by far, the most handsome. now, as i remember, ben, the dad, was married 3 times and had a son by each marriage. one might ask, where were the wives? all dead? well, let's face it; if you had to wake up every morning and look at lorne greene you might just die as well. but how did a face like his produce little joe? i'm thinking the milkman's kid. (or whatever the wild west equivalent was......the well digger's kid? the chicken feed salesman's kid? something like that.) but once again on tv, a dad, 3 sons, no mom, no love interest of any of the boys, and yet another illegal immigrant cleaning and cooking, this time chinese, named derisively enough, hop sing. (what happend to skip jump, his twin brother? probably left him in china town, or, since this took place in nevada, maybe he was busy doing construction on the hotels on what would one day be the strip, in vegas).
him: you really think hop sing had a brother?
me: probably. a brother, but no wife. hmmm.
him: maybe i should have married your brother.
me: yeah, i know, but you married me, live with it. and btw, i’m not done yet. i had a sleepless night the other day. how about the beverly hillbillies? you had jed, right?
him: you have way too much time on your hands, you know that?
me: humor me a little longer, ok? so, do you remember jed clampett?
him: yes, the buddy ebson character.
me: right. and ellie may who was his daughter, and jethro bodine who was his half-witted nephew by way of pearl bodine, his sister, i guess, played by bea benaderet. there was also irene ryan as granny. so let’s do this again. who’s granny was she? jed’s? ellie may’s? (in which case she’d be jed’s mother? (so why are we calling her granny?) jethro’s? (in which case she’d be jed’s aunt?) and where’s grandpa? dead out in the cement pond? so this is the family in the 60’s. jed, his daughter, the brainless nephew, (who dallied in drag, playing his own twin sister jethrine….which was coincidentally my very favorite part of the entire show), someone’s granny, and let’s not forget the mannish, bookish, lesbian named miss jane hathaway. (ellen degeneres owes her, big time). yet another modern family.
him: i know gay marriage is not legal in florida, but is divorce? you’re one sick fuck.
me: don’t sidetrack me, i’m on a roll. how about the rifleman? chuck conners? (he helped make me gay. but that’s for another discussion). here he was, out in the wild west, strutting around in leather chaps, (there's a trend happening here, with all these hot, wifeless men in chaps, don't you think?), with a boy. the kid called him paw. (that’s how johnny crawford pronounced it). so there was lucas mccain, and mark mccain, (the boy.) where was mom? and not even a gramps in this one? WTF?? what kind of families were they representing. i mean, i was no beaver, or even a wally, or a ricky or david nelson, (christ, those families were too pure. mom vacuumed in heels and pearls. it's not the heels and pearls that freak me out, it's the fact that they had a mom who actually vacuumed.), but i did have a gramps and a granny. (ok, truth be told, i never called my grandmother, who came from a shtetl in russia, and fled the pogroms, crossed the ocean in steerage carrying an infant until she settled in jersey city and spawned 4 more, granny. she just somehow wasn’t the granny type, if you take my meaning.
him: I’m getting sleepy.
me: wait, one more. how about bachelor father? remember that one?
him: yes, john forsythe?
me: that's the one. he played this unmarried guy in his, i'm guessing late 30's, who was so rich, that even his first name was bentley. and who somehow gets custody of a niece, apparently from some dead sister, and he has to raise her all alone, never having been a dad, with no help from an adult woman. he did have, however, i am so loathe to say this, yet another in a series of itinerant chinese housekeepers, named peter tong, played by samee tong. (i shit you not. but somehow amos and andy was the politically incorrect show, even in light of all this other crap going on. go figure. but one more time, it was an odd make-up of an american family. a batchelor, a teenage girl and a chinaman. (probably folding bentley's shirts into neat little piles). too wierd.
him: can the rest of this hold until i get some shut-eye?
me: sure. but i'm going to think about this some more. i think the reason it's upsetting me, is that it seems that if those were the pictures of families in our formative years, then why would, say, bill o'reilly go off on jennifer aniston for wanting a baby without a dad? she could always find a gramps or a granny, couldn't she? i'm guessing she probably already has a chinese housekeeper AND a mexican or two strutting around the grounds of her beverly hills mansion. or at the very least, she could certainly buy a collie. with her money, i'm thinking she could.........seems like a pretty foolish thing to tell people what constitutes a family these days, given our colorful sordid past..........don't you think? ok, babe, go to sleep...............
Sunday, August 15, 2010
the new arrival.....
godot has left the building...........i'm done waiting.........
it never came. i had a few thoughts, as i gave up on friday, after the mail arrived, in kind of this order...........
douche bag. thief. (petty thief at that, rip me off for $71.25...what ever happened to never steal anything small?). scumbag. crack head......indulge me on this one, i'm a bit bitter....hey, that's not so easy to say.....a bit bitter....try it 3 times fast). anyway, i grieved for about 10 minutes. (hey, this has been coming for 2 weeks, i'm over it). then i launched into what i like to think of as jersey city revenge.
i left feedback on the auction site.
oh, not just any feedback, like, he done me wrong, or bad transaction, thumbs down, type of thing. no,no, no. i announced to the world at large, to whomever shall find that site, that his name was jason bodle, he lives in williamsport, pa, he banks at the woodlands bank, and i put his entire bank account number,(which was on the back of my check, that schmuck), online,for all the world to see, with a note to all other would be scammers,(you know, honor among theives) and effectively said, hey guys, here's one for you for free. have fun with it. and then i quietly moved on...........
now i feel a little better.
so plan B...........
i began to shop again online for a used one, (for you latecomers, an apple ipod touch) and realized, after talking to my tech savvy roommate, that i'll pay 1/2 price for a used one, with again, no recourse, or i could buy a new one, for around, yipes, $300. so i shopped yesterday at the apple store, in the galleria mall, and played with the toy for like, an hour, and was immediately sure i was in. oddly enough, sometimes the universe kicks in with a little help. i don't know if you've seen these vending machines in big elegant department stores (not kmart, walmart, or sears, but more macy's, bloomingdales, and saks, that actually allow you to swipe your credit card, in a vending maching, (not unlike a candy machine, you know, where a kit kat bar, or a bag of cheese doodles falls down), but for $150. an ipod nano drops into your hands, or for $300 an ipod touch does. (and for years i've been saying, what kind of a fool would do that? ahem. the cheese, once again, stands alone. now the fates stepped in, and i had a huge credit on a gift card from macy's, and a gift certificate for the galleria mall, (which can be used at macy's) and so i put them all together, with a couple more bucks and i now own.... da... da da da.....(did that sound like a trumpet fanfare?), a new 32gb apple ipod touch toy. the big mamoo.
digress...........
you've read about my love of toys. (still ironing out the kinks in the logitech universal remote. 3 keys to go and i'm home!!!!!!!!!!!!). so i've been anticipating this for awhile, if you've followed these ramblings. but sometimes, your dreams exceed your expectations....you know? it happens. too much anticipation. but sometimes reality actually does exceed your dreams........and this is one of those moments.........
back........
this toy is....... (i have no word). amazing? futuristic? indescribable? fun? tricky? difficult? eye-opening? a learning experience? all of the above? not sure i can convey my excitement.
ok, i'm not going to do their commercial. that's their job.
but i suddenly feel, (and it's only day 2), that i'm holding the entire world in the palm of my hand. my email, my banking, my friends, family, music, movies, italian lessons, french lessons, gps system, photos, you tube, kindle, CNN, bill pay, the metropolitan opera, shopping, ebay, google earth, etc, and on and on. (in the words of julia sugarbaker from designing women,
i have been a big fool!) i should have had this thing years ago.
i've decided to re-read bram stoker's dracula, and lewis carrol's alice in wonderland. hey they're free books, and they're in my hand..........backlit......easy on the eyes........
ok, i won't go on and on. i have one, i'm happy, and i just wanted to update you on:
a) toy story is complete
b) the fool on the hill did indeed get ripped off, but it led me to much greener pastures, with a new one with the latest technology, (instead of a used one, which in the long run would have left me jealous) and
c) that godot is finally finished waiting. poor thing, waiting, since 1949
one more thing.........with the toy in my hand, i can see your house from here.
say cheese and smile..................
it never came. i had a few thoughts, as i gave up on friday, after the mail arrived, in kind of this order...........
douche bag. thief. (petty thief at that, rip me off for $71.25...what ever happened to never steal anything small?). scumbag. crack head......indulge me on this one, i'm a bit bitter....hey, that's not so easy to say.....a bit bitter....try it 3 times fast). anyway, i grieved for about 10 minutes. (hey, this has been coming for 2 weeks, i'm over it). then i launched into what i like to think of as jersey city revenge.
i left feedback on the auction site.
oh, not just any feedback, like, he done me wrong, or bad transaction, thumbs down, type of thing. no,no, no. i announced to the world at large, to whomever shall find that site, that his name was jason bodle, he lives in williamsport, pa, he banks at the woodlands bank, and i put his entire bank account number,(which was on the back of my check, that schmuck), online,for all the world to see, with a note to all other would be scammers,(you know, honor among theives) and effectively said, hey guys, here's one for you for free. have fun with it. and then i quietly moved on...........
now i feel a little better.
so plan B...........
i began to shop again online for a used one, (for you latecomers, an apple ipod touch) and realized, after talking to my tech savvy roommate, that i'll pay 1/2 price for a used one, with again, no recourse, or i could buy a new one, for around, yipes, $300. so i shopped yesterday at the apple store, in the galleria mall, and played with the toy for like, an hour, and was immediately sure i was in. oddly enough, sometimes the universe kicks in with a little help. i don't know if you've seen these vending machines in big elegant department stores (not kmart, walmart, or sears, but more macy's, bloomingdales, and saks, that actually allow you to swipe your credit card, in a vending maching, (not unlike a candy machine, you know, where a kit kat bar, or a bag of cheese doodles falls down), but for $150. an ipod nano drops into your hands, or for $300 an ipod touch does. (and for years i've been saying, what kind of a fool would do that? ahem. the cheese, once again, stands alone. now the fates stepped in, and i had a huge credit on a gift card from macy's, and a gift certificate for the galleria mall, (which can be used at macy's) and so i put them all together, with a couple more bucks and i now own.... da... da da da.....(did that sound like a trumpet fanfare?), a new 32gb apple ipod touch toy. the big mamoo.
digress...........
you've read about my love of toys. (still ironing out the kinks in the logitech universal remote. 3 keys to go and i'm home!!!!!!!!!!!!). so i've been anticipating this for awhile, if you've followed these ramblings. but sometimes, your dreams exceed your expectations....you know? it happens. too much anticipation. but sometimes reality actually does exceed your dreams........and this is one of those moments.........
back........
this toy is....... (i have no word). amazing? futuristic? indescribable? fun? tricky? difficult? eye-opening? a learning experience? all of the above? not sure i can convey my excitement.
ok, i'm not going to do their commercial. that's their job.
but i suddenly feel, (and it's only day 2), that i'm holding the entire world in the palm of my hand. my email, my banking, my friends, family, music, movies, italian lessons, french lessons, gps system, photos, you tube, kindle, CNN, bill pay, the metropolitan opera, shopping, ebay, google earth, etc, and on and on. (in the words of julia sugarbaker from designing women,
i have been a big fool!) i should have had this thing years ago.
i've decided to re-read bram stoker's dracula, and lewis carrol's alice in wonderland. hey they're free books, and they're in my hand..........backlit......easy on the eyes........
ok, i won't go on and on. i have one, i'm happy, and i just wanted to update you on:
a) toy story is complete
b) the fool on the hill did indeed get ripped off, but it led me to much greener pastures, with a new one with the latest technology, (instead of a used one, which in the long run would have left me jealous) and
c) that godot is finally finished waiting. poor thing, waiting, since 1949
one more thing.........with the toy in my hand, i can see your house from here.
say cheese and smile..................
Tuesday, August 10, 2010
thoughts on a colonoscopy...part 2
6/27 wednesday morning............
5:30 am. i'm awake. i need to pee, but that's about it. my insides are completely empty. i can thump my stomach and hear an echo. (you know, like when you're in the grocery, picking a watermelon and it makes that sound?)
digress...........
i've been eating watermelon as long as i can remember. summers, in belmar, new jersey, since i'm 5 years old. it's been so long, that i actually remember watermelon when seeds were not an option. it had seeds. period. you ate the fruit, you spit. (unless of course you were educated at miss muff's academy, or the marcia blaine school for girls (a jean brodie reference). there, you held the pits in your mouth and slid them delicately on to the front tip of a teaspoon and laid them down on the edge of your plate, very ladylike, as you ate your melon with a knife and fork.) i actually knew people, mostly girls, who did that. in jersey city, we just spit them out. not only that, there were often contests involving the spitting. distance contests. (well, i said it was jersey city). i rarely won. i was more like the jean brodie girls, than the spitting boys. but we've covered that already.
for most of my life, picking out a melon has been a pig-in-a-poke kind of thing for me. i had no idea what a good melon vs. a bad melon was, picking one. it's a talent, a gift, or a farm knowledge thing, but we jersey city boys didn't get that gene. (certainly got the spit gene, but not the other). then, one day, about 8 years ago, i was in a produce store trying to decide, and an old black man was loading watermelons into the big bin in the center of the aisle for customers. (oh god, another cliche`. a black man and a watermelon. (a vietnamese guy that does nails. where does it end?). i swear, the old man wasn't tap dancing too, just moving the melons. sometimes the things you see in a normal day are funnier than the walmart people). so i stopped and i asked him to pick one for me. (i realize now, how completely politically incorrect that was, but it didn't dawn on me at the time, because he was, after all, an employee, and i needed help). so he picked one up and thumped it, set it down, picked up another, thumped it, set it down and so on, until one made a sound he liked and he handed it to me. curious was i, so i asked why this one? he put the melon in my right hand and balanced it, then he took my left wrist with his hand and smacked the melon with my open palm and we both heard a particular sound. he said, that sound is what you're looking for. just like that. that simple. and i've been an excellent melon picker ever since. (again, this is not all that important, like finding a cure for cancer, but it is one of life's little lessons along the way, and i'm very happy to have learned it.)
back.........
sorry, but that was a nice reminisce about the melons.
so there i was, empty, with a very hollow feeling at 5:30 am and my procedure was not until 7:30. what to do for 2 hours? well, obviously, EATING WAS OUT!!!!!, so i showered, husband roused and showered and we both shaved and he had coffee and toast as i glowered, staring at the food. (don't forget, at this point, it's been some 30 hours since i've eaten, save for the jello, broth, and of course the vodka). but i'm more nervous than hungry.
when we were ready, we headed out to the facility where, as i recall, they were all set to put a mile of black plastic tubing with a color camera and lights, where, as my mother used to say, the sun don't shine. (hence the need for the lights). ok, people, i'm trying to be delicate here.
so after appropriate paperwork, and insurance questions, they begin to prep me.
digress again............
at the time, i had really crappy insurance,if you'll pardon the expression. i had a $2500 deductible, like i carry that much cash around with me. so i asked the insurance nurse, how much is this procedure, and she said we bill the insurance company $2000. (which obviously is coming out of my pocket considering my deductible, and she adds, but it counts towards the $2500. oh goodie. lucky me.) but it's still 2 grand. so jersey city wise ass kicks in, and i ask, how much is it if i walk in off the street with no insurance at all and want my picture taken? her answer? $600, but it doesn't count towards the deductible. WTF??? so my choice is $2000. out of pocket, or $600. out of pocket. DUH!!! let me think a minute............
i flash my credit card, and a minute later i'm out $600. suddenly i feel like i want to say, husband look! i just saved $1400. but somehow it just doesn't feel right. so i hold my tongue. (and you wonder why the health insurance industry needs a little work.)
back............
so having taken care of the distasteful money part, they proceed to prep me. they give me a little oscar de la renta gown, you know, the kind that fastens in the back? or not? and the whole world gets a gander at my derriere, like i give a rat's ass, considering what they're about to do to my derriere? oh, the indignity of it all. and again, i'm not afraid of the procedure, only of what they might find. and i'm trying not to be too upset, ($600 gone, my ass catching a breeze, and i'm starving). but i've never done this, even though they've done it a million times, and i would have been scared shitless if i had any left, so i kind of go with the flow, even though flow has left the building sometime yesterday.
they put me on a gurney, and try to soothe me with just try to relax. yeah, that'll happen. next thing i know, they're putting a needle in my arm with a drip attached and they tell me, we're going in to the procedure room now, so just try to relax. count backwards from 100, and they turned on the drip. i have to add here, that i saw one drop fall, then another, and then i started counting backwards. i must say, i was hugely proud of myself. i started counting and almost made it to 98. i kind of nodded right after 99. (i don't think the drip was quaalude, because it no longer exists on earth, more's the pity), but whatever it was, i'm not complaining. (i wonder if anyone has ever made it to 97. guess i'll never know.)
in the end, so to speak, it all went very well, no problems, they found nothing, come on back in 10 years and we'll play again, thank you very much. that sort of thing. again, to quote tangina from poltergeist, this hole is clean. but the sad truth is, i remember nothing. they told me i'd have amnesia from the drugs, and i said HA!!, an old drug pro like me? amnesia? that only happens in the movies. well, the cheese stands alone, one more time, because i truly remember reaching 99 and not much after that. husband said i spoke to the doctor at length after i came out of the anesthesia and he related the procedure, the results and more, very enthusiastically. there were no issues, polyps, or scary stuff. and i remember nothing. nada. like i wasn't there. i called the doctor's office the next day and the nurses told me all over again. (god only knows what went on in that room, because i sure don't). wish i could tell you more, but hey, sorry. (i do, however, remember just simply loving that drug.... until i hit 99. very nice indeed.) can i get a to go cup, please?
that's about it. i'm due again in about 5 years and i have a checklist before i go next time.....
1. i'm going to try to make it to 97. (99 is for wimps.)
2. i'm going to ask husband to bring a recording device to the after party, so i can hear what the doctor actually says.
3. i'm going to have better insurance. (did that already....check).
4. i'm going to have a laptop for the night before, so that while i'm on the crapper i can share. (did that already too.........check).
so, if you haven't had this procedure, and you're over 50, you ought to. if you're over 55, you must. and if you're older than that, shame on you. you've read my experience. didn't sound so bad, did it?
hey, if i can do it, you can do it............
the preceding has been a public service message......brought to you by phillips milk of magnesia
smile please...................
5:30 am. i'm awake. i need to pee, but that's about it. my insides are completely empty. i can thump my stomach and hear an echo. (you know, like when you're in the grocery, picking a watermelon and it makes that sound?)
digress...........
i've been eating watermelon as long as i can remember. summers, in belmar, new jersey, since i'm 5 years old. it's been so long, that i actually remember watermelon when seeds were not an option. it had seeds. period. you ate the fruit, you spit. (unless of course you were educated at miss muff's academy, or the marcia blaine school for girls (a jean brodie reference). there, you held the pits in your mouth and slid them delicately on to the front tip of a teaspoon and laid them down on the edge of your plate, very ladylike, as you ate your melon with a knife and fork.) i actually knew people, mostly girls, who did that. in jersey city, we just spit them out. not only that, there were often contests involving the spitting. distance contests. (well, i said it was jersey city). i rarely won. i was more like the jean brodie girls, than the spitting boys. but we've covered that already.
for most of my life, picking out a melon has been a pig-in-a-poke kind of thing for me. i had no idea what a good melon vs. a bad melon was, picking one. it's a talent, a gift, or a farm knowledge thing, but we jersey city boys didn't get that gene. (certainly got the spit gene, but not the other). then, one day, about 8 years ago, i was in a produce store trying to decide, and an old black man was loading watermelons into the big bin in the center of the aisle for customers. (oh god, another cliche`. a black man and a watermelon. (a vietnamese guy that does nails. where does it end?). i swear, the old man wasn't tap dancing too, just moving the melons. sometimes the things you see in a normal day are funnier than the walmart people). so i stopped and i asked him to pick one for me. (i realize now, how completely politically incorrect that was, but it didn't dawn on me at the time, because he was, after all, an employee, and i needed help). so he picked one up and thumped it, set it down, picked up another, thumped it, set it down and so on, until one made a sound he liked and he handed it to me. curious was i, so i asked why this one? he put the melon in my right hand and balanced it, then he took my left wrist with his hand and smacked the melon with my open palm and we both heard a particular sound. he said, that sound is what you're looking for. just like that. that simple. and i've been an excellent melon picker ever since. (again, this is not all that important, like finding a cure for cancer, but it is one of life's little lessons along the way, and i'm very happy to have learned it.)
back.........
sorry, but that was a nice reminisce about the melons.
so there i was, empty, with a very hollow feeling at 5:30 am and my procedure was not until 7:30. what to do for 2 hours? well, obviously, EATING WAS OUT!!!!!, so i showered, husband roused and showered and we both shaved and he had coffee and toast as i glowered, staring at the food. (don't forget, at this point, it's been some 30 hours since i've eaten, save for the jello, broth, and of course the vodka). but i'm more nervous than hungry.
when we were ready, we headed out to the facility where, as i recall, they were all set to put a mile of black plastic tubing with a color camera and lights, where, as my mother used to say, the sun don't shine. (hence the need for the lights). ok, people, i'm trying to be delicate here.
so after appropriate paperwork, and insurance questions, they begin to prep me.
digress again............
at the time, i had really crappy insurance,if you'll pardon the expression. i had a $2500 deductible, like i carry that much cash around with me. so i asked the insurance nurse, how much is this procedure, and she said we bill the insurance company $2000. (which obviously is coming out of my pocket considering my deductible, and she adds, but it counts towards the $2500. oh goodie. lucky me.) but it's still 2 grand. so jersey city wise ass kicks in, and i ask, how much is it if i walk in off the street with no insurance at all and want my picture taken? her answer? $600, but it doesn't count towards the deductible. WTF??? so my choice is $2000. out of pocket, or $600. out of pocket. DUH!!! let me think a minute............
i flash my credit card, and a minute later i'm out $600. suddenly i feel like i want to say, husband look! i just saved $1400. but somehow it just doesn't feel right. so i hold my tongue. (and you wonder why the health insurance industry needs a little work.)
back............
so having taken care of the distasteful money part, they proceed to prep me. they give me a little oscar de la renta gown, you know, the kind that fastens in the back? or not? and the whole world gets a gander at my derriere, like i give a rat's ass, considering what they're about to do to my derriere? oh, the indignity of it all. and again, i'm not afraid of the procedure, only of what they might find. and i'm trying not to be too upset, ($600 gone, my ass catching a breeze, and i'm starving). but i've never done this, even though they've done it a million times, and i would have been scared shitless if i had any left, so i kind of go with the flow, even though flow has left the building sometime yesterday.
they put me on a gurney, and try to soothe me with just try to relax. yeah, that'll happen. next thing i know, they're putting a needle in my arm with a drip attached and they tell me, we're going in to the procedure room now, so just try to relax. count backwards from 100, and they turned on the drip. i have to add here, that i saw one drop fall, then another, and then i started counting backwards. i must say, i was hugely proud of myself. i started counting and almost made it to 98. i kind of nodded right after 99. (i don't think the drip was quaalude, because it no longer exists on earth, more's the pity), but whatever it was, i'm not complaining. (i wonder if anyone has ever made it to 97. guess i'll never know.)
in the end, so to speak, it all went very well, no problems, they found nothing, come on back in 10 years and we'll play again, thank you very much. that sort of thing. again, to quote tangina from poltergeist, this hole is clean. but the sad truth is, i remember nothing. they told me i'd have amnesia from the drugs, and i said HA!!, an old drug pro like me? amnesia? that only happens in the movies. well, the cheese stands alone, one more time, because i truly remember reaching 99 and not much after that. husband said i spoke to the doctor at length after i came out of the anesthesia and he related the procedure, the results and more, very enthusiastically. there were no issues, polyps, or scary stuff. and i remember nothing. nada. like i wasn't there. i called the doctor's office the next day and the nurses told me all over again. (god only knows what went on in that room, because i sure don't). wish i could tell you more, but hey, sorry. (i do, however, remember just simply loving that drug.... until i hit 99. very nice indeed.) can i get a to go cup, please?
that's about it. i'm due again in about 5 years and i have a checklist before i go next time.....
1. i'm going to try to make it to 97. (99 is for wimps.)
2. i'm going to ask husband to bring a recording device to the after party, so i can hear what the doctor actually says.
3. i'm going to have better insurance. (did that already....check).
4. i'm going to have a laptop for the night before, so that while i'm on the crapper i can share. (did that already too.........check).
so, if you haven't had this procedure, and you're over 50, you ought to. if you're over 55, you must. and if you're older than that, shame on you. you've read my experience. didn't sound so bad, did it?
hey, if i can do it, you can do it............
the preceding has been a public service message......brought to you by phillips milk of magnesia
smile please...................
Monday, August 9, 2010
miss saigon.........
it smells good in here
i'm trying to concentrate, but i must admit, the aromas wafting from the kitchen are severely distracting. thai food, to be exact. there's a man from thailand in my kitchen, cooking. i'm serious. what are the odds of that? think about it. when was the last time you had a thai person in your house? let alone cooking authentic thai food? how, you may ask, is this happening? i'll explain........
as most of you know, we have a housemate. a very amiable chap from germany. yes, actual germany, the country in europe. (unt he shpeaks like diss.......), and he's a really nice fellow, and he has friends whom we don't know, just as we have friends whom he doesn't know.
digress.........
you know how everybody has a type, sexually, that they like. i'm not going to try to describe what straight people like, because, quite frankly, i'm not sure. (other than big breasts. seems all straight men like big breasts. that's about the extent of my knowledge). but i have gay friends and i know their types. some like big bearish guys, with mass and hair everywhere, (i know, i don't get that either). some like young boyish types, who seem barely legal. (oh, i have to tell you this. sometimes when you read ads, like on craigslist or other classifieds, where gay guys are looking to hook up with other guys and they post notices to promote themselves and their desires, you see the phrase, young guys wanted, barly legal. barly. not barely. i crack up every time. i think if you're looking for barly legal boys you should make sure you can spell as well as a fifth grader, because after all, you might just end up with one.) no, i'm kidding. that's really too young. that's michael jackson young. roman polanski young. creepy.
i have friends who like them very preppy. like, i dunno, dean cain in that show lois and clark. (woof!! that includes me, actually, as one of my types. boy, that dean cain. can we talk???) and i have other friends who like older guys. i mean really older. like one foot in the grave. (and not so they'll die and leave them everything, they have their own money.) they just like older guys. (maybe they're hitting on the oxygen tank and like that a lot.) i don't pretend to understand. and then there are the guys who like the chubby ones. they call it girth and mirth. i swear. (is this too much information for my straight friends? if it is, please tell me, although my jersey city guts tell me i haven't gone over that line......yet.) the fatter the better. hot guys, that i'd boink in a heartbeat, and they look at me and think......too scrawny......go away, put on 100 pounds, and come back, and then let me rub your big belly. (yeah, i know, i don't get that either).
myself, i'm partial to muscular dudes with biceps and tight, um, ok, tight everything. but hey, in real life, you pick a partner, settle down........and the rest i think you know. love transcends all. you can have the hots for a hottie (that's how it works), but it's your partner above all, that catches your desire and your heart. (how was that? think husband will buy it? i'll send flowers with a note).
back...............
so, housemate has a type too. he likes very slight, very slender asian guys. they don't have to be young, they just have to have the body of a 10 year old boy. no, i'm kidding, but he does like them asian and delicate, like a lotus flower (no, i made that last part up), and so tonight, he invited a friend to dinner, and the friend offered to cook, and brought shopping bags filled with food, some bought, some to cook, and that explains the delicious, distracting to madness, aromas emanating from the kitchen.
uh oh........the dinner bell.........gotta go........
i'll be back........
so now, it's after dinner, and you know my favorite expression, the cheese stands alone, well, duh, apparently, if the eyes are a tad slanty, i turn into archie bunker. can't tell one asian from another!!!......... can't tell miss saigon from madame butterfly from suzy wong. the friend is actually vietnamese not thai. even more exotic, no? when was the last time you had an actual vietnamese man in your house at all? let alone cooking authentic vietnamese food. all together now.......NEVER!! well, me either!!!
and it was awesome. different. i've never had vietnamese cuisine, and the first course was this pancake (kind of like a moo shoo concept) only with big lettuce leaves that you wrapped pieces of the stuffed pancake in, and the pancake had ground pork, very lean, and tiny shrimp, (department of redundancy department....tiny shrimp!!) and you wrapped it up and dipped it in fish sauce. can you spell yum? and then this dish of roast pork chunks over rice with raw cucumbers and a soybean sauce. not soy sauce, soybean sauce. completely different, and OMG!! it was an epicurean wonder and quite splendid and flavorful. what a meal!
the young man, as i said was vietnamese, and we chatted and he was so genteel and so mild mannered and polite it was a joy. i asked him what he did for a living. are you ready? i mean, seriously, are you ready? i swear, i'm not making this up. he does manicures and pedicures in a salon, and is apparently very successful at it. but i mean honestly. talk about a walking cliche`. vietnamese nail techs?
hey, i'd like you to meet my jewish friend, sol, he's a banker. and i'd like to introduce you to my italian friend, vito, he's with the mob. oh, this is dimitri, he owns a diner, and here's my buddy ahmed, he's with the taliban. i mean really, you can't make this stuff up. i'm teasing, you know i am, but i got a kick out of the coincidence.
so i'm not going to blog tonight, because i ate too much and i'm sleepy, and i have to lie down and figure out exactly how he did those pancakes.
bon appetite............
i'm trying to concentrate, but i must admit, the aromas wafting from the kitchen are severely distracting. thai food, to be exact. there's a man from thailand in my kitchen, cooking. i'm serious. what are the odds of that? think about it. when was the last time you had a thai person in your house? let alone cooking authentic thai food? how, you may ask, is this happening? i'll explain........
as most of you know, we have a housemate. a very amiable chap from germany. yes, actual germany, the country in europe. (unt he shpeaks like diss.......), and he's a really nice fellow, and he has friends whom we don't know, just as we have friends whom he doesn't know.
digress.........
you know how everybody has a type, sexually, that they like. i'm not going to try to describe what straight people like, because, quite frankly, i'm not sure. (other than big breasts. seems all straight men like big breasts. that's about the extent of my knowledge). but i have gay friends and i know their types. some like big bearish guys, with mass and hair everywhere, (i know, i don't get that either). some like young boyish types, who seem barely legal. (oh, i have to tell you this. sometimes when you read ads, like on craigslist or other classifieds, where gay guys are looking to hook up with other guys and they post notices to promote themselves and their desires, you see the phrase, young guys wanted, barly legal. barly. not barely. i crack up every time. i think if you're looking for barly legal boys you should make sure you can spell as well as a fifth grader, because after all, you might just end up with one.) no, i'm kidding. that's really too young. that's michael jackson young. roman polanski young. creepy.
i have friends who like them very preppy. like, i dunno, dean cain in that show lois and clark. (woof!! that includes me, actually, as one of my types. boy, that dean cain. can we talk???) and i have other friends who like older guys. i mean really older. like one foot in the grave. (and not so they'll die and leave them everything, they have their own money.) they just like older guys. (maybe they're hitting on the oxygen tank and like that a lot.) i don't pretend to understand. and then there are the guys who like the chubby ones. they call it girth and mirth. i swear. (is this too much information for my straight friends? if it is, please tell me, although my jersey city guts tell me i haven't gone over that line......yet.) the fatter the better. hot guys, that i'd boink in a heartbeat, and they look at me and think......too scrawny......go away, put on 100 pounds, and come back, and then let me rub your big belly. (yeah, i know, i don't get that either).
myself, i'm partial to muscular dudes with biceps and tight, um, ok, tight everything. but hey, in real life, you pick a partner, settle down........and the rest i think you know. love transcends all. you can have the hots for a hottie (that's how it works), but it's your partner above all, that catches your desire and your heart. (how was that? think husband will buy it? i'll send flowers with a note).
back...............
so, housemate has a type too. he likes very slight, very slender asian guys. they don't have to be young, they just have to have the body of a 10 year old boy. no, i'm kidding, but he does like them asian and delicate, like a lotus flower (no, i made that last part up), and so tonight, he invited a friend to dinner, and the friend offered to cook, and brought shopping bags filled with food, some bought, some to cook, and that explains the delicious, distracting to madness, aromas emanating from the kitchen.
uh oh........the dinner bell.........gotta go........
i'll be back........
so now, it's after dinner, and you know my favorite expression, the cheese stands alone, well, duh, apparently, if the eyes are a tad slanty, i turn into archie bunker. can't tell one asian from another!!!......... can't tell miss saigon from madame butterfly from suzy wong. the friend is actually vietnamese not thai. even more exotic, no? when was the last time you had an actual vietnamese man in your house at all? let alone cooking authentic vietnamese food. all together now.......NEVER!! well, me either!!!
and it was awesome. different. i've never had vietnamese cuisine, and the first course was this pancake (kind of like a moo shoo concept) only with big lettuce leaves that you wrapped pieces of the stuffed pancake in, and the pancake had ground pork, very lean, and tiny shrimp, (department of redundancy department....tiny shrimp!!) and you wrapped it up and dipped it in fish sauce. can you spell yum? and then this dish of roast pork chunks over rice with raw cucumbers and a soybean sauce. not soy sauce, soybean sauce. completely different, and OMG!! it was an epicurean wonder and quite splendid and flavorful. what a meal!
the young man, as i said was vietnamese, and we chatted and he was so genteel and so mild mannered and polite it was a joy. i asked him what he did for a living. are you ready? i mean, seriously, are you ready? i swear, i'm not making this up. he does manicures and pedicures in a salon, and is apparently very successful at it. but i mean honestly. talk about a walking cliche`. vietnamese nail techs?
hey, i'd like you to meet my jewish friend, sol, he's a banker. and i'd like to introduce you to my italian friend, vito, he's with the mob. oh, this is dimitri, he owns a diner, and here's my buddy ahmed, he's with the taliban. i mean really, you can't make this stuff up. i'm teasing, you know i am, but i got a kick out of the coincidence.
so i'm not going to blog tonight, because i ate too much and i'm sleepy, and i have to lie down and figure out exactly how he did those pancakes.
bon appetite............
Friday, August 6, 2010
two on the aisle, please..........
there's a lot of entertainment available on the television, as you all know. it's summer now, so there's less original programming than winter, but still, there are dramas, comedies, dramedies, (you know, dramas with some humor added), and i guess commas (comedies with drama added...or doesn't that exactly work the same way? food for thought), reality shows (dancing, singing, nannies, obese people crying, or single, spoiled rotten phony, pretentious people giving away roses, and so on). i do have a question though. who was it that thought up the concept of watching a gang (for lack of a better word), of people (again, for lack of a better word) just hanging and being hideously ugly.....at the jersey shore. WTF??? i grew up at the jersey shore, and when there were people like that we kept them out of sight in bungalows, fed them lots of alcohol, and told them never to come out amongst people. on the rare occasion that they did venture forth among civilization, we made up excuses like cousins marrying cousins, death in the family trauma, and shit like that. tried to explain it away, instead of glorifying it. but alas, that was then, and this is now.
so with this lack of a plethora of summer programming, (did you like that? lack of a plethora thing? saw it once in a novel. always thought it would come in handy one day), we watch a lot of movies. netflix provides. (wow, that should be their new slogan.) ok, patience, i'm getting there.
so lately, we've seen several good films. an education. one of the 10 films nominated this year and it was a revelation. just a glorious piece of film making. the kind of film where every 10 minutes or so, i say to husband, or he says to me, this is a good movie!! also, a single man. a brilliant film. moving, engaging, emotionally riveting, and important, in a cinematic way. (i mean really, it's a film. it's not important like in a cure cancer kind of way, but i think you take my meaning.) sometimes we love an adventure or fantasy film, like lord of the rings, or a james bond epic, all in good fun, with cgi special effects. good old fashioned escapism, and they don't have to be great. just entertaining, engrossing, and kind of kill 2 hours before dinner. i choose the movies, based on previews we see on the netflix disks, new york times reviews (not gospel, just guidance), and word of mouth, and in general i pick fairly well. husband rarely complains.
however...........
lately i'm in a slump. pick-wise.
digress..............
you know how sometimes, when a movie arrives and you load it, and the previews start, and you're not really in a hurry so you let them play instead of fast forwarding through them or hitting the top menu button to get right to the movie? well, one night that happened and there was a preview of a movie that was from a supposedly terrific book. and i ordered it and it came. it was called the road.
back...........
viggo mortensen, who i like a lot since lord of the rings. (the aragorn/stryker character), who's a sexy guy, a good actor and ok in my book, was the star, and academy award winner charlize theron has a small part as well, and we all know how good she is. well, this film is about a post-apocalyptic world, that descends into cannibalism and madness. well, the madness is on me, for watching this boring, stark, depressing, epic with no redeeming features whatsoever. i'm thinking watching paint dry would be more interesting than this movie. watching the cat groom his butthole is more fun than this hopeless piece of crap. i don't mean to be unkind.........just my opinion.
so i lost a few points with husband, but not to worry, my batting average is good.
and then tonight. percy jackson and the olympians: the lightning thief. again, the preview looked pretty good for an adventure, cgi effects thing. you know, the greek gods, monsters, (hey, that reminds me, that was a good movie, gods and monsters, but i digress), minotaurs, hydras, harpies, (no, not the marx brother, the other kind), and i thought we'd have a rollicking good time until dinner, but no. no, no, no. let's just say that percy jackson needed the help of peter jackson to pull this piece of mediocre, sophomoric blather together. it was a teen/hero piece with a few cgi moments, but for 2 hours, i would rather have slept. period. that's it. sleep would have been more entertaining than this piece of teen drivel. (i wonder if the show about the fat people vying to be a loser was on and i missed it for this?) thought....if you set out to be the biggest loser and succeed, does that make you the biggest winner? metaphysically absurd, if you ask me)
but there it is, strike two.
i need a winner, and i mean right away, before i lose my creds.
anybody got any suggestions?...................
so with this lack of a plethora of summer programming, (did you like that? lack of a plethora thing? saw it once in a novel. always thought it would come in handy one day), we watch a lot of movies. netflix provides. (wow, that should be their new slogan.) ok, patience, i'm getting there.
so lately, we've seen several good films. an education. one of the 10 films nominated this year and it was a revelation. just a glorious piece of film making. the kind of film where every 10 minutes or so, i say to husband, or he says to me, this is a good movie!! also, a single man. a brilliant film. moving, engaging, emotionally riveting, and important, in a cinematic way. (i mean really, it's a film. it's not important like in a cure cancer kind of way, but i think you take my meaning.) sometimes we love an adventure or fantasy film, like lord of the rings, or a james bond epic, all in good fun, with cgi special effects. good old fashioned escapism, and they don't have to be great. just entertaining, engrossing, and kind of kill 2 hours before dinner. i choose the movies, based on previews we see on the netflix disks, new york times reviews (not gospel, just guidance), and word of mouth, and in general i pick fairly well. husband rarely complains.
however...........
lately i'm in a slump. pick-wise.
digress..............
you know how sometimes, when a movie arrives and you load it, and the previews start, and you're not really in a hurry so you let them play instead of fast forwarding through them or hitting the top menu button to get right to the movie? well, one night that happened and there was a preview of a movie that was from a supposedly terrific book. and i ordered it and it came. it was called the road.
back...........
viggo mortensen, who i like a lot since lord of the rings. (the aragorn/stryker character), who's a sexy guy, a good actor and ok in my book, was the star, and academy award winner charlize theron has a small part as well, and we all know how good she is. well, this film is about a post-apocalyptic world, that descends into cannibalism and madness. well, the madness is on me, for watching this boring, stark, depressing, epic with no redeeming features whatsoever. i'm thinking watching paint dry would be more interesting than this movie. watching the cat groom his butthole is more fun than this hopeless piece of crap. i don't mean to be unkind.........just my opinion.
so i lost a few points with husband, but not to worry, my batting average is good.
and then tonight. percy jackson and the olympians: the lightning thief. again, the preview looked pretty good for an adventure, cgi effects thing. you know, the greek gods, monsters, (hey, that reminds me, that was a good movie, gods and monsters, but i digress), minotaurs, hydras, harpies, (no, not the marx brother, the other kind), and i thought we'd have a rollicking good time until dinner, but no. no, no, no. let's just say that percy jackson needed the help of peter jackson to pull this piece of mediocre, sophomoric blather together. it was a teen/hero piece with a few cgi moments, but for 2 hours, i would rather have slept. period. that's it. sleep would have been more entertaining than this piece of teen drivel. (i wonder if the show about the fat people vying to be a loser was on and i missed it for this?) thought....if you set out to be the biggest loser and succeed, does that make you the biggest winner? metaphysically absurd, if you ask me)
but there it is, strike two.
i need a winner, and i mean right away, before i lose my creds.
anybody got any suggestions?...................
Wednesday, August 4, 2010
waiting for godot.........
i know, very existentialist title.
you know, while i'm on that subject, i've actually read that play, more than once. and i've seen it performed, more than once. (we literary types do that sometimes. read/see the classics multiple times), to really grok their meaning, as mr heinlein would have said. (stranger in a strange land for the uninitiated....boy, that's a hard word to spell. i spell checked it so don't get all.....you know....). so true confession here. i haven't a clue what that play is about. ok, i get the symbolism of endless eternity and nothing really important happening for the whole play, except what's in the actual moment, and in the end there's nothing. but i'm 60 years old, for chrissakes, and it has to mean more than that, doesn't it? i mean, 2 hours of rather fun, intellectual dialogue, with a few belly laughs interspersed, but still, at the end of the day, or rather, play..... WTF???? becket must have known what he meant, but quite frankly, he never shared it with me. (i think this play is so tough to get because the original was actually in french, and you know how difficult the french can be to understand. especially when they write existential, absurdist plays.) give me a happy play like who's afraid of virginia wolff, or streecar named desire, anyday. those are way better plays than godot......for me, and at least at the end i have a clue as to what just transpired. tennessee, tennessee, wherefore art thou tennessee.
but i take the name of the play in vain to portray my mental state. ladies and gentlemen, in tonight's performance the role of vladimir (godot, remember?) will be played by yours truly. truthfully, this is an easy one compared to the night a while back when i played all three siblings in my family drama).
i spent the day waiting for the mail. well, actually our mail comes quite early, so i spent the morning until 10:30 waiting for the mail, and lo and behold, no touch thing. i breathed deeply, took it in stride and remembered my plan. no panic until thurs, officially.
to quote the bard, i fretted and strutted (ok, it's a paraphrase, janice, don't sue me.) but i didn't panic. i went online back to the auction site, and stalked the seller. i researched all there was to know about his other sales, his feedback ratings, and they were kind of marginal at best, but not enough to send me over the edge. (understand, if this really is going to be a ripoff, i'm not upset about the $70 bucks. chump change, even for me. i'll be pissed that i still have no touch thing, and the hunt will have to resume, and dammit, the gods have decreed that i ought to have a touch thing.)
so i sent him an email, with nothing but positivity in it.
me: hi jason, did you get the check? it should have arrived by now. if not, for sure in tomorrow's mail. did you send the touch thing? when did you send it? was it regular mail or ups? is there a way to track it? (and then it dawned on me, i sounded as if i didn't trust him, and i didn't want to convey that), so i ended with, i'm so excited i can hardly wait! i figured, even if he's a douche bag thief, he might recant at my excitement.
him: i shipped it postal, should be there by next week. sorry for the delay.
and i immediately began the happy dance. (you know, the same dance the cats do when i, after a night of feasting on chicken wings (not often...remember... i'm fat.....for me......) and i forget to take out the garbage with the chicken wing bones that's on the top of the island in the kitchen? and they find it in the middle of the night, knock it over, splay the bones all over the granite counter and do that kitten happy dance? just before they get completely greasy?) so, i do the happy dance because my jersey city smarts......not that they did me a fuckwad of good yesterday....they tell me that if he truly is a douche bag thief, he wouldn't have sent any message at all. just would have disappeared into the vapors, leaving me on the dock with my dick in my hand. but at this juncture i don't believe that for a minute. the touch thing is coming for sure. as the man said...... sometime next week.............
so as i said....like vladimir and estragon, in that godforsaken play, i'm sitting here waiting........
waiting for the mailman.........
to be continued........
you know, while i'm on that subject, i've actually read that play, more than once. and i've seen it performed, more than once. (we literary types do that sometimes. read/see the classics multiple times), to really grok their meaning, as mr heinlein would have said. (stranger in a strange land for the uninitiated....boy, that's a hard word to spell. i spell checked it so don't get all.....you know....). so true confession here. i haven't a clue what that play is about. ok, i get the symbolism of endless eternity and nothing really important happening for the whole play, except what's in the actual moment, and in the end there's nothing. but i'm 60 years old, for chrissakes, and it has to mean more than that, doesn't it? i mean, 2 hours of rather fun, intellectual dialogue, with a few belly laughs interspersed, but still, at the end of the day, or rather, play..... WTF???? becket must have known what he meant, but quite frankly, he never shared it with me. (i think this play is so tough to get because the original was actually in french, and you know how difficult the french can be to understand. especially when they write existential, absurdist plays.) give me a happy play like who's afraid of virginia wolff, or streecar named desire, anyday. those are way better plays than godot......for me, and at least at the end i have a clue as to what just transpired. tennessee, tennessee, wherefore art thou tennessee.
but i take the name of the play in vain to portray my mental state. ladies and gentlemen, in tonight's performance the role of vladimir (godot, remember?) will be played by yours truly. truthfully, this is an easy one compared to the night a while back when i played all three siblings in my family drama).
i spent the day waiting for the mail. well, actually our mail comes quite early, so i spent the morning until 10:30 waiting for the mail, and lo and behold, no touch thing. i breathed deeply, took it in stride and remembered my plan. no panic until thurs, officially.
to quote the bard, i fretted and strutted (ok, it's a paraphrase, janice, don't sue me.) but i didn't panic. i went online back to the auction site, and stalked the seller. i researched all there was to know about his other sales, his feedback ratings, and they were kind of marginal at best, but not enough to send me over the edge. (understand, if this really is going to be a ripoff, i'm not upset about the $70 bucks. chump change, even for me. i'll be pissed that i still have no touch thing, and the hunt will have to resume, and dammit, the gods have decreed that i ought to have a touch thing.)
so i sent him an email, with nothing but positivity in it.
me: hi jason, did you get the check? it should have arrived by now. if not, for sure in tomorrow's mail. did you send the touch thing? when did you send it? was it regular mail or ups? is there a way to track it? (and then it dawned on me, i sounded as if i didn't trust him, and i didn't want to convey that), so i ended with, i'm so excited i can hardly wait! i figured, even if he's a douche bag thief, he might recant at my excitement.
him: i shipped it postal, should be there by next week. sorry for the delay.
and i immediately began the happy dance. (you know, the same dance the cats do when i, after a night of feasting on chicken wings (not often...remember... i'm fat.....for me......) and i forget to take out the garbage with the chicken wing bones that's on the top of the island in the kitchen? and they find it in the middle of the night, knock it over, splay the bones all over the granite counter and do that kitten happy dance? just before they get completely greasy?) so, i do the happy dance because my jersey city smarts......not that they did me a fuckwad of good yesterday....they tell me that if he truly is a douche bag thief, he wouldn't have sent any message at all. just would have disappeared into the vapors, leaving me on the dock with my dick in my hand. but at this juncture i don't believe that for a minute. the touch thing is coming for sure. as the man said...... sometime next week.............
so as i said....like vladimir and estragon, in that godforsaken play, i'm sitting here waiting........
waiting for the mailman.........
to be continued........
Tuesday, August 3, 2010
the fool on the hill
there is the distinct possibility that i'm about to be ripped off.
do any of you have any idea what the odds are for that? most of you reading this know me pretty well. (how do i get past that part? where everybody knows me? any suggestions?) . but you do. and you know i'm not one of those people that goes through life with his shirt tucked into his panty hose with his ass hanging out. (work with me, it's a metaphor).
backstory.
i mentioned on day 2, that i was born, in a hospital in jersey city, to a mother who ate her young, the important part being jersey city. there, you're born ready. we'd emerge from mom's nether regions, carrying switchblades if we could (at least around the time in history when i came forth.) so i'm nobody's fool. (my pockets have never been picked, because i'm acutely aware since childhood that there are people that want your stuff. ) i'm good with the internet and know exactly how much info is enough and how much is too much. when people i'm just meeting, hug me, i check my pockets, and i walk through airports more secure than iraqi women in burqas. i'm just a happening, aware, hip, wisecracking, ex-patriot, metro new york, jew, and proud of it. no fool here.
so how then, one might ask, is there a possibility of a ripoff? well, it's something like this.
if you'll recall toy story, earlier, i'm a victim of gadget love. i'm currently, as i mentioned, having a love affair with my sony walkman, (i think i have become one of those people that bursts forth in song in public if i think i'm alone. i'm afraid to actually notice if i do. but i'm pretty sure it happens......at least a little.) and i had that ereader, which i mentioned might be going back, and it did. great reader, crappy internet. (and when i see all those people with that i-touch thing, i get a tad green. ) my phone has internet, albeit really crappy internet, so i yearn for something better.
so here i am, kind of pining, for that touch thing, but hey, i'm not so in love as to spend $300 bucks on it. and then i stumbled onto an online auction. reputable site, a little complicated, but i've purchased there before and it's been very cool. so i see a touch thing for $50 bucks, high bid, with 2 days to go. i'm thinking how high will it go? i know they go for $ 300, so i figure i'll go $150 max, and if i win, hey, the touch is mine.
so i wait until there's like 1 minute left in this auction, and i throw my bid. now here's the tricky part. here's where jersey city smarts come in. the bids go in $1.25 increments, and i figure i can't be the only one who is among the people in the dark, stalking, waiting for the last minute to throw a bid. if you throw a bid way higher than current, it only takes you to $1.25 above the last bid, and so on, until someone outbids you. so if i say $100, and someone has already said that, i lose. but everyone's high bid is a secret. ( i think you all know how this works), so i bid $151.25, thinking that if someone else's highest possible bid is $150, and he's there before me, that extra $1.25 pushes me to the top. i'm proud of that logic, and so i did it. at the time, the bid was actually $61.25, and i knew all hell was going to break loose in the last minute because there is no way on earth, the 16GB Apple I-Touch was going for $61.25. that's a gimmee. no way, jose. incon-fucking-ceivable.
well, the final bid was indeed mine. exactly $61.25 (i'm kind of pissed, actually. all that planning, all that brilliant logic and for what? bupkis. it defies reason).
so i won it!! i'm so excited i could scream. the touch thing is mine for $70.00 (including the shipping). shout out. high fives. yada yada.
so i email the guy instantly (i'm not one to sit on an auction debt. i won it. i want it, so i pay right away, usually). paypal, credit card, i'm good to go.....but.... when i email him, he says he wants a check in the mail. no paypal, no security, a real abba moment. (take a chance on me, in case you're not completely following this). so here's jersey city david, out on a limb, what to do, what to do?
time for a snopes moment. (the emes...that's yiddish for truth)
the truth is, during the course my life, i have been, how shall i say, snookered, a couple of times. once in a pyramid scheme in the 80's (total loss about a grand, thank god i didn't know bernie madoff.) and then there was the time the fabulous surround sound system fell off a truck and i was the lucky recipient in the parking lot of the two con men salesmen, who took me for a couple of hundred, for a system that belonged at the bottom of the ocean). so, a couple of slip-ups in 60 years is my true record. not too bad. i'll still bet my jersey city bona fides on my common sense.
which brings us to today. i sent the check in good faith. i just have a feeling it's going to be ok, so on saturday i sent it, and got an email that he was sending the touch thing that same day. it's coming from pennsylvania, so i'm figuring tues/wed/thurs arrival. today is tuesday. and it didn't arrive. ok, that leaves wed/thurs. i'm still very optimistic, until tomw. then i'm holding our for thursday. if it's not here by thursday, that will bring me back to the beginning. which is, there is the distinct possibility that i'm about to be ripped off.........
to be continued........
do any of you have any idea what the odds are for that? most of you reading this know me pretty well. (how do i get past that part? where everybody knows me? any suggestions?) . but you do. and you know i'm not one of those people that goes through life with his shirt tucked into his panty hose with his ass hanging out. (work with me, it's a metaphor).
backstory.
i mentioned on day 2, that i was born, in a hospital in jersey city, to a mother who ate her young, the important part being jersey city. there, you're born ready. we'd emerge from mom's nether regions, carrying switchblades if we could (at least around the time in history when i came forth.) so i'm nobody's fool. (my pockets have never been picked, because i'm acutely aware since childhood that there are people that want your stuff. ) i'm good with the internet and know exactly how much info is enough and how much is too much. when people i'm just meeting, hug me, i check my pockets, and i walk through airports more secure than iraqi women in burqas. i'm just a happening, aware, hip, wisecracking, ex-patriot, metro new york, jew, and proud of it. no fool here.
so how then, one might ask, is there a possibility of a ripoff? well, it's something like this.
if you'll recall toy story, earlier, i'm a victim of gadget love. i'm currently, as i mentioned, having a love affair with my sony walkman, (i think i have become one of those people that bursts forth in song in public if i think i'm alone. i'm afraid to actually notice if i do. but i'm pretty sure it happens......at least a little.) and i had that ereader, which i mentioned might be going back, and it did. great reader, crappy internet. (and when i see all those people with that i-touch thing, i get a tad green. ) my phone has internet, albeit really crappy internet, so i yearn for something better.
so here i am, kind of pining, for that touch thing, but hey, i'm not so in love as to spend $300 bucks on it. and then i stumbled onto an online auction. reputable site, a little complicated, but i've purchased there before and it's been very cool. so i see a touch thing for $50 bucks, high bid, with 2 days to go. i'm thinking how high will it go? i know they go for $ 300, so i figure i'll go $150 max, and if i win, hey, the touch is mine.
so i wait until there's like 1 minute left in this auction, and i throw my bid. now here's the tricky part. here's where jersey city smarts come in. the bids go in $1.25 increments, and i figure i can't be the only one who is among the people in the dark, stalking, waiting for the last minute to throw a bid. if you throw a bid way higher than current, it only takes you to $1.25 above the last bid, and so on, until someone outbids you. so if i say $100, and someone has already said that, i lose. but everyone's high bid is a secret. ( i think you all know how this works), so i bid $151.25, thinking that if someone else's highest possible bid is $150, and he's there before me, that extra $1.25 pushes me to the top. i'm proud of that logic, and so i did it. at the time, the bid was actually $61.25, and i knew all hell was going to break loose in the last minute because there is no way on earth, the 16GB Apple I-Touch was going for $61.25. that's a gimmee. no way, jose. incon-fucking-ceivable.
well, the final bid was indeed mine. exactly $61.25 (i'm kind of pissed, actually. all that planning, all that brilliant logic and for what? bupkis. it defies reason).
so i won it!! i'm so excited i could scream. the touch thing is mine for $70.00 (including the shipping). shout out. high fives. yada yada.
so i email the guy instantly (i'm not one to sit on an auction debt. i won it. i want it, so i pay right away, usually). paypal, credit card, i'm good to go.....but.... when i email him, he says he wants a check in the mail. no paypal, no security, a real abba moment. (take a chance on me, in case you're not completely following this). so here's jersey city david, out on a limb, what to do, what to do?
time for a snopes moment. (the emes...that's yiddish for truth)
the truth is, during the course my life, i have been, how shall i say, snookered, a couple of times. once in a pyramid scheme in the 80's (total loss about a grand, thank god i didn't know bernie madoff.) and then there was the time the fabulous surround sound system fell off a truck and i was the lucky recipient in the parking lot of the two con men salesmen, who took me for a couple of hundred, for a system that belonged at the bottom of the ocean). so, a couple of slip-ups in 60 years is my true record. not too bad. i'll still bet my jersey city bona fides on my common sense.
which brings us to today. i sent the check in good faith. i just have a feeling it's going to be ok, so on saturday i sent it, and got an email that he was sending the touch thing that same day. it's coming from pennsylvania, so i'm figuring tues/wed/thurs arrival. today is tuesday. and it didn't arrive. ok, that leaves wed/thurs. i'm still very optimistic, until tomw. then i'm holding our for thursday. if it's not here by thursday, that will bring me back to the beginning. which is, there is the distinct possibility that i'm about to be ripped off.........
to be continued........
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