C.P.D. October 24, 1984 -January 28, 2009

C- :
Like anyone who I have truly claimed as friend you had a great heart, on the surface and underneath it all! I only learned of your passing yesterday morning and not four months ago as I should have. My young friend you must know that even though you had gone I was still searching for you. Like too many before you, you have taken a part of me with you. I weep.
Love, your friend,
L-

I'm so hot

I swear that I am a nut-job magnet.

It rained all night Wednesday night/Thursday morning. As well, it was also predicted to rain all day. It was pouring when I was leaving so, I unzipped the lining from my trusty trench coat and put it on.

Around 1:30 in the afternoon as I waited for a bus it wasn't raining but still cloudy and threatening. It had also gotten a bit humid but, I had not become uncomfortable enough to carry the coat. It was at this point that a rather heavy young woman with jet black dyed hair walked up and stood at the stop. I had never seen her before in my life. Her tight black tee shirt had large white letters which read simply, ROCKER. Our conversation follows:

• Rocker: Hello, Sir.
• Me: Hi
• Rocker: How are you doing today, Sir?
• Me: Just fine and yourself? (I was thinking, "how nice she called me Sir and asked about my day...")
• Rocker: I'm just fine Sir but, I was wondering... Aren't you sweating your f--kin' ass off in that coat?
• Me: I'm alright, thanks for asking.

It was at this point that her cell phone rang and she cursed the caller like a drunken sailor over $20.00 she was apparently owed. I was warm now and wanted to take my coat off but did not want to give her credit for the decision. I was starting to sweat so slowly I removed my coat. While still yelling into her phone she winked at me as to offer her approval (see earlier blog; A Nod and a wink).

Random food and shopping thoughts.

After an absolutely beautiful weekend weather wise today is very very gloomy. It started raining last night and is expected to continue through to tonight. Sorry, old guys talk about the weather. I am so ready for summer.

I woke up late and rushed and made it out on time. It's ten o'clock and I still feel as if I just woke up. I had a Milkyway for breakfast. I have got to do better with that. Just thinking aloud.

Speaking of food, we were talking about food weren't we? I have been far more conscience of what I put into my mouth lately. I am also a bit peeved with my two local supermarkets, Wegmans and Pricechopper. Both are great stores but both have taken to charging 2 or 3 times (as per unit prices) for smaller items. For instance, a small anything may cost as much as three times as for a large. So, what happens is that being the cheap poor guy that I am, I end up buying large everything. This often results in eating more of something than I want and or throwing half away. Like Saturday night: I made a medium pizza with pepperoni, yeah from scratch ya schmo. I had two slices Saturday and two on Sunday and the rest will probably end up in the garbage. I had a salad last night but, before that I tossed a half head of bib lettuce and some squishy tomatoes and cucumbers as well as what my best guess were once mushrooms. There is homemade apple sauce I made on Saturday which will also go bye bye soon. I hate throwing food out and while I have no problem with leftovers I do not want to eat the same thing for three or four days in a row. Blah, blah, blah. I certainly understand the economics of the market offering single serving sizes at three times the cost but... I guess I should just shut up or eat more or find someone to eat with each night. Oh, I think I will just shut up.

While we're on random thoughts... When did washers and dryers become the size of refrigerator's? And can I take a sauna on the dryer steam setting?

Speaking of my stroll through Sears. They were selling several digital cameras as is without paper work for $39.99. Some were even 12 mega-pixels. The cameras were not in their original packaging but rather zip-lock type plastic baggies. I looked through the pile a bit perplexed. The salesman did not offer assistance but, rather stood off to the right ready to pounce should I decide to steal the worthless crap. I finally asked for assistance. I asked the obvious; where's the paper work, how do you learn to use the things etc.? All I know is they don't have any papers, he mumbled. It was as if his wife had forced him to sell the things in the family garage sale and he really loved them. Now, lets get this straight, there are no instructions, no idea why they are in baggies or what might be wrong with them and you want $39.99 for them, no returns. Why, that's a great deal ...if I were actually as dumb as I looked.

I tried on a v-neck summer sweater at JCPenny. The saleswoman told me that it was definitely the color for me. It was raspberry. I'm not sure what that means?

I was in my favorite thrift store yesterday and happened across a tie (still with it's original certificate of authenticity) from the Vatican store for 50 cents. How cool is that? It's navy with a bit of gold. The certificate states that the proceeds from the tie sale went to the Vatican Library. (...don't get me started on that) Now, don't judge. It could be worse. I could be obsessed with pork rinds or crack.

I brought a bottle of lotion at the drug store yesterday that is unscented but, smells like cucumbers. I like cucumbers but, I've got enough problems.

This concludes my random food and shopping thoughts. Now, how am I going to spend the next ten minutes?

Humor-Les

Yesterday, I saw the term, "sense of humor" written into the job requirements for three different open positions at three entirely unrelated universities. My first thought was, " I got your sense of humor right here..." Seriously, the more I thought about it the more it became something else. I do this all too often I'm told. I then thought that perhaps sense of humor meant far more than being that affable guy who heard the one about...

Maybe sense of humor simply means not a pain in the arse? Perhaps in this PC all inclusive litigious world we have replaced humor with guarded stoicism? Perhaps we are so guarded from being "bad" that we are now humorless? We can not joke or even be jovial for fear of offending.

Worker1: Must you guys laugh out loud? Have some respect. Helen's 14 year old
kitty died of boredom last night.
Worker2: -Sorry, I didn't know

Then I started thinking that in various respects the lack of a sense of humor has in many situations even spun towards the legal. What was an innocent slight (such as the lack of vegetarian choices at the free brunch) becomes a formal complaint/grievance. This is of course compounded because the "victim"was also told to eat the garnishes. Only a monetary settlement could make amends. And if any one laughs at any step along the way, the settlement needs to be larger.

I could babble on but, I won't. My final analysis here is that perhaps organizations are tired of walking on egg shells and long for the days when a bit of humor diverted conflict, fostered camaraderie, diffused fatigue and frustration and all around created a happier far more pleasant work environment. Now if I could only figure out how to work all of this into a cover letter without offending the reader.

I Wish...

• I wish that people would only use the word hello as a greeting.
• I wish that people would realize that the word people is already plural.
• I wish that people would rediscover personal space.
• I wish that it could be 75 degrees every day of the year.
• I wish that people would remember that children are people too, just shorter and often brighter.
• I wish that that kid at the deli would learn to like his job just a little.
• I wish that the 80's would call and ask for that phrase back.
• I wish that there was a criteria of doing something important before some one became a celebrity.
• I wish that I hadn't sat in yellow paint and ruined my favorite slacks earlier.
• I wish that people were happier, then they would want others to be happy.
• I wish that chocolate mousse had zero calories but, I can't imagine how awful that might taste.
• I wish that I had a better sense of direction.
• I wish that I was fluent in a dead language.
• I wish that you would add to this list...

Holy Sugar Induced Coma, Batman

Some one offered me a generous hunk of vanilla grocery store cake with a chocolate quasi-butter cream frosting late yesterday morning. Bad Les had gotten away without breakfast so... I have never experienced anything like this in my life. The chocolate frosting had to be sweeter than anything that has ever passed my lips. Whoa! I almost immediately felt faint. I became warm and woozy. I had to sit down. This went on for about 20-25 minutes before I could feel normal again. What the hell was in that stuff, I asked myself about a dozen times.? I then thought that maybe the situation was some sort of diabetic signal. I thought better of that. I have had two complete physicals in the past couple of years and all has been normal. What could be the explanation? Perhaps my empty stomach and the equivalent of a cup of sugar were a bad combination? I don't know. I can only tell you that it was like a sugar version of an ice cream headache. Geez, nothing should be sold over the counter that can have that sort of an effect on a person. People should have to slink back alleys under the cover of darkness to get that kind of a fix. This can't be good for you. Later on I imagined the almost cartoon-y effect that much sugar must have on children. Maybe little Jimmy or little Martha are not actually stricken with one or more alphabet conditions. Just maybe they are strung out on vanilla grocery store sheet cake with a chocolate quasi-butter cream frosting.

What would you do for a Klondike Bar?

Saturday I went to PriceChopper to purchase the wheat germ I forgot on Wednesday. I found it as well as a few other items I believed I needed. On the way to the register I passed the frozen food aisle. At the end of the middle cases was a sign: 1/2 off Klondike Bars... you pay $1.99. Why, one would have to be mad, mad I tell you to pass up such a deal. I further justified this purchase because the six bar package will last me a month.

Please scan your first item and place it in the bag.

All that accomplished I wait for the bus which was there in ten minutes. About five minutes into the ride and a very angry looking teenager boarded. He sat next to me as if I wasn't actually there. I had to squirm to adjust and free myself. Ya skinny jerk! (I thought) Angry youth then takes out a switch blade and begins to clean his finger nails. His finger nails were manicured and more than a quarter inch above his tips. Odd, I thought for only a second mostly because I was preoccupied with the knife/switch blade. He could tell I was staring and quickly turned his head towards me as if to catch me or something. I was quicker and looked out of the window. He went back to his work and I stared again. I also thought that I should get off of the bus here, three or four miles from the downtown exchange. Unfortunately, I was also an hour and 20 minutes from the next bus. -Besides, what if he thinks I'm getting off the bus because of him? But wait, he's done cleaning. He closes the knife and carefully puts it in his right pocket. I still want off. I slowly reach for the cord. I get my hand halfway up the window and he takes the knife out again. He uses both hands to make a fist around the handle. The blade is just touching the seat in front of him. I can feel the cool deliciousness through the bag on my left thigh. The song from the commercial dances across my brain. What to do? What to Do? Something tells me to look at him. Look at him! I turn my head and look directly at him. He can't be 15 years old. He turns and looks at me almost apologetically and puts the switch blade back in his pocket. We sit in silence except for in my head where, "What would you do-oo-oo for a Klondike bar," plays like a broken record.

It wasn't until Sunday evening that I opened the pack. I attacked the sweet creamy goodness as if it were a long lost love.

Here I go again...

Just now I was waiting in line at the Rite Aid downtown. The line was particularly slow so I decided to practice counting floor tiles. That didn't last for long. As I looked about my eyes almost immediately landed on an item on a rack near the register. The item was this month's cover of Cosmopolitan magazine. I zoomed in on the article title in the lower left corner. I could not belive it. The title reads:

BE A LUCKY BITCH! These proven mind tricks bring you what you want.

Now people, on how many different levels is this wrong? I actually popped in to the local library. I refused to buy the thing but, I was curious as to what the article contained. The librarian told me that they had decided not to shelve that issue. I guess maybe some one has some sense left.

Dratz, foiled again...

Yesterday I applied on line for a position to which I believed I was qualified. Nothing new there. The software program used by this particular university is used by all institutions in this great state. Many, many non-state schools across the country use it as well. I was therefore very familiar with the process. I was therefore very familiar with the process. oh, did I say that already? I should also point out that for this and many other schools on line applications are the only way to apply for positions these days.

The process took over an hour. The point that I had never applied for anything at that particular institution added to what might normally be a twenty minute process. As well, the particular position required six different attachments; cover letter, resume, writing samples, teaching philosophy etc.. Most schools only allow you to attach your cover letter and resume/vita. I imagine that the reason for this is to save on paper and unnecessary documents at least during the initial phase. They usually ask for other attachments only after you have made the first cut. Anyway, I had all of this stuff in general format on a flash drive or two so, it wasn't any problem until...

After creating a password, profile and applying in part for the position by uploading the necessary documents, it was now 45 minutes later and I was at the screen which states:

You WILL NOT BE considered for this position until you have attached
all documents. Are you sure you want to finish attaching
documents?

I click YES. The next screen tells me that I have not completely applied for this position and my application and attached documents wont be accepted by the system until I click the FINISHED button at the bottom of the page. Oh but look... there is no FINISHED button at the bottom of the page. No, there must be some mistake! I back page and click through again. -Same message. I look again and again in vain for that rascally FINISHED button. It was simply not there. I go to the section that lists jobs I've applied for at this institution. There was the job I had just attempted to apply. All the attachments are well, attached but, in the status column the word incomplete was highlighted. The word complete was also highlighted there. I click through that and then I'm taken back to that, You WILL NOT BE... screen. I try this several times. The FINISHED button just isn't there and you can figure out the rest.

I chuckle to myself thinking about the HR person sitting at her desk wondering why no one ever completes her online application process. I notice a feedback button to the left. I mistakenly believe that this was to send a message about my problem. It however was a 10-15 minute survey about my online application experience. At one point I am presented with an opportunity to relate my FINISHED button problem. I do this but only half-heartily because my eyes burn a little, I'm hungry and my bladder's full.

Uncle

So, some body went poopy-pants on the bus. I don't want to point any fingers but, I think it was the baby in front to the right. An offended woman took a bottle of very cheap perfume from her purse and started spritzing the air all around. The gagging bus now smelled of poopy-pants and cheap perfume.

Uncle.

The town that style forgot

Now, I hate to sound like an old fuddy-duddy but, Geez... How about you all just fold those giant jeans and trousers neatly and take them up to the attic to keep your granddad's Nehru jackets and Uncle Ed's Leisure suits company? I am actually offended by the sight of underwear not my own. -And I hate to be offended. To be offended requires a certain level of judgement and superiority I don't easily embrace. Okay, okay, I don't really believe that one either. But Geez! Yesterday, I saw one lad with his hand down the back of his exposed boxers scratching his bum. Nobody needs to see that!

Way back in the day long before the liberals invented self-esteem, super sized clothing was the mark of unfortunates who because of life's circumstances had made their way to foundling homes. Their donated clothing was often ill-fitted. The difference here is that even the waifs pulled their pants up, sometimes up too far but, up and they proudly wore a belt at their friggin waist.

Says who?

I heard a great quote this past weekend but, for the life of me I can not remember where. To paraphrase, makeover type shows (people, homes, rooms, closets etc.) often require that people get rid of what they love and replace it with what they should have. What you should have is based on what is updated, trendy or in style. Who dictates all this? I'll tell you about my triad conspiracy theories another time. For my immediate purposes I am more concerned with the recipient of the great reveal.

Around 6am one morning recently I watched a repeat of the show, Cash in the Attic. The show's dupes usually want to finance some trendiness they think their family needs. This particular show featured a woman who had recently married a shaved ape with three adolescent sons. Dad and the boys wanted a flat scene television set yet, they had no way of financing their dream. The very timid new wife and mom had dozens of second, third, and even fourth generation antiques to which she appeared to be greatly attached. Watching, I could see in the woman's eyes that she was in torture. In the end she let the show's hosts and her new family sell her cherished family heirlooms at auction. Personally, I did not believe that the items were hers to sell. One is the guardian of heirlooms, not the owner. One keeps such items in trust for the next generation.

The absolute horror here was that as oft happens at auctions, they did not get nearly as much as they wanted. The show ended with showing the new flat screen television that the family purchased with their proceeds. It could not have been more than 20 inches. The dad smiled broadly as if the TV was actually three times as large and new mom looked as if she might never get over her own foolishness. She got rid of what she loved and replaced it with...

Hey, Hey, Hey, It's...

For those gentle readers who might know anything about me, you will understand why I do not sit on the provided benches where the buses line up downtown. Friday was different. The little voice that speaks to me from my right ankle sharply suggested that I sit. The benches are in sections of three with a black metal bar separating each space. I glanced about and the only seat where I would not have to actually sit next to some one was three from the far end. I sat and nodded hello to the, too cool for cats high schooler two spaces to my left. To avoid the whole situation, I stared in the direction where the bus would come.

It was at this point that the woman three spaces to my right began to cough violently. As she coughed, her arm shook as if it demanded she release the lit cigarette she held. "Damn it, cover your mouth!" This came from a woman directly to my right. Who knows when she sat down? "It's my Asthma," the coughing woman responded apologetically. "I don't give a damn what chu got, cover your goddamn mouth!" To this the coughing woman repeated the Asthma excuse and the angry woman stormed off. I could not help but stare at the lit cigarette.

I was distracted from the cigarette by a 300+ pound woman standing three feet in front of me. She wore new sung fitting jeans. The peculiar thing was that on the back right pocket of the jeans was an almost life size head shot of the cartoon character, Fat Albert. Yeah, you read that right. My immediate thought was, "is it still irony if it's really really obvious?"

What next you ask? How about the guy with the bright yellow sandwich sign who walked over to me and shouted, "Christ Died For Your Sins!" He continued to loudly try to save my soul until the bus finally pulled up.

When I got home I ate ice cream instead of dinner.

While you were asleep...

My internal alarm clock went off this morning at exactly 2:41am. Actually, this was five hours after I turned the lamp off. I have had an annoying cold all week so, I took meds and turned in early. The cold. I woke up madly congested and with chills. Mental note: one should always purchase cold medicine from the drugstore and not the Dollar store.

As an aside and acknowledging as well that it really is none of my concern... Ladies, I might pass up the urge to save money at the dollar store by purchasing the douche product I saw there. Can you imagine? That old Saturday Night Live, "it's a dessert topping, no it's a floor wax," skit comes to mind. On the other hand I do think that the product lends itself to a pretty cool punk rock band name: The Dollar Store Douches. Remember, you heard it here first folks!

At 3:09am it occurred to me to put on a beanie and a heavy cotton robe. It was also pouring rain outside which I am sure affected me in some way. I made my way to the kitchen and made a cup of tea. Yeah, you're right that does work in the movies. Now my throat was dry again so, I searched around for cough drops and instead only found peppermint twists. I pop one in my mouth, cough and swallow the thing whole. This was not part of the plan.

It's now 3:58am. -Flipped through the latest Lands End and Eddie Bauer catalogs. Geez, have they put out anything actually new in 2 decades? I guess that's not their market. I move on to the May 2009 issue of GQ with young Zac Efron on the cover. GQ's (The Style Guy) question and answer section is a hoot. Some one actually wrote in to ask which type of underwear to wear with white linen pants. I first thought that this was a trick question but, a serious answer was offered. I was wrong. The correct answer apparently was not Afghanistan. Mental Note #2: Buy the Cartier watch for myself on page 23 when I become rich.

Another spot of tea. Don't worry it's decaf...

I now notice that there are three Rosaries hanging from my bed post. I suppose I'm collecting them now or I've become an elderly Catholic woman near death. One has dark brown wood beads, one has Hematite beads and the third has multi-colored plastic ones. They fascinate me. I get through three Hail Marys and next I am startled by the alarm clock. It's 7:00am and I am not at all sure if it is Thursday or Friday.

'fro

From afar last evening I spotted the nephew. We are not friends. His 5'11", 125 pound frame is sporting a wild unkempt Afro. You've seen the kind. It is meant to denote style and carefree-ness but, instead looks as if it would make a suitable photo for some one's commitment file. That Dhani guy from the Travel Channel sports the same do. However, that Dhani dude has a huge personality, a football career, a TV show, biceps that resemble little baby heads, and a few million in the bank I suspect. The nephew has none of that. Someone once said that the difference between being eccentric and just plain crazy is a million bucks. Perhaps so.

Now, back in the day I had a 'fro (see pic). It was fluffy, round and pampered. The wind and Milkweed were it's nemesis. I imagine that conditioner and an Afro Pick might be the lad's enemies. Who am I to judge you might ask? Well, doggone it, my generation pretty much invented the Afro. What passes as one today is a bit prehistoric, although the wearers would claim it's creation.

I don't know. Maybe I'm just an old dude longing for a kinder gentler 'fro?

A Nod and a Wink

As I wandered the aisles of PriceChopper yesterday afternoon I almost crashed into a beautifully tanned and youthful 70ish woman. I quickly moved my cart to the right, smiled and begged her pardon. She also smiled and then winked. I immediately got a great chill down my spine. I don't have many of what used to be called "pet peeves" but, winks are one of them (awk., I know) I remain in my belief that winks should only be delivered by grandfathers and their non-perv male siblings. A wink from anyone else seems at best too familiar and in the least creepy. It's as if I have a secret, perhaps a naughty secret with the winker. To use the vernacular complete with head nod, yeah, you know waz up, seems to be the implication. No, I don't know what's up! I never saw that woman in the market before in my life so, why was she winking? Again with the vernacular, you don't know me... Anyway, I'm going to go and make myself an adult beverage, ;D, ;D

Sleep Deprivation and Domesticity

I am in another one of my horrible sleep cycle loops. This time I am waking at 4:45am. Wide eyed mind you, as if I have had something similar to what one might call a good night's rest. Having happened many times in the past and I do now know not to even try to go back to sleep. This always results in falling asleep 15 minutes or so before I need to get up. This time differs from the others in that I have bettered Martha Stewart and B. Smith and the like during these wee hours. Friday morning I made the best potato salad ever; Saturday I washed and dried three loads of laundry and starched and ironed a dozen shirts as well; and yesterday morning I created a macaroni salad that caused the Chilled Pasta Salad gods to weep. This morning I sorted through clothing and created a sizable lot for donation and polished four pairs of shoes. Now, I don't pretend to know a whole lot about anything but, there must be a strong positive correlation between sleep deprivation and domesticity. You think?

Cheetos

Two really rough looking young women got on the bus. You know the type. They were so rough looking that I did not want to look directly at them for fear of getting my arse kicked just for the fun of it. They took their seats and began a conversation which spun into the one telling how she had cut "way" down on pot usage. "I used to get mad high, way up high..." She went on, "I don't get like that no more... I would eat and eat and eat some more. I used to eat mad Cheetos and I don't even like dem shits."

Minding someone else's business

I was walking out of the Rite Aid on Salina Street the other morning when I almost crashed into two rather rough looking urban types, if you will. I was wearing jeans, a dress shirt and a blazer. The jeans were the size I always wear. The size I wear I say, no boxers showing or anything. The one crack head says to the other, "look at that shit." The other makes sounds of disapproval and then directs that disapproval towards moi. "How you gonna kick somebody in the chest wit dem tight jeans on?" I ignored them and continued across the street. As per usual, I though of the perfect response five minutes later. I should have demonstrated for the gentleman.

Is that you daddy?

I was riding on the bus when I noticed two very giggly teen girlie girls across the aisle. It was good to see in that most people are so angry these days. The one girl said to the other while pointing at me, "is that your father?" The other girl responded with, "could be for all I know... he sure is cute enough." I blushed and stared out the window.