Unto Us Is Born This

Unto Us Is Born This Day
30 April 2006

Rejoice! Rejoice! My second niece has been delivered of twin girls.

I find it regrettable that prescheduling for next week resulted in medical practitioners preempting the natural order of things by gleefully reaching for a knife, but I’m consoled by the thought that this is not the niece most likely to endure pain gracefully, but rather, the one more likely to have a proper appreciation of good drugs. Isn’t modern medicine grand?

Besides, I do believe that my mother was a firm believer in the efficacy of anesthetics, having made most excellent use of said drugs both times herself, and just look at the sterling results…

Okay, enough of that nonsense.

Elena Marie, emerging first at 12:50 a.m., weighed in at a sturdy 6 pounds 3 ounces and stretched luxuriously to a satisfyingly long 18 inches. Not to be outdone, all 19 inches of Angelina Rose followed a scant ten minutes later, weighing in at 6 pounds 7 ounces. Their mother is now understandably significantly lighter and delighted to be relieved of the constant load. Their father now stands ready to shoulder his share, and we in this marvelous electronic wonderland eagerly await the pictorial proof.

Sprint Mid-Distance Marathon

Sprint Mid-Distance Marathon
27 April 2006

What are the differences among a fling, a job, and a career? Definitions of terms must serve as the foundation of any lucid discussion.

Many people begin with a fling, that first toe-wetting experience with the exchange of a service or services for monetary reimbursement. Soon, the taste of purchasing power exerts its addictive influence and one must decide whether or not to pursue a longer term commitment of services in exchange for a continued cash flow. Eventually one must decide whether or not the cash flow suffices for the fulfillment of one’s needs and desires. Finally, one must decide whether or not providing such service(s) is satisfying or even endurable.

In racing there are sprinters, folks who like to compete over short distances. They are the glory hounds, full of charisma and dazzling speed. They are comparable to those select few who seem to achieve their goals early in life, or at least to attain the dreams of many.

Then there are the middle distance runners. The majority of the workforce can be equated with such runners, for they are no short-term day laborers on their way elsewhere, but neither have they yet achieved the kind of longevity that earns a gold watch, nor are many of them sure that such a race is for them.

Finally there are the marathoners, who have recently been accorded greater honor in running recently than they had been in the infancy of mass media broadcasting. Such a worker is said to have made a career of rendering whatever service has been provided. Such a person may or may not have loved the task, but the labor has lasted a significant amount of time, enough to earn lifelong benefits, both tangible and intangible.

Some people are fortunate enough to have more than one career in a lifetime, while others move restlessly from job to job, ever seeking satisfaction, never quite finding fulfillment, never really finding the race that resonates enough for the long haul.

So what’s the difference between a job and a career? Is it time? Is it compensation? Is it satisfaction? Is it attitude? Some folks can spend equal amounts of time at identical endeavors, yet for one it is a lifelong job, while for another it is a calling that can serve as a career.

A runner has to focus on the intended distance and pace accordingly. So does a person en route through life.

The APM Round Two

The A.P.M.: Round Two
25 April 2006

Yesterday was my first face-to-face encounter with the Automated Postal Machine, a new electronic gizmo at the local post office that I first saw during this last Christmas rush. Yesterday, being more word-oriented than graphic-aware, I allowed it to get the better of me. Today, however, was a different story.

For one thing, I realized that I didn’t have to wait for the post office to open. Brilliant.

So I strode purposefully into the lobby, ready to read more carefully, only to find that the screens did not wish to deal with “Media Mail”. Refusing to be stymied yet again, I noticed an older, once dazzling scale waving at me from a nearby alcove. It weighs everything, from getting an item there yesterday to sending something by slow boat seven times around the Equator. Of course it does Media Mail. What it doesn’t do is dispense postage. Ah…

Armed now with the necessary information, I was able to return to the shiny, sassy new A.P.M. and buy a stamp of the precise value identified by its older sibling.

Voila! Success!

This is my life…

Novel Postal Experience

Novel Postal Experience
24 April 2006

Call me green; I don’t care. I just love playing with new gadgets, which is what I got to do this morning. Granted, I had seen the equipment at Christmas when standing in the interminable line awaiting window service at the local post office, but I had put it out of my mind as irrelevant. So today I sat in the parking lot doing Sudoku puzzles while awaiting the opening of the facility. Of course, I had mistaken the opening by a half hour, so I didn’t think anything about the fact the parking lot was filling up and people were going in and out. Instead, I just finished my puzzle, gathered my paraphernalia, and headed on in. Naturally enough, I was a little startled to realize that the office area was still dimly lit. Then I saw that people were using the electronic postal clerk, and my heart leapt in excitement.

No, really, I’m that lame. I just love new toys.

I cheerfully put my fingerprints all over the touchscreen, until I reached the one asking for my credit card. Credit card? You mean the one not in my wallet? Panic? What panic? Where oh where did I leave my towel? Sheepishly I cleared the screen and stepped aside for the poor fellow who had been dodging me since the parking lot when he wanted to pull into the space into which I had thrust my door without looking. Ah well…

Fortunately, the card was right where I had left it, in the car, though why I should have been so foolish is beyond me. (Damn this thumb! No, I didn’t really mean that…)

Back, then, to my newfound toy, and oh, what Joy! I pushed and pressed, zipped through screen after screen, then stepped back in satisfaction as the first postage printed, almost larger than my package. I really do need to get my glasses checked, and my brain. Evidently the image displayed was real life sized… Ever resourceful, I made do, and made sure to press a better button for the rest of my packages. Of course, by the time I was done, the regular windows were open and the line that had formed was moving briskly along.

Next time, say tomorrow, I will know better. The experience, while still exciting, will not be quite so novel. Next time, I’ll know better. Right: next time…

I have been reliably informed that I must have a young soul, which is good, considering I don’t think I’m gonna get “it” all worked out in one lifetime, at the rate I’m moving (or not, as the case may be…)

Oops… I think all these spacebar bangings have reopened my thumb slit. Ah well…

Beating around the Bush

Beating around the Bush
21 April 2006

The freeways were remarkably open this morning, Friday traffic notwithstanding. A television reporter noted that at least one major company had recommended that its workers telecommute today in order to avoid the security in place for the arrival of the president. The lightness of the traffic suggests that more than one company may have seen the wisdom of such a suggestion. One can only wonder how that might have impacted potential audiences at the president’s various speaking engagements.

Edit-Free Publications

Edit-Free Publications
6 April 2006

Today I finally broke down and read a copyrighted publication that exhorted me to make diligent use of my grammar and spellcheckers — in language clearly free from such constraints. What’s up with that? People who exhort others to mind their p’s and q’s ought to model their advice, don’t you agree? I certainly do.

Okay, so I’ve noticed that my own prose has a tendency to be less than error-free of occasion. Have I ever asked payment for my posing? I think not. (although that may change at some future date – I’m just saying…) People who charge amounts that tempt one to pull out plastic really out to have the decency to proofread their own texts, don’t you agree? All in favor say, “Aye.”

I’m just a humble wannabe, not some overpriced whore, so I can stand back and criticize casually enough. Still and all, I do think that people who take the trouble to copyright clearly plagiarized materials and then turn around and charge a small fortune for the same, ought to have the decency to read what they clearly expect others to peruse with diligence. Okay, so I write in run-on sentences. This I freely admit.  I still think that people who charge for the privilege of reading their prose ought to take the trouble to proofread said prose. Am I getting redundant? It’s been a frustrating afternoon. Okay, I admit that I haven’t spent the entire day being thusly irritated, but do you really believe that I would spend an entire day in this manner? Seriously…

Slacker Doodle

Slacker Doodle
5 April 2006

I wake up to weather and traffic reports most days. That’s how I can tell it’s a weekday instead of the weekend. Everything is color-coordinated now. One doesn’t need to know much to tell at a glance just how exciting or wretched the morning commute will be, in turn affecting the general mood one can expect of the populace at large “out there”.

This morning was the usual insanity: twenty-five minutes to traverse the five miles to get off the island, another twenty-five to the next bridge, twenty to traverse the eight miles across said bridge, after which things opened up as commuters spilled off the highways onto the assorted off-ramps leading to their ultimate destinations. How anyone handles the morning commute without coffee is beyond me, though I was thirty-five before I actually started drinking the stuff.

Where do all these people go every day? What would happen if they all stayed home one week? Would the glut at the gas stations drive the prices down, if only until the backlog could be consumed? Would the government or businesses destroy the unsold oil to keep prices up, as they do with “surplus” agricultural produce?

Stay home and watch all those bought and rented videos and dvds sometime. I took a little over half an hour today to refile some flicks I’d had out long enough. If I were to sit down and watch each movie of which I possess a copy, I think I would be occupied for the better part of a couple of years. How realistic is that? On the other hand, I rarely have difficulty any more satisfying a late-night urge to watch an old favorite.

Ditto all my books. Some of them still await me in the garage. That’s no place for a book, especially not in this weather, in those boxes. I want my books. I need my books. Don’t talk to me about when the last time was that I read some of them; that’s not the point. Is there a point? Hm…

Where Were You Then

Where Were You Then?
4 April 2006

People who buy dvd collections of television series are like people who buy school yearbooks: for such folk the object’s appeal has more to do with the preservation and recollection of memories tied to images than with the quality of the production.

Turn on almost any extended basic cable channel and you’ll see someone’s childhood memories playing out once more. For the youngster, such a viewing can be a glimpse into ancient history, a chance to laugh and wonder at the cheesiness of a bygone era, or perhaps inspiration for a revival of past trends. For an older viewer it can be a stroll down memory lane, lined not only with familiar plots, but filled with sensations from a simpler yet more emotional time – a time of youth, idealism, perhaps even a romantic idyll or sexual awakening. Sure, it’s occasionally pleasant, but how often can one do it?

How often does one rewatch favorite old shows? The entertainment industry is counting on people to believe that they’re still a little bit in love with that first flame, at least long enough to buy a memento. That’s what the dvd series collections are: mementoes. Like those dusty yearbooks, they are destined to be flipped through eagerly upon first arrival, only to end up as yet another set of dust collectors in due course. If they’re as durable as promised, however, they can be shared with each new generation, at least once every twenty years or so.

Beets Bleed Red

Beets bleed red, it has been said,
But not if the greens remain
Somehow they detain the stain
Keeping nutrients intact instead.

JJ sniffed and JJ searched
He prowled the perimeter
And then he perched
For his nose is sharp as a scimitar

He knew there was pork somewhere nearby
He could scent is tantalizing essence
For the smell of meat invariably gets him high
And alerts him to its presence

But all he could see were those nasty beets
Some bamboo and turnips, definitely not treats
So on he searched both high and low
Moving oh, so careful and slow

At last there appeared to his questing nose
A fragrance sweeter than any silly rose
P.U. was offering him shredded meat
And, yes, it tasted oh, so sweet.

(Max has already had his say today, so this is nekko space for now, if that's okay.)

Where Has All the Good Food Gone?

Where Has All the Good Food Gone?
1 April 2006

As one ages, the taste buds go, so I’m told, but such is not yet the case. At least, I don’t think so . . .

One of the cool things about achieving independence from “the folks” was being able to eat out at restaurants of my own choosing. This opened up a world of new experiences for me. I was introduced to dishes I would never have known existed, had I stuck to the familiar haunts my parents frequented.

Now, however, I am suddenly seeing a disappearance of my favorite entrees, never mind my favorite restaurants. Sometimes there is a change in chefs, sometimes in management, but more often the cause is a change in culinary sensibilities, influenced in part by a changing sense of health consciousness. Food Nazis have declared many of my favorite ingredients and/or combinations of ingredients taboo. Strong language? You bet!

The other night I happened upon one of the recent nominees for Best Foreign Film, a German production entitled, Downfall. It is based on two different memoirs about the final days in Hitler’s bunker in Berlin. While I do recommend it, I only wish to reference it tangentially here. It depicts a horrendous number of very earnest people who could not imagine continuing to live if National Socialism failed. These people took not only their own lives, but the lives of their children as well. Now, while I have not yet quite reached that level of dedication to my ideal meals, I cannot help but question the point of longevity if the price is so many things that make living enjoyable for me, especially since I do not have much of a vested interest in this particular plane of existence in the first place. On the other hand, I have also been taught that accelerating my progression to the next phase of existence is actually regression, and that with heavy consequences. Kinda takes the joke out of those silly e-mails about world views that continue to circulate.

Really, all I want is my favorite dishes. I’ll even settle for the recipes.