Lookin' At The World Through a Windshield

Only one trucker song came up on the iTunes today on my drive back home ("Little Liza Jane" by Dave Carter & Tracy Grammer), and a what a doozy.  I think it is a good thing that my drive did not have the same level of excitement, much more than I or my darling Wee Lass need in real life.

It set me to thinking about the life of a road dog, however.  I don't kid myself that I'll ever be able to sell everything, buy an RV or a motorcycle, and spend my days just cruising all over the continent; that remains a dream deferred.  It did occur to me that long drives are not as tiresome to me as they used to be.  Impatience to get to Point B from Point A always colored my perceptions of time and space, always leaving me totally exhausted and irritated by the time I arrived at my destination. 

That went hand in hand with a near complete lack of acknowledgment of the places I had been or sights I had seen along the way.  And that is a minor shame.

Now I seem to enjoy the process more.  I take better note of the buildings and terrain and am starting to see a timeline and changes in the landscape.  I am starting to care more about the Between in relation to the Here and There.

This is a good thing.  I believe that, for perhaps the first time in my personal history, I have learned to treasure the process rather than shortchange it.  One of my architecture professors tried to get that through my thick head, many years ago in Big Gumbo On Campus days.

Pity it took me so long to learn.  I can tell you this:  It's about time, and to borrow from the great sage Dr. Seuss, "Oh! The places I'll go!".  I'm dreaming of some road trips, and of the places and people I'll see.

Gork, or Stylin' with Irish Gumbo

Well, dear readers, its confession time.  I am, it seems, a geek.  Or maybe a dork.  Perhaps both.

Aha!  I'm a GORK!

"Hey, Irish, don't be hatin' on yo'self!  Why you think that?"  I can hear you say.  Although why you would say it that way, I don't know.  It amuses me, I guess.

Anyway, as to why.  Two things have made me think I'm a gork.  To wit:

ITEM THE FIRST:
Earlier today I finally did my taxes for the year.  I had been dreading it, so I put it off as long as I thought I could.  The weird thing was, once I got into them...I enjoyed it.  You read that right: I enjoyed it.  Best I can figure, I enjoyed it because I turned off the radio and the TV, sat down and really focused on something for a while, and got it done.  No interruptions, no distractions, I FINISHED A THOUGHT, for the first time in months.  Hooray!  What's wrong with me? 

ITEM THE SECOND:
How many of you have two pairs of glasses, one regular for most tasks and one tinted for outdoors/driving?  Show of hands...good!  Those of you who do, listen up, I am about to offer a lifestyle tip.

If one wants to appear self-assured, cool, even, then make sure that when you get in the car and you go to put on your driving glasses...that you remove your regular glasses beforehand.  Trust me, it will save some embarrassment, and no one will point and laugh at you flailings and pokings.  Not that it has happened to me...within the past week.

So there you have it, dear readers, two of the many steps on that steep slide into gorkdom.  Take your time, be careful, I'll be waiting for you at the bottom, wearing my two pairs of glasses...

Winter Skank

February can suck it.

Time to show that bee-yotch the door.

Word.

Blizzard is a Four-letter Word. It's Like, the F-Bomb of Winter Weather Reporting

Roads: terrible.

Temperatures: Cold enough to freeze the testes off copper-zinc alloy replicas of simians.

Winds: The unenjoyable kind of blowing.

Skies: Gray. Gray. Gray.

The blizzard arrived just as predicted. All schools closed, some through the end of the week. Baltimore is essentially shut down, and where I'm at is just as quiet. I went outside once today, for a grand total of two minutes. What I did was shovel off my patio, for the sake of something to do. And to flip the bird a little to to the weather. I was home all day because my office was closed. Smart move, even though I had decided long before that I was not going to go to work. One look out the window this morning convinced me of that real quick.

I spent the day catching up on nagging chores and tasks. Rolled up a significant amount of my to-do list, working online and chasing information. Made things happen, I did. Was on a roll. That is, until I tried to install the tax software I bought and downloaded. I ran setup 4 times, and that POS still didn't load. Even the artful ministrations of a gung-ho service tech failed to make it work. He apologized profusely, and said he was going to "escalate" the problem to another department. I should expect a phone call within the next 24 hours. Wheeee.

Oh, and another thing: about that same time, my heat went out. Perfect. Fortunately for me, the maintenance guys were on the ball, and had it fixed in a little under a half-hour. Yay, me!

This weather, its the pits. It sucks donkeys. And I'm not sure, but I thought I heard there may be another storm on the way next Monday.

Can I come to your house? I mean, As long as its far away from the snow? I'm quiet, and I don't take up much room. Pretty please?

Snow Falling on Weenies

6:45 PM, Friday, 5 February 2010 --- Deadline: Snowmageddon.

As I write this, the snow has only fallen in a hint of the White Terror that has been predicted. A hint of upwards of 20, 24 maybe even 30 inches of snow. I am not pleased.

The snow is pretty, and right now it is only fine flakes, drifting gently down to coat the trees and the sidewalk, a fine coating of the 'powdered sugar of the Universe'. Peering from my windows, it is quite lovely, gossamer halos spinning out around the outside lights. The wind isn't high, not yet, so one can almost believe it will leave as quietly as it came. I am even contemplating taking some pictures, experimenting with exposures and tints to try and capture the ethereal 'otherness' that is snowfall. I am almost succeeding at being okay with it all.

Alas, I am not.

I admit, I am a Snow Weenie. This year, anyway. I've lost my stamina and my youthful enthusiasm for a good snow, an inevitable consequence of Growing Up and Being Responsible. This loss does not account for the sheer weight of my ennui, as I would pretend it would. No...the combined stresses and fatigues of this last, tumultuous year of mine have caught up to me. They had been contained behind a thin fence of willpower and concentration on walking the "sunny side of the street". No longer.

The winds this storm upon us now has brought, blow not only around the building in which I reside; they howl across the sere plain that is my interior to lash with full force on that fence I had built. It vibrates and cracks, the slats and posts bending in the onslaught. The sharp twang of broken mesh makes an odd sound of tortured banjos and I watch the fence curl up and blow away. The stresses that had been penned up burst forth, free to roam. They gambol and buck, snorting in my face with whinnies of glee that sound too much like demons to me.

Demons that enjoy the cold, and laugh as they drain the life force from my shivering carcass. The snow...it is kicking my mental ass. Under ordinary circumstances I could laugh and shake it off. Tonight, I am not so sure. I breathe deep, I try...

...I watch Spongebob Squarepants with my daughter, and I focus on her laughter. We make silly faces at each other, and read the dictionary looking for pictures of animals. She snuggels up to me on the couch and tells me she is a puppy...

...and I can begin to let go of the inner grouch, knowing that I truly cannot control the weather. I cannot make it stop snowing, and it is fruitless to waste energy and time on such pursuits. The snow will be what it is, will fall where it may, and this is inescapable. It is also true that I am warm, I am well-fed, and even through the fog of malaise I know that I am loved. It is this realization that becomes the lantern in the window, guiding me home through the snow and mist.

I am still tired. I still curse the bloody weather. Still, I know I can fix that fence. Her laugh tells me so.

Hold On, Let Me Check...Uh, No?

Rare is the day that I do not see something interesting on my way driving to and from the Big City wherein I earn my daily bread, and last Monday was no exception. The parking lot of the building where I work slopes down to a busy road, and when leaving I often have to stop and wait for traffic to clear.

Idling at the bottom of the slope, on a bluish workday evening, I was absentmindedly staring across the road when a bright pink blur passed in front of my car. It was a Dodge Intrepid, and it was a brilliant shade of Pepto-Bismol. Clean, too.

Wow, I thought, you don't see that very often. A courtesy shuttle for a "gentlemen's club", perchance?

So I turned right out of the parking lot, and found my car right behind the Bismolmobile. It sort of looked like a taxi that had been retired from service. I was looking for any faded taxi sticker marks or company name when I noticed the bumper sticker on the back. There it was, big as day, and it read:

"HONK IF YOU GOT A BA-DONKA-DONK!" 

I rubbed my eyes in disbelief. Nope, still there.

I'm slightly sad to say, I did not honk. But only slightly.

I hadn't been that bemused since a few years back, when I saw a guy wearing a shirt that announced in big, bold caps: DON'T ASK ME FOR SHIT! Roger that, Sparky, you needn't worry that I'd ask you for anything, least of all THAT...

Psecret Psanta: So That's How They Fly!

That Santa, he’s a little naughtier than I thought, but quite a groovy dude for all that. I always suspected that something was up with him, staying up all night and flying around the world. How could he DO that? The only people I ever knew who could do anything like that were probably on drugs! Ha, ha, isn’t that funny, Santa Claus and his reindeer on drugs, hoo boy is that a hoot or what? Don’t be silly, that can--, wait a second. What is this I see? Can it be true? No way! And it’s right there in an Advent Calendar, of all places! How can this be? Santa, I hardly knew ye!

Perhaps I should explain. The other day, The Spouse brought home an Advent calendar for the Wee Lass. She bought it from the local outpost of a national specialty grocery store. It is a special calendar that has a festive cartoon Christmas scene on the front, Santa waving cheerily with a bag of toys in one hand with a tree and fireplace and toys on the floor behind him. The calendar contains little numbered compartments that contain a small chocolate treat. The compartments are accessed through little cutout hatches cut into the cardboard. The numbers are on the front, and you open the appropriate compartment on the day with the corresponding number as you count down to Christmas. Wee Lass has been really excited each morning when she comes downstairs, because she gets to call out the number AND get a little chocolate treat.

Each of the chocolates is embossed with a mold of something, intended to be an item or animal or whatever, that one would assume is typically associated with the Christmas season. Stuff like reindeer, candy canes, toys, etc. So each day we have seen something new, including this nice little holiday wreath:

Isn’t that nice? And then there is this cute little fellow:

Rudolf the Red-nosed Reindeer, indeed! But then there was this:

Huh? St. Patrimas Day? Merry Chrisrick? Was it Santa that drove the snakes out of Ireland? Well, okay, I can work with that, that’s cool. And then there was this curious little treat:

….Really? ‘Shrooms? OHHH, now I get it! So that’s how they “fly”. Very clever! Fortunately, Wee Lass exhibited no untoward effects from the chocolate, aside from the normal loopiness one would expect from a four-year old on refined sugar.

I’m a little concerned, though. What’s next? Cane toads?