Simply Irresistible

I must confess a secret -- my life is pretty lame. I don’t go on pre-paid trips to exotic locations, don’t get hammered in bars and have paparazzi follow me home, I don’t shield my face from the millions of screaming throngs outside my balcony and I don’t need a bodyguard to follow me around everywhere.

But I do live on the edge.

That's right.  You want proof you say?

Oh I’ll wear white sweats and a Clorox-esque white hoodie to an Italian restaurant. Don’t even dare me because I’ll do it. I’ll also smile at random strangers when walking down the street. And you know how I know that makes me an adrenaline junkie? I won’t even look away after they give me that ‘who the fuck are you and why are you looking at me with that idiotic look on your face’ look.

You want even more danger?  I’ll refer to Facebook in everyday conversation and will totally spell thingz that end in an ‘s’ with a ‘z’.

Yeah that’s right, you better watch out because I’m just crazy.

So it probably should have come as no surprise that the most exciting thing I’d done to date since arriving in Arizona was drinking too many beers mid afternoon.  While at the lake.  While still on vacation.

Such a party animal, I’m surprised Hollywood didn’t come knocking down my door years ago! Clearly there was an excellent made for TV, Lifetime movie script just waiting to be pulled out of my life. Or more. They probably could have gotten an entire mini-series of “drama” out of the history of my life.

Note the air quotes.  And the sarcasm.

The real issue for me in having had little to no adventures or experiences to speak of in the last ten years is I have no clue how to apply all the crap I used to do that technically could be counted as edgier to my current writing. And then the real kicker is that the more of these blog posts I write the more I really realize that I kind of don’t want to write fiction, pretty much I just want to write some kind of snarky as hell memoir about how awesome I am.

Or something like that. I can be flexible on the snarky part.

The basic rule I’ve been seeing when it comes to blogging for exposure is that you have to do it every day. Okay, that sounds great an all but this is the part where you circle back around to the beginning and review the “my life is a lame ass sleep-fest” portion of today’s post. And I can’t possibly be expected to do something earth shattering every day just so I can write about it, right?

Something tells me that’s going to get pretty expensive after a while.  Not to mention tiring.

I also shouldn’t have to reveal all of my past, let’s just call them adventures, in order to entertain the masses (read: the 30 people who currently read my blog) right? I mean shouldn’t some things in the past simply remain there forever?

Then that brings us back to this post. And a little nagging itch tells me that if I recycle this ‘I don’t know what to say so I’ll just tell you in approximately 700 words of circular prose how much I really don’t have to talk about’ concept day after day, that 30 person readership is pretty likely to tumble. Quickly.

So what in the hell is a girl to do? Should I kill off my other two blogs (the Company blog and the Greenie one) and combine all that stuff here instead of keeping my business/eco/bipolar-schitzo lives separated?

Okay, never mind. Seeing how it reads, I think that question’s clearly rhetorical.

Maybe I could create some kind of month long writing prompt of my own. Like one of those chain mail things where you’re forced to turn on your iPod and write down the first 20 songs so everyone can laugh at your recoculous taste in music. Only instead of just writing out the list I’ll use the song title as a writing prompt and the first thing that comes to mind when I see the song title -- poetry, fiction, non-fiction, random psycho babble -- is what I write and post.

You know, that’s actually not a half bad idea. Think I'll start today…

The Heat Is On

Last night I was lying on the sofa and enjoying Holmes Inspection after a pretty long day moving my dad and wicked step mom, and all at once the house got very quiet. It was as if a jet engine had been running above my head and it suddenly turned off. I didn’t even realize the sound was happening until it went away and I started to feel like the Dyson vacuum guy -- considering the “unsettling” nature of the white noise I’d been experiencing.

I looked around and said out loud ‘what the hell was that noise?’ and Matt responded ‘Maybe the heat was on?’

The heat? Really? We’re a week away from June right? Sure enough the heat was running. Now keep in mind we leave our heat set at 68 so it’s not like we’ve vying for the tropics here or anything, just a normal, average temperature.

I’ve worn my flip-flops a grand total of twice so far this spring. Right now I’m sitting in the office typing this up in sweatpants, a long sleeved cotton shirt, a hooded sweatshirt and thick slipper socks.

And it’s pouring out.

Oy.

I’ve got a paper to write for my class that’s ending today and three assignments to do for my new class starting tomorrow and honestly my motivation level is so low the only thing I really want to do is lie down on the sofa and watch Springer or something.

Is it just me or should seasonal affective disorder have ended after the winter ended? It’s just too dang depressing here for words.

On Saturday this past weekend the sun came out. Yes I think it does call for attention considering it was the first time in almost three weeks that the shiny ball of light made an appearance here in the rainy, gray, cloud-covered northeast.

Ugh, I have to just move past it and must remember that in less than five weeks we’ll be on our way to browner pastures with more sun and blue sky than anyone could shake a stick at!

Not that I even have a clue what that expression means, why would I want to shake a stick at anything? How does that that signify a certain number anyway?

“That farmer has more cows than you could shake a stick at!”

I’m pretty sure I could shake a stick at a lot of cows so he’d have to have a lot of cows. Like enough cows that I’d be sure to stop shaking a stick at them because my arm would be worn out before I was done getting through the entire population of cows.

But anyway…

My blog is obviously all just a device meant to waste time this morning. As is perfectly clear, I have nothing of any real merit to say and I’m pretty much only writing so I don’t have to work on my school stuff. My topic is good too -- comparative between Charlotte Perkins Gilman and Anne Sexton -- but my brain simply doesn’t want to wrap around the thought of doing anything. Regardless of the fact that it’s due today.

Yes I totally know that the earlier I get it done the less I have to do later and that I’ll be able to watch the hockey game tonight and blah, blah, blah but tell that to my SAD brain.

Maybe I’ll eat a box of crackers and flick on the television?

Then again, more likely than not, I’ll take a shower and finish my paper before lunch. I can only waste so much time before my lack of productivity starts to bother even me.

Ooh, but there is that leftover steak in the fridge and I could read blogs while I eat it…

Inversion

I like to be a rule breaker sometimes. Okay maybe not so much a breaker as a bender, especially in this case. The list is two days from the end and it has really been a blast doing it. The challenge of the daily theme has me finding a renewed sense of my blog again. I’m back to really enjoying writing, it doesn’t feel like a chore and although some days might have been no more than mediocre, other days I know I wrote a quality piece of creative non-fiction.

So when I saw that the final request was going to be to share ‘someone I miss’ while the second to last day was looking for a smile, I knew exactly what had to happen. No way I was ending this fun thirty day journey on a sad note! So the final two requests I inverted in order for the whole thing to end on a smile. Today I’m going to share ‘A picture of someone you miss’.

*chirp* *chirp* *chirp*

I literally just sat here for about fifteen minutes, thought about what I would write, who I would post a photo of, and honestly I got nothing.

Yes it’s true that my grandparents have died so they could make the list but I have a completely different feeling about death than a lot of people and although it’s sad they aren’t in my life anymore I don’t miss them per se. I kind of feel like my life wouldn’t be what it is today if any of them were still here and vice versa. We had our time and place and my life is forever better because of it.

And I kind of feel the same way about anyone who is no longer a part of my life. For whatever reasons they’re just gone and in order to miss someone I kind of feel that one needs to experience a form of regret -- the person is gone but there was a sense of something unfinished there, so that’s where the ‘missing’ comes into play.

I don’t feel regret. Ever.

Truly what has happened in life is just what was supposed to happen; nothing is changing what happened ten years or ten seconds ago so to regret is to feel like something went wrong. And I don’t.

I love my life. I’m not trying to sit here and say that everything that happens to me is rays of sunshine shooting out of my ass, I think you all know better than that, but the daily frustrations or sadness just belongs to the past. See? Even writing that sentence is already in the past. Right now, in this exact moment as each finger comes down on every individual key I am fully in it.

Life.

So to put up a picture today seems like it would be forcing something that isn’t there. And that is something I learned long ago you just can’t do. So I’m breaking the rules. Again.

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All Rise

Today I fully intended to come home and write up this insanely long post about the day’s request -- A picture of something you wish you could change -- to say how much I wished I could change the fact that I was called to jury duty this morning. But you know something? It wasn’t all that bad after all.

I was originally called to serve last November, the notice came in September sometime, but with NaNoWriMo in November I knew there was no way I could get put on a trial and still finish a manuscript. So I promptly got online and learned that in Massachusetts you’re allowed to postpone your service for up to a full year. Sweet.

Taking winter considerations into account (and after this past winter’s insane snow I’m happy that I did!) I decided that moving it to April would be a smart move. When I had to get up at six o’clock this morning to get ready to go I was kicking myself that I hadn’t postponed it until this coming October. I would have been able to tell the court ‘oh sorry, I’ve moved’ but begrudgingly I showered and got dressed in my pretty business casual khakis, white collar shirt and purple corduroy jacket, zipped up my brown boots and headed out.

With a half hour to get there I anticipated a little traffic, it was eight o’clock in Boston on a weekday after all, but I made it to the courthouse and was parked by 8:12. With nothing else to do, school books, a big jug of water and snacks packed in a bag, I headed for the door.

It was locked. Guess they take that 8:30 thing pretty seriously because a couple other people were milling about out front, also ready to perform their civic duty. Within a couple minutes a court officer let us in and brought us through the metal detectors.

Unlike at the airport she didn’t ask me a word about my water or food, I wasn’t told to throw away my lighter or hand lotion. All she asked was ‘Is that a camera in your bag?’ I responded with a yes and she informed me I had to go put it in my car. I collected my stuff and headed out to the glove box about 900 feet back in the parking lot and thought ‘My cell phone has a camera, how am I allowed to keep that but not this?’ but I didn’t ask and just deposited the camera like the good citizen I am.

Back inside I was directed to the jury assembly room which was at the literal furthest point in the building from the front door. It was eerily quiet inside and all the doors to courtrooms or other offices were closed. As I traversed the incredibly brightly lit halls I was surprised to find that the appointments were not totally crusty but instead seemed fairly new and well taken care of. It didn’t smell like bodily fluid and no one was handcuffed to a bench. It was moderately encouraging but it certainly wasn’t feeling all warm and fuzzy either. But at least it didn’t smell.

I checked in with the court officer in the jury room and was given my little jury card. I was number eight, which struck me as an omen that I might just be in a stark, institutionally appointed room for infinity. Locating a seat among the other five or so people who must have entered during my camera incident I got settled and pulled out my forty pound text book so I could at least get some school work done while waiting to see what would happen.

At the dot of 9:00 the court officer announced to all of the potential jurors the basic rules of the day -- no cell phones in the courtroom, a Judge would be coming in to speak with us soon, then we’d watch a seventeen minute video about how to be a juror and we’d get a break -- and I went back to reading when she finished. At about 9:30 we heard ‘All rise!’ and in walked a Judge.

I knew she was a Judge not only due to the request to stand but also because of the black robe she was wearing, solidifying the part she was playing that day. It suddenly hit me as she said ‘Hi everybody! You all can sit down’ that a) Things were way more casual than they try to make you believe on TV and b) this was the first time in my life I’d ever been inside a courthouse.

That fact struck me as a little bit odd because as a late teen/early twenty something I had a friend who was, let’s just call him a bit of a rebellious spirit, and although I had the distinct pleasure of meeting a Bail Bondsman for the first time to get my friend out of the clink, I’d never gone to a trial.

I don’t think anyway, all those years are a little fuzzy.

At any rate, my heart began to race and I started to feel a little (read: a lot) nervous. Someone’s life as they knew it up to that moment might hang in my hands. It was all too much to take and I was totally freaked out.

So when the Judge finished speaking and asked if we had any questions, who do you think raised her hand? That’s right, me. And what do you think I asked?

‘If we are picked for a jury and sit for a trial, what do we do if we have to use the restroom?’

I couldn’t help it. Sorry but I have the bladder of a 76 year old and drink about 60 ounces of water a day so this was going to be the single most important thing she could ever answer as far as I was concerned. As soon as the words fell out of my mouth though I was taken back to seventh grade when I had to stand up in front of my Spanish class and give a presentation on the fly. My entire body flared red as I felt the other would-be jurors turn to look and see who asked about something so silly as having to pee.

But then one of them said ‘Hey that’s a great question’ and the judge not only answered with a straight face she echoed the sentiment of my peer. I sighed and returned to typical pale face as we were again instructed to rise when she left. I wondered if she got to do that at home too. How cool would that power be?

Now it was about 9:40 and the court officer came back in to let us know we were permitted a break until 10:15. Really? Geez, that was pretty cool! I’d packed up about 6 pieces of nicotine gum anticipating hours of entrapment. Instead of going to Dunkin Donuts with the rest of my peers (remember that part about having to pee? Yeah it would be all over after a second cup of coffee…) I went out front to have a smoke and text Matt about my uber brilliant question. He sent me back the text equivalent of a chuckle. I expected no less.

I arrived back a little earlier than requested and once everyone was back they played us the aforementioned movie.

It took every single ounce of my cynical, dry-wit being not to laugh out loud during the entire thing.

The movie was most definitely filmed in about 1982, if the awesome hairstyles and shoulder pads were any indication, and they could not have picked more cheezy people to read the script. You know that monotone voice that’s supposed to keep a person calm but if you listen really carefully can sound a little condescending? Yeah that’s how they sounded. It was like an infomercial for court.

There was one part where the monotonously enthusiastic woman was reading her scripted line and an awkward pause ensued, followed by the “humanization” of the male lawyer in the video when he took his glasses off the top of his head and put them on with an incredibly stern look that said “now you listen to me” before he started speaking. I am not lying, I know I heard someone across the room snicker. Wish I knew who it was, we’d probably get along great.

The video was of course informative as to how the process works, but I was so twisted up at this point thinking how I’m way too jaded and opinionated to sit on a jury that I was just doing my best not to hyperventilate.

The thing came to an end and almost within seconds we were being instructed to get our butts out of the chairs as the Judge made her way back to the front of our room again. Like good little students we continued to stand until she told us to “Go ahead and take a seat again’ while she explained that everything on the day’s docket had been resolved and as soon as the court officer came back we’d be free to go.

Now here’s the kicker. She had told us earlier that she predicted the sun to come out and wrapped up with ‘Now I’m not gonna call your boss, or your significant other or anyone to let them know that you got out of here early. I suggest you all go out and take advantage of enjoying this beautiful day off!’

Everyone laughed.

I got about three quarters of my reading for the week done while I waited for exactly two hours to be told I wouldn’t have to go through this again for three years if I didn’t want to so you know what? I’m taking her up on the offer.

You may be excused.

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It Was Bound to Happen Eventually

A picture of your biggest insecurity.

Sorry, but for the first time since this whole challenge started I’m officially stumped. Yup, that’s right, stumped. How in the heck am I going to photograph an insecurity? Do I even have any insecurities, really?

I can think of things that I have trouble wrapping my head around (like public speaking or saving enough for retirement), fears I’ll likely never get over (like cliff diving or being a rodeo clown), and things I very much dislike doing (like leaving the house without makeup, skiing, or wearing yoga pants with briefs), but insecurities?

The definition of insecurity is: lack of confidence or assurance; self-doubt.

How would I even photograph that anyway? Crap! Is coming up with an insecurity, an insecurity?

I briefly thought about going the same route I had back on Day Five with Barry Manilow and include the first song I could think of with the word ‘insecurity’ in the lyrics, but he’s already gotten a healthy dose of attention this month, so moving on…

I considered faking it and saying my greatest insecurity was the fact that I’m insecure but truthfully you all know better than that and I could never get away with it.

I thought about just posting this video to see if you all laugh as much as I do while watching it. Considering most of it is about the insecurities we all face, or the basic life situations we all go through on a daily basis, but of course set to a rap backbeat with a thug-esque video to match, the irony of it just gets me every time. (Caution if you’re not comfortable with strong language, then don’t watch the video! Of course, if you’re reading this blog then its pretty likely there aren’t any issues there…)



I guess, bottom line, I just have no clue what to post today and time is getting late and I got stuff to do and my life is passing me by while I try to determine my self-doubts and frankly I'm pretty excited that I can't really come up with anything.

So this is what you get.

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My Body Is Always Getting In the Way

This morning I woke up at about 5:30 with a throbbing headache. This would not be atypical but I just had my every couple month headache only a few weeks ago so I had to figure out why I was oh so very lucky to be blessed with one on a Saturday. After sucking down a huge glass of water, two aspirin and a coffee the size of my bathroom sink, I am chalking it up to recalcitrance.

My body knew that I finally had a weekend day off, a day where the plans were to spend the day doing “nothing”. Well, in a manner of speaking.

To some it might sound like my head is, in essence, saying ‘hey dummy, now you get to lie down all day and relax like you planned.’ and that is all well and good but I don’t want to be forced into it. It is a choice I want to make on my own. Plus who can relax when they feel like crap? I was really looking forward to just lazing about on the couch while not feeling…well, not feeling period, just being.

Of course even as I type that I know it’s a big bunch of crap. I never just stop moving and chill out all day. I know myself way better than that (as evidenced by the fact that I am sitting here typing away a blog post even though my face feels like it could fall off my head at any second. But, Yeah. Relax. Sure I will.)

This goes right to the part of my personality where I really dislike being idle in body or mind. I think I truly have some deep seeded fear that if I stop moving, I might just perish from indolence (you like the added drama there?). Forget drowning or burning up in a fire, dying from boredom is definitely at the top of my worst ways to go list.

“Tell me, Doc, how did she meet her maker?”
“Oh the moron bored herself to death. I mean all she had to do was get up and do something. What an idiot.”

So then, because I am me, the self diagnosed bipolar freak show, I take everything right to the edge of the extreme and instead of progressing along at a nice even, manageable pace, I live my life as if I were a Nascar driver -- rapidly weaving with the bare minimum of pit stops; only when I blow a gasket, bounce off a concrete wall and roll ten or fifteen times. We can all figure out what the headache equates to in this convenient symbolism, right?

Irony always makes me laugh, even when it is presented as a sucky and wrong situation like today. Right now birds are chirping and the sun is pouring into my living room window. Here in Boston we have not seen the sun come out before six o’clock in the evening in what feels like months; therein lies the paradox -- the sun comes out just as it is about to set. So the entire day is dark and grey until it is too late to get out and do anything. Now, on the one day when it would be nice to have it dark and grey to not further upset my head, it is bloody perfect outside.

At least the rest of the city’s residents will be able to enjoy the first sunny weekend day in eons but bright light plus headache equals not a happy camper over in this seat.

Apparently Mother Nature likes to snicker and today I picture her pointing and laughing at me. It was bad enough that she created that total mockery with the rising-setting sun for the past few weeks, but today she has heaped on a big spoonful of Murphy’s Sunny Day Law just for good measure. The Bitch.

Yeah well I’ll show her who is really the head’s honcho around here. I have now been up for about three hours and my effort to rebel against the pain by using water, caffeine and drugs seems to be doing the trick. I might not have started this battle but I am bound and determined to win the war.

You will know that has happened as soon as the sun goes behind a cloud for the rest of the day.

Summer in the Mediterranean

For the first time in my adult life I made a meal that I conceptualized on my own and it came out good. So good in fact that I’m pretty excited to have a whole bunch of it left over so it can become lunch this week. As I have explained before I’m not much of a cook. In fact if it isn’t a recipe safely printed on paper in front of me or something I have tried at least a billion times, it is pretty likely the end result will be something so wrong even the raccoons in our dumpster won’t eat it.

Take for example what should have been lemon poppy seed cake. It tasted like lemons; the texture just happened to be, slightly off. If only I had the right sized pan it would not have turned into lemon poppy seed super bouncy ball surprise. Then there was the other meal that in a peculiar way almost kind of worked. I barely remember what was in it but I know it had corn. And something Asian because it was dubbed Kung Pow Sombrero. That is one of those memories I blocked immediately due to its ability to beget such immeasurable feelings of pain, er, I mean, nausea, to bubble up to the surface. Sorry for the visual but if you think that’s unpleasant you should have tried the meal.

Sometimes I feel as if I have turned into the Mom in Better Off Dead:
“It has raisins in it. You like raisins.”

So anytime I greet Matt with the words “Ooh, hey, I thought up this great recipe that I made for dinner.” You can understand his trepidation in shoving even one forkful into his empty belly. And that boy can put away some serious food.

But Wednesday was oh so different.

That afternoon my friend and I took a buzz through the local farmer’s market and I picked up a huge bunch of fresh dill. Now there is no way in all that is holy that two people will ever be able to go through that much dill before it goes bad so I began hatching plots for ways I could use it creatively. In everything.

As smoke rose from the empty space in my brain where normal people have an index of foods and the accoutrements that go nicely with them, I decided that cucumber might be a good start so I made some big ‘ol cubes out of about half of one.

Cucumber dill sounded somewhat ‘Summer’ to me so the next thing that popped into my head was Greek yogurt, instead of mayo, as a liquid dressing. Adding the yogurt would provide just a tiny kick of bitterness and that zippy ‘in the Mediterranean’ I was looking to add to my ‘Summer’. Not too overpowering though, luckily I only got the small container. A little lemon juice (from half of a real lemon which I bought to candy the peel -- a fun science experiment), finally, a squeeze of agave evened out the bitterness and it was oh so on.

I boiled up some elbows so I could turn this delightfully creamy goodness into a pasta salad and cooked one chicken breast with some lemon and dill as a little extra something. I never even put the chicken in mine though because I was completely satisfied with just the pasta salad. Man I love summer. I recommend eating right away because the yogurt has a tendency to dry out a smidge, but the flavor is still awesome later if you want to chill it and let it all soak in together like I did.

So then it was time to move on to that pesky lemon peel. I suppose I should back up for just a moment to say that not all of this meal went exactly according to plan. Desert kind of took a digger off the side of a 600 foot cliff in fact, which is so rare because I tend to bake much more effectively than cook. Precise measurements, blending together at predetermined intervals is just the level of structure I need to make something come out well.

Sadly I ended up with lemon graham cracker smoothie this time.

I took a recipe from Joan a few weeks back, bought the required ingredients and was so excited to make this delicious sounding lemon goodness that I even picked up a can of whipped cream and some cacao niblets to garnish the top of this yellow disc of heaven. Unfortunately I wasn’t really thinking when I decided to use soy milk instead of cow milk because that was all we had in the house. I also wasn’t thinking when I stuck with the three ounces of cream cheese instead of bumping it up to six.

Yeah, pudding is never going to set up when it has that little fat to bind it.

Watch it wiggle, see it splash out the sides just does not have the same ring to it.

Regardless of the pudding I was determined to garnish this baby. Besides, at the time of the lemon peel incident I still had no idea the pie would never set. So I commenced with creating candied peel for the first time. It sounded simple enough -- only three ingredients and a few straightforward steps. I could do that, no problem.

Whoever writes up those online recipes should really warn a person that it is necessary to constantly stir once the lemon peel goes back into the boiling sugar water or they might just end up with an entire pan full of syrupy brown goo. Oh and then also warn us that when we go to rinse that goo down the drain, even with scalding hot water, that it will instantly solidify to the bottom of the pan, causing much cursing to ensue and hours of soaking to save the pan that someone who can not cook has no business owning.

Poor pan, you only ever boil water, you’re barely broken in after 11 years. Well you earned your stripes last night. It was as if I had a car that I never drove above thirty miles an hour for two decades and then one night decided it might be fun to push her a little so I slammed the pedal down and jacked it up to 160 in 2.1 seconds.

The smoke in here was so bad I thought the alarm might go off but I kicked my own ass into high gear, opened the balcony slider and the living room window for cross ventilation then snatched the oscillating fan from the bedroom which I set up square in the middle of the kitchen. That pan continued to pump out smoke for what felt like twenty minutes.

I decided to forego giving it another try with the other lemon and instead made myself up a big bowl of the one thing I did oh so right last night. As I gobbled down the tart and sweet pasta salad I tried not to choke on sugar smoke as I enjoyed the soothing sounds of the slow turning, whirring fan. If I closed my eyes it was just like a lovely summer day.

Two Men Who Served but Lived Such Different Lives

Both of my grandfathers were war men who served in WWII. They both served their country in entirely different ways as one fought right on the front lines of battle, liberating camps and seeing who knows what, while the other, an older gentleman at the time, served his country safely behind a desk. Both were amazing and honorable men with contagious smiles and a genuine love for their families.

Grampa Steve, my mom’s dad, was a somewhat reserved man, short and small in physical stature. He was 24 years older than my gramma Ruth and the most senior in age of all my grandparents. He had worked for the Boston Edison electric company almost his entire adult life, but I believe he may have retired before I came along. My greatest memory of him is that when I was a kid he loved to nap in his chair. Of course he was never really napping, only ever “resting his eyes”. We hung out with aunt Agnes occasionally (Grampa’s sister who lived upstairs), watched a whole lot of M.A.S.H. and made frequent trips out to McDonald’s for dinner when they were watching us.

My grandparents were great explorers and every year they used their vacation time to literally drive the entire country. Of course my Grampa did all the driving which probably left my gramma free to snap the photos he would develop himself when they got back home. If I am not mistaken they may have gotten to all 48 contiguous states and some of them (such as Florida) far more often than once.

When my sister and I went to Disney with other family in 1984, my grandparents were off on one of their adventures. They happened to be in the same state at the same time and I remember getting together down there. It is one of the most amazing memories I have -- to see my grandparents in some random hotel room in a different state just felt like a big, cool surprise -- since we didn’t see them as often it was surreal at eleven to see them that far from home.


The house I spent the most time in as a kid, by far, was gramma Alice and grampa Ed’s. I have shared before about grampa Ed and how I feel that if we are relegated to one soul mate in this world that he was surely mine. At over six feet tall and close to 300 pounds he was a guy anyone would want on their side in a bar fight. It would surprise me to learn however that he had ever been in one because in my eyes he was nothing more than a big teddy bear who loved to belt out a great tune. A traveling art supply salesman, he was the guy who knew people everywhere in eastern Massachusetts.

My grandparents shared their two-family style home with two of my gramma’s sisters and there was always something going on in that house. Friends and family were always welcome to come over and spend a little time but by no means was anyone allowed to sit in grampa’s chair unless he offered it up and then we knew that person must be really special. They were happy to enjoy their time at home during the colder months but every summer they packed up and headed for the beach.

My grandparents owned the cottage in Humarock and as a kid I would hang out on the deck while they played cards or Scrabble with their neighbors and friends over countless beers or shots of Johnny Walker. Grampa was the first one I remember to teach me about the ocean and her power, how to avoid being caught in a riptide and what to do if the undertow was too strong to get back in. For years he would joke that he was going to go “take a dip” when it was freezing cold out and we would all just laugh. Tough as nails, he probably would have done it and no one would have been surprised. He was the consummate jokester and could pull one over on anyone, that is, until the wink followed.

It is more prevalent in my mind to think of both of my grampas on a day like Memorial Day since they were both patriots who served their country in the time of war, but it doesn’t just take this kind of reminder to conjure up recollections of them. Anytime I get the urge to take a random road trip and explore through photographs or get sand in between my toes and salt water in my hair, memories of two of the most amazing men come flooding right back.

Bite Me Migraine

Take your sorry throbbingness and just get right out of my head.

I am lying down with a bowl of soup and a gallon of water for the rest of the day.

See you all tomorrow.

The Mystery of the Accidental Celebrity

This morning while perusing msn.com I came across a link to an article about a shampoo inspired by Rod Blagojevich. You remember him right? The Governor of Illinois who sold now President / former Senator Obama’s seat to the highest bidder? No? Not ringing a bell? He was the guy with the really bad hair. No, the blonde one is Trump; this is the brunette guy that swears a lot. Yeah that is the one. It was only a matter of time before someone decided to cash in on his bad hair and make a fortune off it.

My gut reaction was to shake my head and utter the word “wow” out loud, but as I considered whether or not I actually wanted to read the silly article, it really got me thinking about people, society, celebrity and fame. Why are we so damn interested in failure, disappointment and the tragedies that people befall? And then after we are done judging them for all of the things they have done so terribly wrong, how do these people suddenly write best selling books, land made for TV movies, end up on the Today Show, have toiletries named after them or make guest appearances on countless television shows?

Remember Joseph Hazelwood? He was featured in the movie Waterworld, the TV show Futurama, talked about on late night talk shows and even made his way into a comic strip. His name was everywhere back in 1989. Maybe if I mentioned that he has a prominent apology published in the book The Spill: Personal Stories from the Exxon Valdez Disaster (by Sharon Bushell) it might start ringing some bells that he was the Captain of the aforementioned vessel. Wow. For a guy who was behind the wheel when one of the largest environmental disasters to take place occurred, he sure got a whole lot of name recognition.

That is the thing about being a celebrity. Those who are attempting to achieve it never seem to get there. OK some do, but it sure is a mother fucker of a time for them to reach their desired level of fame and windfall unless they are doing something insanely controversial to get there. I suppose if anyone ever tracked down just how many pop culture references were made to people like Albert Einstein the list would be so long no one person could ever write it; and he failed his first college entrance exam. Then again, perhaps that is why he made a name for himself; the lowest low occurred for these people and there was nowhere to go but up.

I am slowly convincing myself that every celebrity, be it purposeful such as someone in the entertainment industry or accidental such as these examples above, was in fact, accidentally made famous.

Let’s try a little game. I will throw out a list of names; you tell me what you remember about the thing that made them famous, the moment that their name was “suddenly” thrust into the mass media market. Ready?

Paris Hilton
Courtney Love
Robert Downey Jr.
Michael Vick

In fairness I understand that Michael Vick was a pretty remarkable quarterback before going to the dogs but I would challenge non-football fans to tell me what team he played for before going to prison. That’s what I thought. The jury, better known as the general public, is still out on Vick of course as his sentence is not up for another couple months. After all, it is hard to make it to the set of your movie, (starring maybe Will Smith?) when you are still under house arrest.

The funny thing about the list above is that the other three are in completely respectable positions these days; they took their accidental fame and were able to transcend. Well in a manner of speaking anyway. Courtney transitioned easily into a music career of her own and then slid like butter into movies. Paris actually has so many projects going it is amazing the woman has a chance to sleep. RDJ completely “reinvented” himself (as they refer to it in the biz) by giving one of the best performances of his life when Jon Favreau took a chance by casting him in the lead role of one of the top grossing comic book turned big screen smashes of all time, Ironman.

I guess enough time has not yet passed for Vick. After all it took RDJ almost twenty years to make his return into the open, embracing arms of the public. Even the Atlanta Falcons have not yet decided if they will take him back or attempt to trade him. Perhaps he would be a perfect fit with the often persecuted, Detroit Lions?

He could always do the commercials for the “Bleep’n Golden” Blago hair care products, considering Detroit’s proximity to Chicago. Then again, Vick might want to keep his distance from anything that controversial so he can make some money from his book sales. You know, just in case that football thing doesn’t work out.

Just when I think its Safe to go back in the Water…

Back in 1986 the movie Ferris Bueller’s Day Off hit the theaters. For those not in the know, the movie is about a witty, resourceful, high school senior who decides to fake illness so he can skip school one lovely sunny day and then all the events that unfold after he convinces his best friend and girlfriend to join him. The three end up seeing a baseball game, eating in a fine restaurant, taking part in a parade, visiting an art museum, swimming in a pool and driving all over Chicago in a 1961 250 GT California Spyder Ferrari -- the single prize possession of his best friend’s dad. As was typical in 1980’s comedies the sub plots tended to weave in and out of the main plot, hijinx ensue and the main character comes out not only winning but winning everyone over in the end. Just before those end credits roll though, the title character utters the line:

“Yup, life moves pretty fast. If you don’t stop and look around once in a while, you could miss it.”

Whenever I have a super busy week like the last few have been I try to keep this line in mind because it’s true that sometimes I allow things to fly by me in the blink of an eye and I do not put on the brakes to see just how awesome they really are while I am experiencing them.

One thing I have been busy with over the past month or so has definitely been work; it is Murphy’s Law that the moment I start getting into a groove with something another thing comes along to make itself more important. I have really been throwing myself into writing, so it is only logical that I would suddenly get hired to paint an entire floor’s worth of trim and doors and start doing a little more organizing for my favorite Accountant right? It makes me chuckle.

The thing about working jobs like that is I am at least out and about; I like writing and working from home but at times the self imposed semi-isolation can be a bit stifling for the creativity vibe. Getting out into the world allows me plenty of opportunities to experience so many things that make life great.

Catching up in a really meaningful way with a best friend.
Celebrating a milestone birthday with my Aunt and family.
Seeing how happy Matt is after riding his new bike for the first time.
How cool it is to have a baby smile at you.
Meeting new people and sharing lots of laughs and great food.
Daffodills sprouting down the entire 100 foot length of my Dad’s driveway.
The fun of hanging out with two 6 year olds and a 2 year old for an entire day.
How nice it is to see sunshine after what felt like weeks of rain.
The amazing power of laughter through tears.

In the movie, Ferris and his friends only got one day, but I am lucky enough to have everyday to slow down and open my eyes to the fast paced world around me if I let myself; I love that all my sub-plots weave themselves into one big life. Yup, it is pretty great indeed.

Reflected Projections

I sit here at my desk and begin to wonder when I let go of myself. When was it that I allowed myself to focus solely on what another person wanted me to fit into? What kind of life would I have led if I could determine the turning point, the moment in time where I let it all go, and go back to make the opposite choice? Would I be married, own a house, have a car, be in love? Would I be alone, party like a rock star, feel trapped inside freedom? I have no knowledge of what would have happened because life is not a Choose Your Own Adventure where I make a selection and move forward with the story, but just in case I get to peek at the other pages to see if it would have turned out any better, or even just different.

The thing about those books was that the ending, the actual ending of the story, pretty much always turned out exactly the same no matter what path we all chose in the middle. Kind of like life I guess. We are born and we die and everything in between is just a series of turning pages. As is typical, I almost get a glimpse of it but in the end push it away because it is fruitless to try. Just like I feel about everyone else, I will never really let myself change.

As babies, children, teenagers, and sometimes even into early adulthood, other people determine the path. We clearly can not feed ourselves or change our own diapers at infancy and as we grow into teenagers and begin to explore our worlds the people who are closest to us want us to be protected so they establish rules and restrictions on what we are allowed to do. We take this at face value sometimes and the longer we allow another person to make those choices for us the more natural it seems that this would continue all the days of our life. That another person would just continue to coddle us, to “raise” us, and of course to make all the decisions seems like it would be the obvious path.

The fantastic thing about letting someone else run everything, make all the choices and determine the journey that we take, is that we are never to blame if something should go terribly wrong. There is always a scape goat to pin the problem on because we were never the one to make the decision in the first place, it was always someone else. It really is simultaneously liberating but stifling to realize it is not possible to ever be wrong because I never make my own choices. A blessing and a curse to be sure.

I can easily sit around and talk about everyone else and all the bad decisions they make because I am in the perfect place to judge; remember, I have never made a wrong choice in my entire life! Of course, I am somewhat conflicted because, again, I have not made any choices at all. I am not sure how much I like that and I am starting to wonder if I am just a sheep following a shepherd blindly to the edge of a great precipice. For the first time in all of my years on this Earth I am slowly starting to question everything I have grown to believe is right, everything I have been told (in a manner of speaking) to think and feel but at the same time I wonder if it would actually be possible to transform.

Since I have slowly been convinced to change but did not fully realize it was happening to me all this time, what could I possibly do to go back to my own train of thought? Did I ever have one to begin with?

I guess the bottom line is that I have grown accustomed to whom and what I am, to how I live my life and to my daily surrender so whether the answer to that question is yes or no is really of no concern because as we all know, I will personally choose to do nothing about it either way.