In memory of...

As part of a follow up to my last post, I'm going to elaborate on an interesting part of that cultural celebration as seen from my perspective. One of the major tenets of celebrating the Chinese new year is prosperity. To demonstrate the size of your largesse, you would stuff money in little red (which is supposed to symbolize happiness) envelopes in varying amounts and (depending on how closely related you are) give them to anyone who wishes you a happy, healthy, lucky and prosperous new year.

As a kid, I remember how I used to net in a couple hundred dollars for saying a few phrases in chinese to anyone who was married and older than me. There were times my allowance in a year was less than I made in one day. When the new years landed on a weekend, they were the best, since I usually had two days to rake in the funds. It got to be a contest between my cousins to see who could bring in more. I could never compete with my siblings, as they usually got the exact same amount I did. And if they weren't there to offer the well wishes, I would be given theirs to pass on to them. All of the money would then be given to my parents to stick in our ever growing savings accounts.

Just thinking of those carefree days brings a smile to my face. The best givers were always my grandparents and my great grandparents. They always had the wierdest envelopes to stuff their money in. And as they passed away, I lost a little bit of the character and color from collecting the funds. I lost out on seeing their faces light up with pleasure when we offered our usual wishes before collecting the red envelopes they gave.

I think that instead of bemoaning my loss, I will spend what time I have this week reflecting on the happiness and joy I used to take in seeing my grandparents and great grandparents.

Happy Chinese New Year!

Today starts the new day of the year of the Dog in the Chinese calendar year 4704.

I'd offer you wishes of a happy and prosperous new year, but I must remove the stake lodged in my heart first. This month so far there has been a battery of emotional attacks against me. I wonder if I am bringing these attacks upon myself by the things that I am doing. People I see, talk to and share with have taken some things I have said or done and responded in an unexpectedly negative manner.

I've talked about finding a special place as a harbor from the storm of life. I have yet to find this place. Supposedly, one such place is within yourself. Sometimes, it is difficult to look within for such a haven when your life has become an unending turmoil and drama. I've chosen to downplay the more serious things going on in my life, because they would do nothing but depress everybody. Talking even to a close friend, I can see that he is more concerned with his financial plans to buy a house and how his stock options are coming along. He has chosen to close himself off from the despair that I have felt of late.

I'm not happy about how this month has begun, and I know that I have been plumbing the darker side of the human psyche of late. Let's see here, there was anger, lust, envy, pride, avarice... Wait, aren't those some of the deadly sins? If only I had written about someone stuffing themselves and being apathetically lazy.

This fascination with the unhappier feelings one person can feel is probably leaving me open and more sensitive to these emotions. I can't say that I would willingly ignore these emotions, thereby living in a narcissitic and empty headed manner. Such a life doesn't exist, and I don't think I could give myself a lobotomy anyway. Lobotomoies aside, we can't live without these emotions, they are a part of living a healthy, connected life in this world. I suppose how we choose to let them affect us is a better indication of how we live our lives.

Perhaps I should consider this the beginning of my new year, forget what has happened in the past month and enjoy what comes to me from this point on. Yes, a fresh new start is what I will do. In this, the year of the dog, I wish you all the best as my cultural heritage would wish for you: Be happy, feel lucky, live long and propsper. (Sorry, just couldn't avoid the obvious Star Trek reference.)

The farewell party.

Yep. Just as I suspected the night would go. Completely full of sweet sentiments, good wishes, tears of joy and tears of farewell. Yet, somehow, entirely heartwrenching. I lost count of the number of times the smile plastered on my face slid off into a frown. Watching the obiligatory slide show pictures pulled from the happy couple's past, the pictures of them smiling, hugging each other, having fun with each other and kissing each other.

Listening to family and friends recount their funny experiences with the happy couple, lightly roasting them with embarrasing recollections, and generally expressing wishes for the best on their new endeavor. Listening as others, some I knew and some I didn't know, shared happy memories with us all. Watching as the happy couple wiped away the tears that welled up in happiness and laughter. Watching the joy that they shared, and the love that was showered upon them by family and friends alike.

I could barely restrain the tears welling up in my eyes too. Tears of pain and quiet suffering. Watching each happy picture and feeling the cut of a knife within me, savagely sawing away at my heartstrings. Listening to the recollections and wondering what my family and friends thought of me. Feeling the ache of loneliness gnawing at me as I sat alone in an isolated corner. Wondering if there will ever be such a time when I would be the center of such love and affection. I couldn't even say goodbye to this couple because I was unable to take joy in their happiness and knowing that to confront them would break the dam of feelings that I barely held in check.

Please don't feel sorry for me. I have chosen the path that I am now walking and if I feel any regrets, I will bear them. And, I will share them. With you, here on this blog, where those who know me won't be able to see my tears. As I have said before, misery loves company, so share and revel in it one and all.

Soup of the day

So I was reading this interesting recipe which I decided to try out yesterday.

This is how it came out:


For your amusement and greater entertainment, here are some things I learned while making it:

• Leeks are related to onions, therefore cut them quickly!
• You really ought to cut off the roots on leeks before cutting them up
  
• A clove of garlic does not equal to the entire bulb of garlic
• If you don't know the culinary meaning of something, look it up before starting on the recipe!
  
• If you buy something new to make use of the recipe (ie. the blender), learn how to use it first!
• Blender carafes open on the top and bottom.
  

If I ever learn how to save a dish that has become too salty (possibly from having put in 16 cloves of garlic), I would be only too happy to share that information. Other than being too salty for my tastes, it tasted great. Now, to drink an entire bottle of Listerine to kill my continuing garlic breath and then I am off to a party!

Who wins? Beauty or the Beast?

The idea for this post came to me earlier today as I slowly awakened from my slumber, that period of half sleep and wakefulness when your mind drifts onto any subject which is generally forgotten as the pressing matters of the day come to the fore. This morning, my mind drifted to and touched on an early part of my employment at that hated company I used to work for.

At the time, I had applied for an information technical specialist position that had been open for more than a year. The director of this department suggested that I apply for this job on the Wednesday before Thanksgiving that year. He mentioned that there was a pay increase to go with the job. I had hardly been working at this company a year at this time, so I said I would think about it and went home for the day. I thought it over that weekend and decided I wanted the position.

I had extensive background in the IT field before I joined this company for a "help desk" position. When they did the first interview, they warned me that this position had nothing to do with computers. Since the bills were mounting from when I graduated from college, I boldfacedly lied that it didn't concern me that this wasn't a position that dealt with computers.

Both the IT director and my supervisor knew that I had this background. So, when I applied the following Monday, they told me that the position had been taken by another guy from accounts payable. I was stunned. I knew that he had no experience whatsoever with computers. I told my supervisor how upset I was over this and that started a flurry of meetings that still amuses me to this day. They had meetings with me (that included the Operations director and the president of the company) to tell me that they chose him because he was more qualified and that he had applied first. However, I was still given full consideration before they hired the other guy. I should have quit right there. I had even written my resignation letter. A coworker barely convinced me to stay.

Now, I am not bad looking. However, I cannot deny that the guy they hired was model quality in appearance. Dark hair, strong jawline, great complexion, muscular and athletic build, etc. Girls at the company would take coffee breaks just to swoon at his desk. Older women draped themselves on him at company parties. He belonged in a magazine. He didn't belong in a small office room surrounded by computers all day.

Then came the day of reckoning. I was walking up the hallway, and both the IT director and the new "specialist" flagged me down to ask me a question on the network. They couldn't get connectivity to a new switch they had installed. They were at their wits end. They asked me to take a look at it and see if I could figure it out. I asked a couple of questions and in less than thirty seconds, I had resolved the issue. I took total satisfaction in their dumbfounded looks and walked out the door.

Too bad I didn't get the job. I might still be working there if I had. Now that the story telling is over, I was saying: As I woke up this morning, my mind wandered over that memory, I thought, "So beauty does win over the beast." The thought escaped me for a while and came back full force this afternoon while catching up on reading other blogs.

Perhaps we should all gouge out our eyes if we want to make this world a better place. I suppose the bitter lesson is: If you're dumber than a brick but look good pretending, you will get the job. And if you don't look like you belong on a Calvin Klein billboard, it doesn't matter what you know.

Don't get me wrong, I am all for a meritocracy, however, I have worked in places that don't rely upon the merits of someone's qualifications and this has most certainly embittered my perspective. Someday, I hope to work someplace where what I can do and bring to the table matters more than how I look.

A (not so) wonderful start to a new year...

Classes have started for me again and all I can say is that two days into a new semester, and already, I am looking at 2200 pages that have to be read and 80 labs I need to complete by May. *sigh* Two more classes to attend and I will know the full extent of my foolishness. I have a distinct feeling that I may have to slow down on the number of posts I will be placing for everyone's perusal.

And on another entirely coincidental topic, an update on the latest love interest that has fallen through and is now part of the past. Earlier today, I bumped in to her, and I decided to get an update on her emotional situation. She was rather reticent about how things were going and I persisted until I found out. Well, she blurted out that she had gotten back with her ex. And that this happened in mid December.

Further, part of their agreement in getting back together was that she wouldn't hang around me anymore. After a few moments, she turned around and walked away. I thought I did a good job of hiding my dismay and surprise, either that or she was just in a rush to get away from me. I guess that I was the reason they broke up in the first place.

I am ever so pleased with how this year has gotten off the ground.

Learning about trust.

Yesterday, I spent some time with some friends who have started their family and have a few children. Ages six, four and almost two. So, when the adults started to talk about their jobs, I went to play... uh, I mean practice my parental skills with the children.

The best part about being around other people's children is that when you're done pla-- practicing with them, you can hand them right back to the parents. There are so many things that they are learning that they must incorporate into their minds to understand this world as we know it. And it can be amazing what you can learn from them as they continue learning.

For instance, last night, I learned more about trust. Little children must trust you a lot before they permit you to get near them. They must trust you to let you pick them up and carry them. And most of all, they must trust you when you turn away from them.

Most importantly, I learned how tenuous the link formed by trust really is. I had to learn it the hard way too. I picked up the middle child during practice, a beautiful little girl with pigtails, and set her on the top of an upright piano. I turned around when I heard a crash (the eldest boy falling off the sofa onto the floor, no injuries and all noise) and when I turned back to her, she was crying. She wouldn't answer me when I asked her what was wrong. She was holding one hand in the other, so I thought I had jammed her finger when I turned around so quickly and stepped toward the boy on the floor.

When I brought her back to mommy (and ran into the kitchen to get an ice pack), it was discovered that I had scared her by turning so quickly and walking a step away from her. She was in a position where she had to trust that I would come back because she couldn't get down off that piano and was afraid I wouldn't come back. I felt about two inches tall after hearing that.

Won't I make a great dad someday? One little girl crying had me running around in circles like a headless chicken. It also made me wonder if I trust people or do I feel the same way that poor little girl does and just do a better job of hiding my fears. And I am beginning to wonder if I should pray that I don't have any female children because I can be so easily manipulated.

Will I ever understand?

So, it seems that all of my friends around here have taken pity on my lack of social life and have been insisting that I go out with them. If you read this post, you can see that having a social life can be a bit expensive. And being unemployed, I can't afford to have a social life. So, my kind friends make me go out anyway and then don't let me pay for things. I can only hope that if the situations are reversed, I have the opportunity to return the favor.

Yesterday, they had me go out to a bar with them and basically caught up with each other's lives and how things were going. We talked long into the night while drinking beers. I'm not much of a drinker anymore, so I made sure to pace myself, especially since I wasn't paying. As the night wound on and the sports bar slowly emptied, one of my friends made unintentional eye contact with some girls that were on the other end of the bar. One of them came over and invited us all to join them.

A basic description of the woman who invited us: She was petite, about 5' 2", very skinny, pretty and had long brown hair. If she weighed a hundred pounds soaking wet, I would have been surprised. She was wearing a quilted pea soup green jacket over a white blouse and dark pants that hugged the hips and opened around the ankles. Her friends were taller, but similarly dressed. One of her friends was married, and she wanted to leave, but was mostly ignored. I didn't pay as much attention to the others because this young woman was practically hanging off of me. (Which, I might as well add, was rather distracting.)

She was very friendly in an inebriated manner. As I said before, I was pacing myself, so I was far more sober than she was. In the time it took me to finish the rest of my beer, she had gotten herself three more refills (of what, I have no idea). In the back of my mind, I was thinking, "Wow, she must have the most amazing case of beer goggles I have seen in a while." I was also getting concerned, because I had an inkling where this was going, and I wasn't sure I wanted to end the drought with this very drunk girl.

Could I have been a bit gun shy? It's possible. Would I have been taking advantage of her? Very likely. Perhaps it's because I didn't want to satisfy myself and wake up to the repercussions that I would find in the morning, knowing that I took advantage of this helpless woman?

Which leads me to my next question: Why do women do this to themselves? I'm sure this is under the catagory of "Understanding WOMEN" and it is likely something I won't find the answer to. Why do they come out to social venues displaying themselves and then in a drunken state do something they wouldn't do sober? I suppose if I truly understood, I would be a woman.

Eventually, married woman prevailed upon her friends, and they left together as a group. Without any guys on their arms. The bar closed maybe thirty minutes later. My friends and I went to a diner, had an early breakfast and went home for the night.

Something that strikes me as very funny right now: Just before this woman came over to invite us, one of my friends was mentioning that another friend, who wasn't there that night, had met his wife in this same bar. In fact, he was glancing at the location where they had met, which was in direct line of sight of these women he made eye contact with. Ok, maybe I should have seen where her affections lead. There goes opportunity out the door.

An update on my angry friend.

An update on this post: I forgot to go and have this talk with my angry friend. In fact, forgetting to go in and talk to him caused him to feel more remorseful than talking to him. Some friends passed this information on to me. Rather than have this discussion with him right now, I am going to pretend that it didn't happen and just drop it.

It may seem that I am avoiding the issue, and I don't doubt that he will lose his temper again. However, taking him to task for his anger issues didn't work the first time. Perhaps acting like it didn't happen might have the reverse effect of causing him to think about it in far more detail than if I had said something to him. I will give it a try and see how things go.

You're invited to a farewell party...

Yesterday, I received an invitation to a farewell party. I found it this morning. I have been invited to their farewell party. They will be moving outside this country for a few years and living on their own in another country. They will continue to stay in contact by email.

I have conflicting feelings about this. I am saddened to see them go and I am glad to see them go. In a way, I am losing a pair of friends. Yet, I am also removing a serious bit of temptation and complication from my life. I'm not sure if I am envious or concerned about their decision to just leave everything behind and attempt to prosper in another part of the world. And I am wondering why that can't be me going.

I am posting this now, before I can sort through my feelings and see what will prevail. I may need the rest of the time until I go to that party next weekend to decide. Considering what I plan to do today added to receiving this invitation, I can only say: What a stormy way to begin a weekend.

Hey, who wished my life to be this interesting anyway?

Are we really friends?

One of my favorite stress relieving activities is shooting people. Before you go on about how I am dangerous and akin to those deranged people who go on crazy killing sprees, I must clarify that I play paintball. The reason I bring this topic up is because tonight, I went out to play with some friends and somehow things didn't end well. We were split up onto separate teams and played opposite of each other.

In one of the last games, one of my teammates shot out my friend. It so happens that I was aiming at the other side of the same hiding spot he was in and as he stood up, I fired three shots at him before I could stop myself. He then ran over to my side, accused my teammate of "overshooting" him and then walked off the field to scream deprecations at my teammate. As soon as the game was over, I walked over to my friend and apologized for shooting at him.

The next thing that happened is that he had, what I can only describe as, a temper tantrum on the field. All the time, he was shouting mildly abusive things at me. He then walked off the field in a very angry manner. When I approached him off the field, I asked him if he really thought I overshot him on purpose as he walked off the field. His response was yes. I was shocked that he would think that of me.

What you don't know is that I have been a referee at that field and know what the rules are to play paintball. Three shots fired at someone takes a split second to do, and I can easily pull the trigger a dozen or more times each second. So, in the quarter second it took for him to stand up and turn around, I had fired three shots at him. They all hit him square on the middle of his back.

This person has been known to have temper tantrums like this before, and in the past, has demonstrated how little he trusts his own friends when it comes to repairing things. In the past, I have helped him repair stuff, and before he returns the products back to the customer, will double check it. I don't mind, because I know I am not perfect.

However, a few months back, another mutual friend helped out as well and the customer of the product this friend repaired called in the next morning saying it wasn't working. Again, my angry friend threw a temper tantrum at the place where he worked. When the customer brought the product back in, it turned out that the customer didn't know how to use the product and there wasn't anything wrong with the repair job. When I pointed out to my angry friend that perhaps he should have waited until he found out what was wrong with the product before badmouthing my other friend, he responded that he didn't care.

After this second incident at the field, I begin to wonder if this angry person is really a friend. I am not sure that I can abide having a friend who holds so low an opinion of me or others that he is friends with. Don't get me wrong, I have put him in a very bad light to demonstrate the issues I am having. He can be generous as well as nice when he is in the right mood. However, his dark moods strike too often for him to be "socially" acceptable. He makes little or no attempt at restraining himself. His co-workers bear the brunt of his ire and I am beginning to think that I would not rather work there as a fill in anymore because of his attitude issues.

My gentle prodding has gotten an, "I don't care," attitude from him. Tomorrow, I am thinking about going there and stating bluntly what I think in the hope that he will see that he needs to change. The question becomes whether or not I am doing him a disservice by bringing it to a head and very likely ending our supposed friendship. Especially since I know him well enough to know that he is too stubborn to change his ways.

Another trip odyssey into the Big Apple.

Late Monday afternoon, I get a call from one of my buddies that he is going to a comedy club Tuesday night and wanted to know if I would be willing to go. He said that we would have dinner after the going to the club and he even offered to pay my cover charge. All I had to do was pay for drinks. Seeing that my calendar was open, and he was paying for the cover, I agreed to go.

I decided that I would take the train into New York City and in an effort to kill two birds with one stone, told this same friend that I wanted to see some dead bodies. Of course he wanted to go too. So we made plans and called it a night. On Tuesday morning, someone (aka dad) kindly reminded me that my car inspection has been expired. For more than thirty days. Oops. What can I say, beyond that last month was really hectic and I have only recently started to feel de-stressed from last semester's trials.

I made a quick visual check for the obvious safety flags and took the car to the garage later that morning. I would have passed with flying colors, except for a few minor safety issues, therefore, my car failed. They had also kindly removed the inspection sticker off my windshield, so I can't even pretend that I had it inspected. In a huff and with two hours before I had to catch the train into Manhattan, I drove to the nearest auto parts store, bought two silly light bulbs and drove home. Then, I proceeded to replace the bulbs over the license plate, jabbing myself in the thumb with a screwdriver because I was carelessly rushing.

That slowed me down for quite a bit (not to mention the 10 minute swearing session and then going inside to find a bandaid). Then, I had to remove both back tires to adjust the drum brakes. After this adjustment on both sides, I threw the tires back on and with 30 minutes to train catching time, drove back to the garage. Where they took the car, turned on the lights, engaged the emergency brakes and charged me another ten bucks. Yep, my car failed because my e-brake wasn't adjusted properly and the license plate bulbs were out.

Now, I am not a mechanic, and normally, I trust my mechanic to do the job right, but with the impending deadline of catching a train, these guys were trying to milk me for money. They wanted to change my brakes and charge me $15 for replacing my burnt out bulbs. I was livid over their underhanded tactics. In the same amount of time I spent arguing with them over unnecessary charges, I was able to take the tires off, adjust the breaks and put the tires back on. And I saved $85 in labor charges. If I had paid them, that would have ended my night right there.

I made it to the train station with five minutes to spare. Then my friend called me and told me he had missed the train. At this point, it was 3 pm and I was really not pleased with another setback. I told him to just get on the next train and we would figure things out. The next train was another half an hour away and arrived at Penn Station forty five minutes later. With that realization, I resigned myself to not seeing any dead bodies at the body exhibit in the South Street Seaport.

When we finally arrived at Penn station, my friends insisted that we try to make it downtown to see the exhibit anyway, so we hopped onto a subway train and traveled downtown. Considering that I have heard certain controversial stories about fetuses and sliced up human remains, I wasn't sure if I would be horrified or amazed at what I saw. I still wanted to see this gruesome display regardless of how I felt and in spite of the hefty entrance fee. When I finally walked out (they closed at 7 and I had to be escorted out) I realized that I was amazed, intrigued and fascinated by the contents of an ordinary sack of bones and water that we consist of.

I can't begin to describe how it feels to realize that this is no plastic model but once a real live, breathing individual who walked on this earth. I couldn't move myself to touch these once living humans either. I don't know if it is out of respect for the dead or just some other ineffable reason that I can't explain.

*NOTE* For those owners of weak stomachs, skip the next three paragraphs. *NOTE*

I was amazed by the sight of the circulatory system without flesh, skin, or any organs suspended seemingly in mid air and I was impressed by the process in which they preserved the microscopic capillaries of the human body. I could not believe how complex the human skull is. I was disturbed by the sight of cigarette smoke poluted lungs and how the tar clung to everything. (If you smoke, make sure you go to the respiratory section and see those lungs!) To be honest, most of the displays were reminiscent of slides or photographs from any anatomy or biology book. I learned what the sciatica muscle is and where it is located, and I finally understand what it means to have a torn meniscus or have a herniated disc. I even saw the supposed bones I may have fractured in the past.

When I finally approached the room that contained the fetuses, I entered with a bit of trepidation, wondering what abominations I would see. Mostly, I saw various stages of the fetus development. Once again, it felt like I was looking at text book images. The centerpeice in that room for fetuses is the limbless torso of the female body displaying all of her reproductive organs in unembarrased detail as well as the six month old baby forever preserved in stasis in her womb. I thought I would be shocked or disgusted by that sight. I wasn't. Which kind of surprised me. I could not grasp within my mind that this torso was a pregnant woman who died while carrying her baby. It was kind of like looking at a cutout model because you couldn't see any limbs or a head. In this culture that I have grown up in, I would have expected the doctor to make some serious attempt at saving the baby's life. Perhaps the doctors did try and were just too late. I wonder though what they may have permitted in the interests of science.

I'll be honest and say that the thing which did skeeve me out was seeing the cross section of someone they had sliced in half vertically from nose to navel and then further on down. I wasn't expecting to see an example of my particular organ sliced lengthwise like that. Looking at some twenty odd male bodies with full genitalia didn't faze me as much as looking at that one poor guy.





Then we hopped back on the subway and headed back uptown to the Gotham Comedy Club. I wasn't aware that it also was located south of Penn Station, so we made it there well before the check in time. There were a number of up and comers interspersed with veterans (though you could tell the difference in how polished they were in setting up the jokes) and they weren't supported by a very energetic or enthusiastic crowd, I have to say. The usual foul mouthed, potty humor elicited the most laughter from the crowd. There were jokes about marriage and what their folks said to them when they finally were engaged.

I enjoyed some of their jokes and if I were giving awards, I would give them to a woman named Carolina and a man named Troy. She kept it clean as she made fun of girls from Jersey and all guys trying to hit on hot women. He made fun of rednecks, a certain president currently in office, midgets and a certain Catholic Pope currently on the Holy See. The most memorable moment was at the top of the show when the first comedian by the name of Wali was on stage and someone had a seizure less than three feet in front of him. Nothing like having a medical emergency in the audience to liven things up and make it almost impossible to recover from.

We closed the evening with a midnight dinner at some forgettable Texan based barbeque restaurant down the block from club where the food was not so great but the prices were really low. The wait staff kept pushing us to purchase expensive mixed drinks (I guess that's how they stay in business). We stayed there for an hour or so and then it was back to Penn station for the ride home.

In all, I was pleased that we didn't wreck our plans despite the setbacks and that I was able to enjoy a night out on the town without the compulsion to find a female to enjoy it with. I may do this more often in the future. Total cost for the night minus inspection charge and car repair parts: $12 round trip train ticket + $2 coffee on train ride + $10 six trip metro card + $24.50 exhibit fee + $12 for drinks with tip ($4.50 for 10 oz. of ice with a hint of soda? WTH?) + $19 dinner = $79.50 Ok. Maybe I won't do this more often. LOL.

Moments of lucidity

For me, the evening is nearing its end. I dropped off the last of my fellow companions for the night's festivities in New York City and I have been sober all night (for the record). I wanted to put into writing the oddity of driving home at 4 am in the morning and the surreal feeling I felt as I drove through moving banks of fog.

Due to the unusual weather we are having, it snowed over the weekend and now the temperatures are in the 40s at this time. The snow, which has been piled up on the sides of the road, is forming fog like vapors that the variable wind is pushing across the roads. The striations of clarity and fogginess caused me to feel like I was dreaming as I sped through these thin, opaque veils of white mist.

Maybe I am merely tired after a stressful day and an interesting afternoon followed by a funny evening. The lack of sleep causing me to imagine things that in a more rested and lucid state, I would ignore. Well, I am off to sleep and I will recount the last twenty four hours of events when I arise from my slumber.

My sore, aching back.

It snowed like six inches here after raining four inches of rain, which was frozen underneath the snow. I had to shovel out my driveway as well as the elderly couple who lives next to me and did it mostly alone. Wet, mostly frozen snow is really, really heavy. When I had just about finished shoveling everything, the rest of my family came out to help. And of course, just as we finish, the #*@%ing plow truck plows all that snow back in front of both driveways. I need a new back.

I'm typing this with a heat pack on my back and even sneezing hurts way too much right now. Heck, leaning over the table to type hurts. Since misery loves company, how many other people were fortunate enough to have to shovel today? I envy all of those people who have 60 degree (or higher) temps right now. I need to stop now before I hurt something else.

Bring out the gimp...

Yeah, I managed to injure myself somehow. I've been limping all over the place today. Last night, I went to participate in a shooting match with some friends and this morning I woke up to a painful charlie horse in my right calf that stretches all the way up to my hamstring. Fifteen minutes of stretching allowed me to be capable of walking with a limp this morning.

This isn't the first time I've had my calf cramp up like this, which I earned rounding first after a great hit playing softball. I barely limped to second base of what should have been a stand up triple. I'm not (too) bitter about it. It comes back every once in a while and I just have to limp around until it stops hurting. I just can't figure what I can do besides stretching to resolve this debilitating injury.

I'm beginning to suspect that stretching isn't going to fix this. Stoicism isn't going to dull the pain, and once you start limping as you walk around, there's no point to being stoic. After reading some articles about some major sports figures getting full body sports massages to relieve pain, I am curious about whether they help or not. I've also been told that this type of massage isn't something that is considered relaxing. Well, at least not until it's over.

I am also wondering what other options I might have but don't know where to look at this time. Time to start searching on google.

Are you a friend?

I was reviewing some comments from a previous post and one commenter observed how as one's circumstances change and as common ground is lost, friends drift away. That looking back can be detrimental. It's not my intent to pick apart someone's comment, but those two concepts raised red flags in my mind. I also want to make clear, I think that this commenter isn't advocating running from one's past. Yet, I want an opportunity to rebut and clarify some things.

We are nothing but what our pasts consist of. We define our very culture by what has happened prior to this point. Every bit of our past affects what we do in the future. Despite the seeming need to "repeat" history many have, we have to consider this past to learn from and perhaps improve upon in the future. Where is the detriment in that? Whether we see that past perfectly or not, what we know directs how we decide what we do today and tomorrow. Granted, I kind of let myself get carried away, and I digressed until I became very upset, which made my point become very much lost in that post.

Perhaps, one day, I will understand the reason why I find myself so pained by my loss and find a way to address that in a mature and platonic manner with the parties involved. Until then, I continue to suffer in silence. Well, if you ignore the part about me posting it for the entire world to see.

And for the record, natural instincts aside, any unattached male is considerably more likely to "poach" then one already spoken for, if you know what I mean. It is something I decry, yet I find myself continously tempted to do so in this particular case. Each time we, the bride, the groom and I, interact, I find that these feelings have not diminished.

However, the point was supposed to be how proud I was of what my friends have attained so far, and how sad it was that we have lost contact. Not another flush down the toilet about how complex my personal life has become. Even friendships need to be renewed and reinforced. So, when I see that time and circumstance have caused us to drift apart, I feel that I am not holding my end of the bargain as a friend.

Are we friends if, outside the common bounds of a shared activity, we drift apart? If I stopped writing in this blog, would you, my fellow bloggers and readers of this blog, cease being my friends? By definition, friends should still remain in contact despite a change in preferences or the course of my life's events moving me away to an another area which causes me to remain out of touch. Or is that the fact that I am missing?

Were these people that I once knew, never really friends to begin with? Are they merely acquantainces of convienence? Were the things we said, shared and did together the only reason and basis for why we were together in the first place? Is the pride I take in their successes a waste of energy?

I tell you that I do not think so. I feel that these relationships have merely gone dormant, awaiting for a moment where we reach out and rekindle that friendship which has waned from neglect. Now, which friend do I contact first whose friendship I will rekindle. So many choices...

Curiosity may have killed this cat.

I was reminiscing with an old friend about the good old days of our youth, when we started talking about friends we had lost contact with over the intervening years. On a whim, I chose to satiate my curiousity and googled these "lost" friends to see what I could find. The results were surprising in some respects and some were expected from the last information I had about them. Some have become lawyers, doctors, physical therapists, professors, marketing consultants, professional singers, art directors, teachers, civil engineers and social workers. It's amazing the breadth of professions that my group of friends have taken root in.

This is when my curiousity got the better of me. I decided to google for an old flame from college at a time when the world didn't look so scary, and planes didn't fly into buildings on purpose. It was heartwarming to read past emails that have gotten woven into the tapestry of the internet and hear those words spoken in my mind as if time had not gone by. And ever so heart wrenching. Truly, I was very much saddened when she stopped being part of my life and reading these emails brought back that sadness.

Before the internet record ended, I saw some clues that hint at things which leads me to believe that she has gotten engaged and probably married. I am happy for her. I am also unhappy as well because I am aware that another door in my past has closed. If I didn't know the meaning of bittersweet before this, I know it now when I see that another flame has guttered out.

It's not that she and I cannot ever be friends again. I'm sure that such a flame can be rekindled. However, I prefer to follow a strict policy of staying away from any woman who has made such a serious commitment to another person. Especially those I have dated before, there's much less temptation that way. This also means that I have few female friends in my life now, seeing that many of them are getting married.

I can joke with the guys and say that they are being sentenced for life when they get married. But how can you joke about a wall of silence that must be built up between you and a female friend who is getting married to another man? How do you explain this unusual and uncharacteristic silence to them? How do you see that woman at functions and explain why the usual jokes and suggestions can't be said anymore? I can only hope they understand, because I don't think I'd be able to explain the reasons very well to them. Heck, I can't explain them well enough to myself at times.

You may disagree with my policy which alienates women and pushes them away from my personal circle. However, I know I can't always tell when I am crossing the line between what is acceptable and what is not. When you realize that your casual friendship suddenly means more to you then it should. Worse yet, I don't want to cross that line and create a situation that burns a bridge of friendship.

It may seem like an unnecessary worry, but it is something that I concern myself with. Since I can understand the friction that results within a relationship when another (perceived) suitor may be around, I don't wish to be the cause of such friction. Especially if said suitor might harbor feelings for that woman and this suitor is a friend of the groom. Love is an invisible winding path through a minefield, I am beginning to realize.

I can't begin to describe how hard it was to look happy for the couple as I sat alone in a pew surrounded by their families and friends during the wedding. Having to be silent in that church as I watched them give their vows to each other. To smile with feigned pleasure as they danced their first dance. To see her glowing smile as she looked into his face. To share a toast for their enduring happiness as they came around to each table with apple cider, since they don't drink alcohol. That's right. To be entirely sober and watch as they enjoyed the beginning of their journey together.

I felt like such a liar. A fraud. Repressing my urge to blurt out that, "I care for you in that way, too!" To hear the words, "Forever hold your peace," and know that this couple will never learn from me that I have such feelings. Feelings which continue to smolder within my heart, despite my best efforts to stamp them out. Knowing that I must go on living without that which I permitted to slip into another's arms. In retrospect, being sober probably made it easier to hold in my emotions. I probably would have been bawling like a baby if I were under the influence.

And to compound my saddness and current feelings of loneliness: I just realized that I am listening to Andrew Lloyd Weber's Learn To Be Lonely, which is part of the Phantom of the Opera movie soundtrack, as I write this. Excuse me now as I go wallow in my own self pity. Especially now that this train wreck has derailed. I will leave you with a transcription of this melancholy song:

Child of the wilderness
Born into emptiness
Learn to be lonely
Learn to find your way in darkness

Who will be there for you
Comfort and care for you
Learn to be lonely
Learn to be your one companion

Never dream that out in the world
There are arms to hold you
You've always known
Your heart was on its own

So laugh in your loneliness
Child of the Wilderness
Learn to be lonely
Learn how to love
Life that is lived
Alone

Learn to be lonely
Life can be lived
Life can be loved
Alone

What's inside your cover?

I was sitting at the kitchen table earlier today trying to solve yesterday's sudoku in the paper without getting any help from today's solutions and I had an interesting epiphany. It became so clear and distinct to me as to why women always seem to clump together at social gatherings. It's not merely to be social and talk together. Oh, no, it's not just that.

This insight came to me in such a flash of comprehension that I was stunned by the simplicity of this realization. It's all part of the game, and I'm not talking about politics here. Yes, that infamous Game of Love.

It is about watching that (alcohol induced?) emboldened male walk up to this convivial grouping of females. Which at this point, this male will then introduce himself to one of the (lucky?) females in that grouping, possibly proffering some token gift and hoping that more will come out of it. And throughout this entire interaction, the peacock is (unwittingly?) being scrutinized by this woman's fellow female companions, who will then report to the targeted female what their opinion of the aforementioned peacock was. It doesn't matter what the conversation between the peacock and this female results in. (I've been trying very hard not to call this group of females by another name that is synonymous with young hens here.)

It makes so much sense now. It explains why females go in groups to the lavatory, for they might be accosted without another set of eyes to lay upon some unsuspecting suitor. It explains why when a guy walks up to these women, they all become silent until he walks away disheartened by the uncomfortable silence. It explains why they form circles, lest they miss seeing some piece of eye candy in one corner of the room. It also explains why women go to bars without money.

Granted, this cognizance isn't all encompassing, but this realization has been subconsciously gnawing at me and causing me vexation for longer than I care to admit. To have the solution surface without my conscious direction and understanding is fascinating to say the least and also very enlightening, of course. I also think that this effort by which I knock my imperfect supposition off of the proverbial pedestal was long in coming for me. The perception that there is very much a similarity between these two separate subspecies is also comforting.

And yet, it proves with greater certainty that we really are looking for what is on the cover as the primary criteria for selection and that intellectual depth as well as character development on the inside as secondary. Perhaps even considering these secondary traits as a bonus. If the cover is gaudily (or scantily) dressed enough, does what exists within those covers matter? What does this realization speak about me, when I also look for a nicely covered book hoping that the contents are just as interesting?

I begin to wonder if such a book exists both in a literary and physical sense. I've always wondered why classics are produced with such plain appearing covers when something so interesting lurks within those pages. Maybe I am looking at these things all wrong.

Forget the cover and look for what is inside? Is the gaudy cover merely a distraction? An illusion that there is something more complex and intriguing written on those pages? What a difficult proposition to reconcile this recognition with my own hormone induced urges. So. What's inside your cover?

How long is too long?

I am standing here, captivated by the color of your eyes, the fine long hairs of your eyelashes and how they appear to turn up to the sky on their own. I am awestruck at your demure appearance as you glance down at your work. I look upon your eyebrows and I am entranced by how they knit gently together as you concentrate on the task at hand. I enjoy the way that your hair frames your face and how you wear it makes you more attractive than I have ever noticed before. It's like I am seeing you all anew.

But you can't hear any of this because it is all going on within my mind. Now, I have been staring way too long. You are starting to get uncomfortable because of my direct gaze upon your visage. I haven't said or done anything for far too long. Your eyes cross mine and suddenly, I realize what I have been doing and look away. So, I am wondering. How long is too long when you look at a person?

Considering that it has been empirically proven that staring at someone is similar to a knee jerk reaction, why do we become uncomfortable when we catch someone staring at us? And yet, why then do we get told to make eye contact with people? Why does looking at someone directly make them feel that this person is solid and reliable? Why does the same eye contact between an amorous couple engender euphoric feelings instead of discomfort?

I've often wondered at the contradictions of our society that permits someone to dress in a fashionable (read: less than appropriate for the weather we currently have) way, and when we look at them for longer than a few moments, it causes them more discomfort than being cold. I've probably thought on this subject before, but what sparks this tangential question was the sight (spectacle?) of Mariah Carey dressed in a beautiful strapless dress while waving to fellow new years eve celebrators in near freezing temperatures. For more longer than a minute or two, just standing there, looking pretty as others run inside to where it is warmer.

So, my question remains: How long before looking at someone is considered too long? At what time does looking become staring? This inquisitive mind of mine wants to know. And put on a jacket for Pete's sake.

Today is a new day. (Again)

Ah yes, for me, today is a day to remember. Today is the day I stopped going to work before the sun rose and went home after the sun set. Today, I didn't have anyone complain to me about their negligence. Today, I didn't have to listen to any more weaseling about why they can't afford to pay for some item. Today, I won't have to wonder if Shipping will ship the wrong part to a customer who urgently needed it yesterday. Today, I won't have to find out how many different ways I can split my attention while still remaining sane.

Today, I celeberate my release from the corporate world. Today, I became a free man again. Free to do what I wanted to do with my life. Free to wake up in my own bed every day and not have to wonder if tonight I will be packing my bags haphazardly to fly or drive to some backwater town in a part of the country I would never intentionally visit. Free to have a real breakfast and read the paper when I rise from my slumber. Maybe even do the crossword puzzle.

On this day, I regained control of my life. Because, today is the first anniversary on which I was laid off by my rotten, despicable company. Time to pop the corks on the champagne and celebrate. Oh darnit. I don't have any left after the new years celebration. I guess I'll just have to improvise.

A twenty something non-virgin

I just finished watching a DVD that one of my siblings had gotten me for Christmas: The unrated version of The Forty Year Old Virgin. And do you know what he said when he gave me this gift? The character Andy Stitzer played by Steve Carell reminded him of me.

Courtesy of IMDB.com
Wow. He does not know how angry I was after hearing that. Seven days later and I'm still steamed about it. I will grant you that the movie was quite hillarious and I laughed heartily while watching it, but I did not appreciate the insinuation nor the additional reminder that I was still single and not getting any. And in some respects, yes, I must truthfully admit it: I do have some personality traits that resemble that character in the movie. (And no, I am not a virgin. Nor am I hairy.)

There are also some personal parallels that I have in common as well: I used to work in shipping at some unnamed fancy clothing retail store. I also remember being pulled out to go help customers wearing a dirty pair of jeans and a t-shirt. My female boss did not hit on me or make any inappropriate offers though. And I have to say, what an education I got when I was told to inventory the intimates section. (Wait, that's two pieces of string tied together, isn't it supposed to cover anything?) I also can't say that I've been given anybody's phone number.

I, too, own a bike, however, being currently unemployed, I don't bike to work. (I have been conteplating riding to school. Too bad there's no safe place to keep the bike.) And before I bought myself a nice new mountain bike two years ago, I was riding a ten year old Huffy that had definitely seen better days. Steel alloy is really heavy compared to aluminum I can tell you.

What personality traits do I have that are similar to Steve Carell's Andy? Well, I'm shy, introverted, relatively reliable and too nice for my own good. And now, apparently the butt of jokes related to not getting any.