Cries From the Mid-Life Circus

In just over two weeks I shall turn forty.
This means that I must plan for my mid-life crisis, a life-changing event which I understand could begin any day now.

The standard approach would be to get a sports car, a toupee and a twenty-year old girlfriend named Bambi or Candi. This has its merits:

1) I cut a dashing figure in an MG!

On the downside, my real car is a 1987 Honda Accord. It gets good mileage but it doesn't attract many Bambies and Candies- who, in any case, are likely at least as difficult and expensive to maintain as the MG.

I'd face the guillotine before I'd wear a toupee.
After the guillotine it's a moot point.

In my mind, a man who wears a toupee loses all rights to utter a single word in regard to the idiosyncrasies of women, their vanity , appearance and the like. As long as he's wearing a wig, he'd better keep his mouth shut about whatever his wife or GF wears, primps, etc.
Dude!
You'd give that up just so's people could laugh at a muskrat gnawing on your skull?

So, I don't need the toupee - but I'm still several hundred thousand dollars shy of achieving the rest of the goal-more than being merely a man out of money ; spritually, I'm a Man Out of Time.
I'll take a more Classical approach and meditate on God, Nature, Man, Art,Love,Universe- you know, Stuff. I'm sure it's not as complicated as it's made out to be.
I might be able to understand some of it.

I'm not a complete dunce.

If I were, I'd be shopping for a wig.




*Huuugggeee props to anyone who can tell me where I punned the post's title from.

What it's not

It took me twenty minutes to sign into Blooger today.

Usually, I'd fault Blooger for this; this evening, however, I'm afraid the blame rests squarely on myself. I'm having a typist tizwas.

Technical talk regarding profanity: It doesn't matter how many times you type the word "fuck" into the sign-in and password fields - you will never be granted access to your blog unless you enter your real info.
I learned that no one has a blogger ID/Password combo of "fuckfuck/fuckfuck"; ffuucckk/ffuucckk"; "fuckfuckfuck/fuckfuckfuck" or the like , for if they did, I would have been logged on as them.

It was all that I could type when I got home. I was helpless. I could think of other words, but could only hit four keys and 'enter' on my keyboard.
Fuck.

Perhaps a fresh pot of coffee will settle me down. I love the ritual of coffee- selecting the beans from the 'fridge and smelling them; placing them into the grinder and applying palm pressure ...
GGGRIIZZZZZZ......oh, how I love that sound. I think I get a contact high just from the sound of grinding beans. Run the water, fill the pot...not quite full, it's evening, ya know?
And you just gotta smell the fresh ground- that smell holds so much promise... I savor the aroma because this day sucks and the smell of fresh coffee is the only good part of it.

I should feel good, sorta: I had my workplace evaluation and was found worthy of pay increase - as high as 2.5%, but likely to be less.
Woo.
the
Hoo.
Fuck.

With that sort of money, I can buy shoes three times a year instead of my traditional two.

I did get high marks in everything except morale and attendance; I do sometimes call in sick and use the time to blog about how much I hate my job, so I can't really defend that charge.
I blog from work too- once my Boss asked me what I was doing:

"Allan, what are you doing?"

"Writing a blog about how much this job depresses me."

"Oh. "

But I'm not the slightest bit happy or proud of any of this, because I don't do fuck-all at work and really don't care about it in the least- I just find it 's easier to do a good job than a poor one. If I do a good job the first time, I can fuck off until the next task comes along- a period of days or weeks at my present office.

My favorite days are the days when someone asks me to move something, such as a pile of boxes or a set of modular furniture. It's not part of my job, but it's useful work and I like to consider myself a useful man. I feel better on those days too- the exercise is good for body and spirit. After noticing this, I have taken to the habit of a lengthy stroll in the evening; it's had a small but noticeable improvement in my overall well-being. Recommended for the office-bound!

...anyway... my evaluation just served to remind me how poorly fitted I am for the modern workplace. When I was drinking , I didn't have this problem- I'd still be drunk from the previous evening and that buzz (and a handful of pills) would get me through the day. Work was easy and my 'numbers' always kicked ass- I was very enthusiastic about everything when I was drunk and for me, most grunt-level office/admin work is actually easier if I'm three sheets to the Inkjet - if you get my meaning. With the proper drugs, the alphabetical order of letters can become interesting...even challenging. And I like a challenge.

But it'll have been a year (next week) since my last drink and I don't touch anything stronger than coffee at work anymore- but I just don't know how much longer I can work in the closet.
I don't mean a figurative closet- I'm not gay and my 'secrets' are a matter of public record-I mean an actual closet that might otherwise be used to store brooms, pails and cleansing supplies.

The walls are a bleak institutional yellow- the bleached canary shade is supposed to induce calm productivity . It is unsuccessful.To my eye it's jarring and harsh; at least, mercifully, it is not Muzak.
Muzak is the mind-killer.
Years of being in and around lousy live bands has given me an uncanny ability to filter out most sound- office babble; ringtones; traffic;bad music etc, while still hearing what I wish to hear...( I practice safe sound- use protection, no joke) but Muzak kills me because it has now usurped the music of my youth.

Hearing 'Train in Vain' on the lift is discouraging, to say the least.

Things, of course, are in a sort of stasis during the current family situation- but it's given me some time to think and to plan- at some point in the foreseeable future there will be a yes/no decision ( or series of, more like) to make and I'd better be prepared to not fuck it up.

A year ago, I would have gone out and purchased a 12-pack of beer if I found myself typing "fuckfuckfuck" into the PC. That is how I dealt with the things that made me unhappy or uncomfortable, which was everything by that point.

A year ago I would be dead in less than ten days.
I was barely saved in the ER.

Tonight, I paused, did my little coffee bit watched the rain for awhile...then came back and wrote this, which really isn't about anything.

It's not Shakespeare, but it's also not a twelve-pack.

I'm gonna deal with what comes, because that is what adults do when things happen. After a time, all will work out; better or worse, my obligations will be discharged and the rest is up to me.

I'd like to say that having a near-death experience produced some sort of epiphany that caused me to find some miraculous instant inner peace but it didn't work like that for me.
Instead , I have good days and bad days. I expect that will continue for the rest of my life, but that's normal- even for 'normal ' people.
I've noticed that some things that I used to consider important now seem irrelevant and silly, and the reverse. This is corny, even trite, but I think it's important to do right by others- I mean, duh? Common sense would dictate this starts by being good to oneself, right?

Try telling that someone who is hell bent on destroying themselves. They don't listen very well.

Trying times...

Overall, things are better and seem to be continuing in that direction, life happens, it ends- but until then you do what you can and enjoy the good- and there will be good, even if you can't see it now. I know this is true- I forget it from time to time, but deep inside I know that life is worth the effort. I'm reminding myself of this right now.
Perhaps it'll spread.

See. That wasn't so bad...calmed down, got some words out. It doesn't have to make sense- it's a blog.

It's not a twelve-pack.


HOLY COW UPDATE:

I just posted the above. I was full of fear and trying be brave, show hope. Tough old me!
The phone rang- my brother.
The giant malignant tumor that was inside my Grandmother and causing her such pain was not a tumor at all.
Some serious errors were made in the examining of the x-rays.
Don't ask what the mass really was - but the good news is that she is not expecting to leave us any time soon.
Thank you all for hopes , prayers, comments, everything...love to all of you!

I guess I should be mad at the first set of doctors Gran saw but I'm not.

I'm not mad at anyone right now.

Driving Tips For Suburbanites

If you are in a vehicle that stalls out while passing through a busy city intersection, here is what you should do:

a) First, apply brakes. Otherwise , your cars' momentum may carry you forward, out of the way of approaching vehicles.
If timed properly, you can block traffic in four directions simply by braking once. Impressive- you nailed it the first time!

b) Call someone on your cell phone. Ignore the mess you are causing all around you. Talk on the phone and try to re-start the car. Panic for no reason. Let everyone around know you are panicking by waving your free hand around crazily and shouting into the cell phone at arm's length. Maybe a mechanic will pass by and help you but you'd do better with a psychiatrist at this point.

c) Eventually, several of the male passengers aboard the bus that you are blocking will disembark and ask if they can help push your vehicle off to the side. Whatever you do, DO NOT roll your window down- not even a crack- in order to hear what the men are saying. Do not put down the cell phone either- you'll need it to call the police- one of the bus passengers is black, you see and he's yelling! Help!

He's yelling, "Ma'am, DO YOU NEED HELP?" , but don't tell the cops that. Make sure that the men offering help know that you have called the police on them. Your gratitude will be duly noted.

d) When the police arrive and the bus driver explains what is happening, make sure you apologize to the police and to the bus driver. Do not apologize to the black man you called the cops on, but make sure to thank the nicely-dressed white guy from the bus for offering exactly the same help as the black guy that you dialed 911 on.

e) When you get back to your gated community you can tell all your neighbors about how dangerous the city is.

Just Sayin'

If you got married today: Congratulations and many happy years together to you both!

My Big MySpace Date

Here's my new best pal.
I'm kidding- that's Ron. He's my old best pal- I've known him since grade school and learned everything I know about guitar (which is nothing) from him.
I suppose I should be angry at him for turning me onto playing music and setting me on the path to fame, fortune and international critical acclaim. It ruined my life, it did, but I don't carry a grudge.
I guess we'll have dinner or coffee sometime.

You can see that Ron has been in a lot of bands. I was in some of them- I barely remember one of them until I saw my name in the line-up...been a while since those days.

Ugh. Myplace is even worse than rumour has it- there are a few real people on it and they seem to be as perplexed as I am, but overall it's horrid...amok is my favorite word for mywaste...
but...
the Music thing seems to be almost neccesary for promotion and networking.

I'm trying to set up a music site , which looks easy at first , but actually works like this:

-First you fill in basic info- standard profile stuff. Easy.

-Then you click random buttons until you see something that says upload music- and you are told you can only upload music from a myMusic space- something they didn't mention while you were creating your 'standard' Mydisgrace site.

- You create a mymusic site. There's a long list of genres you can label yourself as, but you can't type in anything, just choose from a list. I don't fall into any single genre- and clicking 'alternative' is just another way of saying "same old shit that was boring when I was a kid."
' Other' sounds really sexy. I already hate this site.

It also only accepts mp3s, which actually makes sense- even if I personally hate mp3, they are easy...

-So spend a little while converting .wav files to decent-sounding 320 k mp3s.

-Upload. The first few times you'll probably get an error message. You'll be reassured the technical support has been notified. This is probably a lie. Such notices almost always are.
Ignore it and try a few more times.

- Eventually, it will start uploading.
If your PC is as old as mine, this is a good time to go do laundry and do shopping, because this takes a really, really long time.

-When you get home, there will be a message telling you that your file was too large.

- Waste time converting to lossy format. Upload. Feed the cats.

- You then get a message telling you that mywaste is converting your file to streaming format and please wait 24 hours- meanwhile , put up a pic. You will see a'proccessing' icon for one day, after which your song will play when your site is visited.

-Wait a day. Visit your site. Your song is gone. There's nothing to indicate that you've ever tried to upload anything- even the pic and caption are gone.

Screw this. What was wrong wiyh my pic? It wasn't obscene. Maybe I didn't look 'rock' enough...
...I don't have a pic of myself brooding, guitar in hand, and those seem to be de rigueur for a mymusic site.
.I've got some lo-fi mp3s posted here and there already- if you care , I'll send you links. If you really want I'll send a CD.

But I just can't get the damned mything to work.

I think I'll take up busking.

Fuck! Now Blooger is all for shit too!

Maybe I'll switch to pamphleteering.

Denial is Tiring

Whew! I just realized that I've had a three-day panic attack. A few hours ago this wave of exhaustion rolled over me and I took a long nap.
I feel OK now, but looking back, I've been a bit stressed and wasn't admitting (to myself) how bad it was.

I feel helpless about my grandmother's illness, and I just can't help but feel a bit angry because I have to put all my own plans on hold until the inevitable comes to pass- I am sort of "on call"and can't really go very far away or be out of touch for long and it's...I dunno... frustrating? I am ashamed of myself for having such selfish thoughts.

But I have them anyway.

Yesterday , I got really stoned, which usually calms me down and lets me sleep, but it just made me hungry and a bit stupid. Still, it was good to have an appetite again and I giggled a bit, even if my jokes were dumb.

But I couldn't sleep at all.

This afternoon , my cousin had his 18th birthday party- I expected to go and jam a bit with him and his semi-musical school pals ( he's learning- he'll be ok w/ practice) , maybe teach him a few guitar licks- that sort of thing- but I started feeling really twitchy ,unfocused and tired.
Coffee was making it worse.
I said I wasn't well and came home and slept for a while.
I also had to find a substitute for my up coming radio shows , in case I am called away in emergency- cancelling a live broadcast at the last second is not an option, you know.

Now I feel like I have let everyone down.The rational part of me says " don't worry, no big deal, thse are special circumstances" , but I really wanted to jam a little and doing the radio show is one of my favorite things.
I wish I didn't feel this way.

Good news though- it looks as if my Gran may have a bit longer than first thought-I'm hesitant to speculate - but I might still be able to visit the Twin in Chicago, as scheduled, before...well, before. The Twin will be here in a couple days, so we'll figure something out then.

I'm sorry for being so lame. I am a little worried though.

As several friends have pointed out- as long as I don't drink, things will be OK.

Fingers crossed!

Cyber What ?

I'm trying something new today: Instead of replying to a comment in the comments box, I am going to paste a reader's comment from my previous post here and reply in the form of a post- s her comment touched on a number of subjects I'd been struggling to connect- ties it all up neatly for me, hopefully it will help me stay 'on point' during the following jeremiad.

The comment:
Allan,
There was just a thing on tv this morning recomending specialized sites like "music singles" or "scuba singles". I dont think there is anything wrong with using the internet to meet people. I would use chat rooms or myspace, but that's just me. (and I'm married, not looking, and yet people seem to find me when I'm in a chat room for something like realestate... it actually gets bothersome)
I will tell you to be sure to look at all those girls who you think of as "just friends" Sometimes the person for you is right in front of you.

The jeremiad:

When things are recommended on TV it is usually called 'advertising'. The stuff that isn't advertising is called 'propaganda'. Don't believe any of it.
I also think the internet is a great way to meet people- it makes sense- it's easier to meet people who share like interests and views ; contrary to accepted thought it's actually easier to be honest on-line than in real life. (For me anyway- I'm a bit shy in person)
On-line, if someone doesn't approve of the real you, they needn't bother with you at all, simply 'click' you back into the Ethereal. You don't even need to know when you are rejected or why, which (to me , at least) is a quite a boon. I dislike those "I like you, but..." moments.
That said, I don't trust those date sites worth a damn.
I do like blog and email , of course. Back to this in a moment...

I tried chat, but I found that no matter what the subject was, I couldn't follow a single thread of conversation- it was just a splatter of overlarge and brightly colored punctuation- are exclamation marks somehow more meaningful if they are used by the score?

I didn't know what a/s/l meant and I certainly didn't know what "cyber" was. The first time someone offered to to " cyber" with me , I quickly discovered that 'cyber' is merely shorthand for masturbating to someone else's imagination- don't get me wrong, I'm not a total prude and I enjoy talking dirty with someone I'm already sleeping with- but the idea of an anonymous exchange of that sort seemed a bit sad and pathetic to me. Not much excitement there.

I'm glad you brought up myspace. I have an aversion to it- in my opinion it's like an ADD nightmare convention run amok- I fear the overwhelming volume of blinking crap and flashing scam ads will cause seizures; I don't like the friends part ; I don't like the ownership; the overt pedophilia is especially disturbing ...but hell yeah, I'll try anything.

I'm desperate.

I've told a real-life friend this plan; I've also shared it with a new penpal (who I've been quite inspired by) , and now I'll share it with the whole world, which, according to my traffic counter, is comprised of only 6 people.

My plan:

I've created two myspace identities. One is just me, as myself, with no embellishments or bullshit.

The other persona is an egomaniac gun-wielding chimpanzee with a marginal sociopathic personality disorder and a perverse fascination for human women.

I'm guessing the ape gets a date before I do.
He gets emails.
I don't.

All those cool girls who I think of as " just friends" are married or gay.

This isn't gender-specific. I was telling a lovely but lonely woman the same thing recently, only in regard to the 'cool' men and the lack thereof...
"All the cool men are either married , gay or me", I said in my typical sensitive and reassuring manner.
Some choices, eh?

Sometimes that "right person" is as far away as Pluto, but Pluto is a sore subject for me right now, so I'll stop before I lapse into an outraged astronomical tirade.

It's a planet, dammit!

My Personal Ads and What Happened

Some months ago, in a horrible moment of utter isolation and desperate loneliness, I signed up for a free trial with a pair of internet dating services.

Please don't laugh. I've been alone for a long time and it's going to kill me, in spirit, if not body, if I don't find a way to meet someone.
This isn't funny. Loneliness is deadly, no doubt about it- and please, spare me the 'just get out there and meet someone speech"- I try and try, but I can't meet anyone (unattached) who likes me 'that way'- so I decided to take a chance- the first 30 days were free, after all...and the debit card I used was expiring soon anyway, so what's the risk?

The services had catchy names like 'E-Harming Me' and 'Lies.com' and they promised that I would certainly find that special someone with little or no problem, so long as I answered the questions honestly.
I did so.
I really did.

After a few hours of answering questionnaires, I was presented with some discouraging results.
Both services indicated that I was a match for a statistically insignificant number of their "six million happy clients", that the odds of me meeting someone with a "highly compatible" profile were next to zero.
Among the criteria I listed as desirable were:
- female, age 30-45 and within 45 miles of my zipcode;
- race /hair/eye color unimportant, any;
- some college preferred;
-body type desired: normal to 'a few extra pounds' ;
- income/profession : not important, any;
-religion: atheist, agnostic, any;
-politics: leftist, moderate;
-sexuality: straight, monogamous, but uninhibited; ( one question asked if I enjoyed oral sex. What a dumb question, I thought...who doesn't? Many people, it turns out... but I don't wanna date any of them.)
-interested in music, art, books, history, cooking , travel, politics and conversation...
- no drinking, but smoking cigs and mild drug use (pot only) is ok...

What's so odd about any of this? I know lots of women who meet these broad requirements, none of whom are are single, but hey, plenty of fish in the sea, ya know...

After a few days, I started getting messages from middle-age BBWs in LA, twenty-year-old students in far-away states- young things with names like Candi 018 and Sexiblueyes6969, and some mails from quite a few nice-seeming women who prefaced every statement with an assertion of their devotion to Jesus and who were looking for a spiritual soul-mate to study Scripture with. They didn't mention enjoying cunnilingus.
Obviously, none of them had read my profile, the system just randomly sent me spam so it would seem that the whole enterprise wasn't total bullshit. (It is)

My trial periods ended without so much as a single one-on-one email exchange. I sent quite a few 'winks' and letters, no replies ever came back.

Not one.

Cancel me, I informed the services.

"Don't give up", they exhorted . "We'll give you another 30 days free- here, read some testimonials"- the testimonials were from 'happy' people who'd been using the services for months, even years.

I thought that was odd, telling even.

If the service was supposed to find one a long-term lover, why would you stay enrolled for years? I wasn't looking for a floozy binge, I was looking for a girlfriend- I can fail in romance for free, with no outside help , so why should I purchase an annual membership with a service that somehow thought I'd be perfect for a 320-pound, 55 year old divorcee in Flint, Michigan?

Has anyone else tried these services? I mean anyone who is willing to admit it?

I noticed that almost all the women wanted men 6' ft tall or higher- is that the problem? I'm not tall but I'm not a midget or a 'pencil'. I'm not ugly or fat, and I'm actually pretty funny, in a laughter sense. I'm not rich, but I always have a job- but I was always clicking the income boxes near the bottom- hey, I'm single and don't need a lot of money. I can make more if I have to, but I just am not driven by money- I wanted a friend and lover, not a gold-digger. Someone to laugh and cry with- and have lots of great sex too...

I didn't realize that this made me a complete freak, unsuitable for any sort of healthy relationship, but it does- I thought.

That's not true. There are women out there that would be happy with me , and i with them. They just don't use "E-Harming Me.com" to find mates, which makes them smarter than me.
I'm OK with that.
I am picky when it comes to smarts.
Me like smart women.

Damn, I'll be forty and I've never even been engaged.

Then again, I've never been divorced , so there's a zinc-plated lining to every cloud, I suppose.

Did I mention that I'm a great cook? That used to work wonders for me, but I have no one to cook for these days.

On the positive side, I rarely get my dishes dirty any more.

Hope and Dreams

One day soon I will finish writing my post about Stephen, my long-lost penpal . I loved that man, you know- not in a creepy internet way, and no, I'm not gay- but I was going through some horrible times and our correspondence really helped me through that period. He was also ill and also had almost no one else to talk to , so it was a mutual thing. Guitars and being crippled- we had that in common to start, we discovered much, much more over time.
I eventually healed and was able to play again, but Stephen was not so lucky.

How many of you love people that you know only through the internet? ( Show of hands?...yes, I thought I wasn't the only one) . I don't mean romance, I don't mean cyber-sexing or whatnot, I mean people that you would deeply miss should they suddenly disappear from your (virtual) life- I don't think one can feel that horribly bereft feeling of loss and confusion without having felt some love first...if you didn't care, it wouldn't hurt, would it?

I've felt it- feeling it now even, and it hurts, but it's OK. I'll get over it.

I didn't know what a 'blog' was when I knew Stephen , but I have always enjoyed exchanging letters; today I have smart and funny new pals that I have intermittent exchanges with -good people who take a few minutes here and there to send a few words my way- but Stephen was one -of-a-kind. Our mails would be many 'pages' long...nowadays, I sometimes get a mid-length letter from a current pal or (pal-ette) and they will close with " sorry for going on so long" or a similar sentiment. I always think this is peculiar...

(One last penpal note, and then I will share something that made me happy)

-Please, never apologize for sending me a long email.
I love receiving them. It means that somewhere, someone took some of their valuable time and used it to communicate with me.

Those of you who have never been lonely ( show of hands? I see...none ) will not appreciate what a rare and marvelous thing it is to receive a thoughtful personal letter that someone wrote just because they wanted to, because they like you and they see something in you that makes it worth the time and energy to devote to the dying art of true, heartfelt correspondence. With you.
No money scams, no sexual overtones, no creepy motives- just the sheer human joy of knowing that someone does care about you and they aren't afraid to say so. The breaking of barriers, the sharing of hearts...I miss Stephen and I miss... others.
I could tell him anything- if I was wrong, he'd explain why, not simply give up and stop writing. We worked all that stuff out-after all, no two people agree on everything-unless one of them is lying. We didn't have to lie- we just worked it out. It's not hard if you care enough to try.

*sigh*

Again, I get a call from my grandmother before I can finish this post: Pastor Jones has spent the evening talking with my father about his alcoholism and what to do about it.
Tomorrow, dad will meet with a counselor from an intake center who will undoubtedly decide that he needs the "28 Days program".
I pray that Dad accepts this and checks himself in. My brother and I will pay whatever it costs.

"Allan", said my Grandmother," your father told Pastor everything you said to him on Sunday, and Pastor wanted me to call you and talk to you about it."

Oh no. Did I fuck up? I didn't have a plan or script, I just found him, called him out and forced him to look at what he was doing to himself, and most importantly, to his mother.

I was completely, brutally frank with my dad. I didn't mince a single word- I'll not post all that here, but it was not an easy talk and I have been living since Sunday with the fear that I may have been too harsh, that I might have pushed him to suicide. The last thing this family needs is another suicide; especially if it's my fault.

"Ok, what did Pastor say?"
Bracing myself.

"Pastor said he is incredibly proud of you. He said you did and said exactly the right things and that no one, absolutely no one , could have done better; that my father took it all to heart and decided to come home and get help, to be with his dying mother and to make peace with his children. He says you may have saved your father's life."

My grandmother was in tears, thanking me for bringing her son home, for doing what no one else had been able to do. She will have her son with her when it is her time to leave this world.
I can never repay my Gran for all the care she has given me, but if I can help her to pass from this world in peace and calm, then that at least is a start.

I have hopes, I have dreams and I believe that I have a chance of seeing them come true.
That is all.

Some Hope

Sunday, at my Grandmother's behest, I set out to find my lost, drunken father. Someone needed to tell him that his mother was dying, and that someone was me.

He wasn't hard to find, but he was almost impossible for me to look at. I'll spare the details, but he is in a very bad way. I hardly recognized him.

Our talk- my monologue, rather- was basically thus: "Come home now and we will find help for you. If you do not quit, your mother will outlive you , and she is dying very soon. Every day you spend missing and drunk costs your mother a day of her life because the worry is killing her- come home now and you will be able to say goodbye to her. If you don't want to quit, stay where you are because my brother and I are going to be busy with arrangements and we can't deal with your drunken bullshit while do the things that we have to do. It's up to you."

He told me to leave and I was certain that he was going to take his life as soon as I left.

I just got off the phone with my Grandmother. Her tests are not good at all- days, perhaps a few weeks...her willpower is amazing , she will probably live longer than expected- she already has, really.

She had good news, though. My father came home yesterday. He actually listened to what I said and he decided to come home. Our family Pastor is talking with him this evening about treatment options and what can be done. He will certainly need to de-tox in hospital, as alcoholic withdrawal can kill you. It almost killed me, you know.

It's still up to him, and he's blown every chance so far, but he did come home.

He cared enough to come home, so perhaps he will get help. I don't know what to expect - I suppose I should not have any expectations at all- but the fact that he came home means that there is still some part of him that wants to live.

I don't know what is to happen, but there is still some hope, and that is a good thing.

Don't Know

There's a lot I don't know, but my Grandma is still alive, alert and smiling. My heartfelt thanks to everyone who has called, written or left a note- I will write more coherently soon , apologies if I have been rambling too much or too little.
I'm going into the office to put in a few hours- I'll try to write more from there if I can.

Waiting

We are waiting for test results, although I know they can be wrong.

Years ago, my mother was told that she had less than six months to lve, but she lived for nearly two years and was reasonably comfortable and active for that time.

Sometimes the doctors are wrong.

I have to go now.

Everything Changes

I have lived more in the last two hours than I have lived all year. I have barely left my room.

This isn't good or bad, it just is.

It started when I began writing this post about my lost penpal Stephen, I lost him before I started blogging. He'd been ill and my last few letters were unanswered and it's been years, so I fear the worst- anyway, I got this far:

My first electronic pen-pal was named Stephen, he was an expatriated Englishman living in Australia via Texas...

[ several paragraphs of snippage, later for it)

...guitar talk, yadda yadda.

And I decided to take a break. I checked my email and I had a lovely letter from a perfect stranger, letting me know that she had been cheered up by one of my posts. I was feeling melancholy about my old buddy, so this email was perfectly timed.

Lifted my spirits, it did. I cheered someone up! That , to me, is good thing.

I decided I was going to try to find some of Stephen's letters and print some of the funniest bits-the man was hilarious. I think I saved some emails...

...somewhere...

And
Then

the phone rings.
It is my grandmother and she has bad news.

The news , of course, is that my father is dead. Alcohol has finally taken him in body, long since taken the rest. I hope it didn't hurt.
I'm not surprised at the call. I've been getting ready for this day for years; I can cope.

But that isn't the news she gives me.
My dad isn't dead, not that we know of anyway, he's just MIA -Missing in Alcohol. No one knows where he is. This is normal for him.

The bad news is : her cancer is back and it's very bad.
This is the third time and there isn't anything anyone can do but pray that the end is as pain- free as palliative care allows.
My grandmother is against being placed on life support; I agree with her on this and love her even more for her courage.

I need to tell my brother but he isn't home. I need to tell my uncle, but he isn't home.
That is all the family I have and they are not home.

So I never finished my post. I wrote this instead.

I hope somebody calls me back soon. I 'm freaking out.

Never Question Authority

I had never used a PC-type computer before 1999. I was introduced to them when I worked for the Census Bureau - what a marvel they were! I'd seen DOS systems in retail, but this PC thing had games and stuff -and- check this out - it had the internet. Oooh! Sports, comics, news and stuff, but that was it.
Disappointing, it was.
This internet, thought I, was pretty damn limited in both scope and depth. I didn't know enough to realize that our Federal PCs were on an intranet and the reason I could only access a dozen or so sites was a network issue, not a flaw in the internet itself. Still, I found the infernal machine quite useful.

During idle hours I played around on the PCs and learned basic stuff like using clip art to make posters and templates to print CD booklets and other documents for personal use.
My email was some sort of Federal intranet Outlook thing that couldn't communicate with outside networks, or at least wasn't supposed to; that was my only experience with email- letters from my boss and co-workers- so I didn't see much use in it. I was so dim that I thought that all email was like that- in hindsight , some of my co-workers were getting around that security...it was all mysterious to me though.

I was in the "cool! I can read Doonesbury on my computer" stage of PC awareness, but I never really considered buying one- after all , I could use the ones at work for free- they had color printers already set to go.
I got really good at making signs.
I enjoyed making fake signs about non-existent forms and regulations and posting them on walls when no one was looking- a clever stunt I stole from a Discordian dwarf by the name of Markoff Cheney. I worked the 3 to midnight shift and was the last one out most nights, so I had ample time to place my creations in high-traffic areas:

Attention: All Employees!

Effective 12/31/99

Form 2323E will be replaced with
a triplicate Form 9000F
( Usage document only)

Violators will be Notified

-the Mgt.

I'd stroll in at 3pm, half-drunk and stoned off my ass, laughing at people asking each other:
where are the 9000F forms , what is a Usage document?
( my answer: I think it's a Form 2323E, but you can't use those anymore)

Nobody asked what a Form 2323E was, which is what I was counting on since there was no such Form as a 2323E or a 9000F.

To me, this unquestioning obedience to authoritative nonsense was my first real taste of how dehumanizing the modern office environment is, how much it destroys the mind and the soul; it was the first time I knew that if I didn't do something crazy, I would be driven insane.
Before that, I thought only food-service and retail jobs were dehumanizing spirit-killers; only because I'd never had a 'real' office job...

This incident at a McDonald's serves as a vividly horrific example of this principle of dehumanized labor and civics- a man phoned a McDonald's and identified himself as a police officer- the manager didn't question him , didn't think it was odd at all that he instructed her to strip-search a teenage employee. She didn't think it was unusual that this "police officer" would instruct her to...
Well, let's just say that the occurence prompted the prosecuting attorney make this understatement:

Still, he said he found it disturbing that anyone would believe that "sodomy is part of a lawful criminal investigation. There had to be a point where he realized that this wasn't right," Mann said of Nix.

Not only did the manager and her boyfriend jump right into the roles the "mystery cop" assigned them, but the poor cashier didn't have the nerve to question the proceedings either- no one seemed to think that naked jumping-jacks were a bit unneccesary or unorthodox in conducting a theft investigation via phone. Sodomy? Must be OK- the guy says he's a cop, you know? To me, this event is incomprehensible.

No one even bothered calling the real police and asking: " what the fuck is up with this phone investigation crap anyway?"

I see this 'blind sheep' workplace dynamic all the time- for instance, today one of the paralegals asked me if she could use the cart in the downstairs mailroom for a few minutes and "bring it right back".

"Go ahead. It's not mine" , I replied.
I just assume it belongs to the firm, and I use it when I need it. It's not complicated, it's a cart.

"Oh."

She was stuck, hovering in the doorway of my workhole.

"Who should I ask?"

"Why ask anyone? Just use the cart."

"I don't want to get in trouble."

So I wound up moving her boxes for her. I didn't mind doing it, I have nothing to do at work after all, but I can't stop thinking about her question...

"Who should I ask?"

...and the timid, fearful mindsight that leaves a grown woman incapable of taking the slightest initiative without approval from above. I wonder what happens when she needs paperclips?

Does she lurk in the supply room waiting for someone to tell her it's OK to grab a box of clips?

I may be troubled, but at least I can move boxes without pissing myself in fear.

Speaking of Crashing and Burning...

I'm not surprised to hear Virginia Senator and GOP presidential hopeful George Allen call a black man a 'macaca'. He's that kinda guy.

Speaking of Flying...

My flight is booked!
I'll be in Chicago Sept 12-18.

Fear of Flying

CI Airlines recently announced a 're-structuring' of it's passenger services, citing recent security alerts, rising costs and plummeting stocks as the driving force behind the sweeping overhaul of it's entire fleet of passenger aircraft, mostly Boeing 737 and 747 models dating from 1980 to the present.

The high-risk 'Coach' class has been reduced in size to accomodate a more inexpensive, security-friendly 'Restraint' section located near the rear of each plane's fuselage. Holders of lower-fare tickets will have all of their belongings confiscated prior to boarding, after which they will be fitted with a protective 'Security Suit' and stacked three or four high on rough-hewn Security Planks- surplus items imported from former Eastern Bloc prisons recently 'modernized' by CI Air's parent company, The Company.
Sturdy Bungee cords and loosely applied Geneva Standards will be used to prevent in-flight 'rollage'.

'Restraint' Class tickets will be sold as 'Steerage' in Europe and Canada


New Security Suit protects airline passengers from terrorists, self, others.

Passengers will be subject to a strict screening before boarding each flight, a delay that one CI Air executive , on condition of anonymity, described as a "really, really long time."

Travelers not meeting rigid racial, political and socio-economic guidelines will be provided with Security Suits and placed in Restraint until their destination is reached and their statements taken, after which they may be released or detained indefinitely without counsel.

The suits are padded, fireproofed and use a modified airbag technology to self-inflate immediately upon oceanic impact, thus doubling as floatation devices. Critics have claimed the suits are potential hazards, lethally crushing the occupant when inflated; a charge that CI Air refuses to comment on, stating that the suits are necessary to prevent terrorists from using Spontaneous Human Combustion to jeopardize airliners and passengers.



Fly Freedom Class and sit upright!


The new, smaller, Coach sections will be re-named " Freedom Class", with passengers retaining the right to sit quietly and read a newspaper of the airline's choice.
Food, drink, cigarettes , cosmetics, liquids, medicines, paper products, electronic devices and clothing with a polyester content exceeding 40% will be prohibited in the new Freedom Class; toilet facilities and emergency medical treatment may be available on longer domestic and most international flights.

The toilets will be portable and mounted on casters so that they may be pushed down the aisle to the flier 'in need'. Despite a predictiable outcry from "privacy activists", CI Air maintains that supervised excretory functions are needed in order to prevent terrorists from using urine, feces and other secretions to create potentially devastating biological weapons.


Minimum-wage worker places collection cartridge in portable aisleway toilet

The largest portion of each aircraft will be converted into huge "Sky Resorts", with artificial beaches, full service restaurants , casinos, discos, substance abuse clinics and prudently insured daycare centers.
These tickets, to be marketed as "Patriot Class", will only be available to the 1/10th of 1% 0f the world's population that controls 90% of the world's wealth.


Unfettered fun and artificial sun when you fly Patriot Class!

Three Photos

Our state-of-the art broacast booth and equally modern DJ:


We are getting a new antennae soon, the FCC pushed our permit to re-locate through in an amazing four (4) days!
We are Richmond's Emergency Broadcast System outlet- none of the commercial stations were willing to do it, so they want us to expand ASAP.
It's hurricane season.
I hope we don't get hit during my show- I hope we don't get hit at all!

-------

A Night Game at Wrigley Field



There was a time when there were no night games at Wrigley. Traditionalists were upset when the Cubs put up lights, but I like it. It's cooler at night.
With any luck, I shall return to Chicago next month.
-------------
A Bucolic Scene


If my car weren't such a piece of shit I could drive out here tonight and watch meteors.

Happy Perseid everyone!

Odds and Odders

Sat, August 12, 5 -7 PM USA EST, I will be on the FM airwaves here in Fallentown.
I'm guest-hosting the Locals Only show, which of course, is all local and regional bands.
Normally, I'm the sound engineer when a band plays on this show, but tomorrow I get the talking end of the microphone. I'll be playing a lot of live in-studio tracks of bands we've had as guests over the last 18 months or so...for me it really doesn't get much better than that.

I flat-out love radio.

I can fill a two-hour broadcast with music and do it all with material that I've either recorded, performed on or both and I can do it without playing the same band twice.
Screw humility.
I'm proud of this accomplishment- how many people have the opportunity to do that?

Damned if I know why I complain so much- I'm a pretty lucky guy , all things considered.

Speaking of luck: at the same time that I will be on-air here in Fallentown, USA, my blogpal
Emelie will be on-air in Stockholm, Sweden, helping out with a very worthy cause.
The odds of the two of us broadcasting at the same time are pretty gosh-darned astronomical.
To illustrate this point, there will be a major meteor shower , which will reach its peak at pretty much exactly the same time Emelie and I am DJ'ing.

I'm not making any of this up.
I am amazed at the improbabilty of this entire post...but it's all true.

This is the kind of bizarre and beautiful thing that makes me love being alive.
I'm not making that up either.
Eleven months ago I was having emergency surgery.
I had a good chance of dying, but I decided not to.
I'm glad to be alive.

Tomorrow night I'll drive out to the country and watch the stars fall.



Links:
Post and link for Emelie's show on Soundic Radio , 4-6 PM EST- broadcast from Stockholm,Sweden.

Locals Only WRIR 97.3 FM , 5-7 PM EST- broadcast from Richmond, VA

Global domination, baby!

Kathyrn

I was idling at a red light, enjoying the relatively cool evening air, when Kathyrn and some dogs I didn't recognize crossed in front of me.

Damn, I haven't seen her for at least six years - she still looks great; I swear she looks younger, but that doesn't surprise me. She always seemed happy and healthy, even when times were tough.

That's when we met- during tough times. Kathyrn owned a small novelty shop next to the comic bookstore that I managed from 1990-97.
It was in a not-good part of town, but near enough to campus to get college business and rent was cheap enough to make the location seem plausible for retail...
Her store was called 'World of Mirth' and sold everything from boxing nun puppets to exploding gum.
Need some fake vomit? Check!
A glossy hardcover coffeetable book of WWII pin-up gals? Roger that!
Little capsules that turn into dinosaurs when you drop them in water? Yep!
How about a wind-up mechanical rat? Got it!

We weren't really friends outside of our shops, but we did share a certain shopkeeper camraderie - we both ran stores on a block that was pretty bad- the local college had been (still is) waiting for all businesses on it to close so it can purchase the land (almost there, you bastards!), so the area was left to rot and was known for it's beggars, robbers and transvestite hookers. Sometimes we'd grab a drink the corner bar and "talk shop".
Usually we'd drink tequila and talk about what a shitty location our stores were in.

She moved her store to a better street after a year or so, but I digress...back to this evening...

Anyway, I smiled at her and waved through the windshield- I was certain she'd say 'hello' at least, but she just smiled, shrugged and held up a tangle of leashes.

My hands are full of dogs, she seemed to say.

Oh well. She sure does look good.
I know that she's my age, but she looks ten years younger.
Time has been very kind to Kathyrn, I thought.

The light turned green and I drove about a mile before I remembered that Kathyrn, her husband and their three children had been murdered at the very beginning of the year.

Time is a son-of-a bitch, I thought.

Some Thanks and Stuff

Before I forget, I'd like to thank everyone who has ever taken the time to comment or email me and I would especially like to thank those of you who have offered meals, lodging, entertainment and friendship to me on this vacation I keep whining about.

It means a lot to me that people who, for the most part I have never met, are willing to take some time out of their schedule to spend with me- I've been a bit moody and lonely lately and I haven't been doing a very good job of hiding it- in fact, I called in 'sad' to work today. My boss understands...for now , anyway.

Anyway, some random thanks and kind words to bloggers and readers:

Lynnette- My very special friend from 1980 to right now! Always good to hear from her -especially when she's happy, which is now.
In 9th grade she was my very best friend- I was an outcast and hanging out with me was a drag on her reputation, but she stuck with me anyway. We would talk for hours on the phone back then- she even convinced me to wear a skirt in class once...ha! She's smart, funny and her heart is better than gold.
She's one of two people from that time that I still know.
I was the new, weird kid in a small hillbilly town that didn't like strangers , but Lynnette and I got along great- the best thing about that otherwise sorry year- she was the prettiest girl in school and she hung out with me! It was a long year, but it would've been impossible without her friendship.
We didn't date or anything, but I did have a terrible crush on her in 9th, which I'm pretty sure she must've known- if she doesn't , she does now! *grin!*

CityMouse- Speaking of hearts, CM has a recent post that is a great example of something good happening to someone who deserves a break. Someone who appreciates it and plans to use it for the best. She recently had a wish granted, which I hope more than makes up for the rudeness of her neighbor-hahha!
I especially like CM because she is that rare Christian who is both humble and wise in her application of Jesus' words- I'm certain she knows that I am not a religious person, but like a true follower of Christ's true teachings, she forgives me and my heathen ways. She always finds the good in things and has a very quaint and disarmingly uncynical view of events. I find her to be inspirational and it is one of my dreams to have lunch with her.

Lyzard- My very first blogpal and fellow Utah expatriate, Lyz taught me a lot about blogging and e-etiquette . When I first started emailing with new people, I would compose my letters in a formal way at first, using the old fashioned "Dear So and So" and signing with 'yours truly' or 'love' ( after a certain familiarity was established) - this is how we learned to write letters back in Old People Days. Lyzard explained that this was probably not such a good way to write emails.
I actually visited Liz in NYC during one of my friends gigs up there. It was loud, but fun. I made a million drunken passes at her friend ( I think I did, anyway) , but no one seemed to mind. I was really drunk then- I look forward to maybe staying up all night with her and hers one night soon ( thank you for that invite! *snoopy dance*)-perhaps I will let her win at 'Boggle'. I'm feeling benevolent...hehhehhhee

Jerry- I've known Jerry for at least fifteen years-longer I think. We played in a band together on and off for sometime and he went from being so-so to being really freakin' good on bass pretty quickly. I've always been lucky with good bassists, and Jerry was no exception- I'd just toss out a few chords: dum, dum-de dumm, and he'd pick right up, improving on my basic idea as he went- making the songs fun. He's like that in real life too. Sensible, but funny.
Too bad he moved back to the beach.
He is the only person in the world with this blog as his homepage.

Emelie- When (IF?) the shit hits the fan here in the USA, I am moving to Sweden and living in Emelie's attic. Emelie has one of the coolest bedroom wall paintings ever- she's a very natural visual talent and will probably be very successful in life- at everything!. She's very young and she gives me hope that maybe kids aren't so bad after all.
She can actually cheer me up when I'm cranky, and that's hard to do!
One day she and I will have a wonderful picnic on the planet of our choice.


There's plenty more, including: Charlie for reading my crap, Jerky and Sartwell for encouraging me, Amy for the book and manuscript and especially Susanne for being my most loyal reader and occasional cohort. I'm proud to have her as a poster on my blog.

Forgive any omissions- they are the fault of my memory and not intended as a slight in any way.

Thank you all!

Update: Here's a real contest -it's for a t-shirt design for the non-profit indy station I do sound at. Win stuff!

Update 2: Thanks to my new pal Caryn for providing these simple guidelines for houseguest behavior. These are rules I can live with- can you?

Consider Silence

NEWS FLASH
The earlier you become sexually active, the more likely you are to have lousy taste in music.

This story is suddenly everywhere.
Deep breath...10, 9 , 8 ....

How was this determination made? What rigorously scientific method was applied? What exactly is "sexually degrading music" anyway? Anything with dancers in the video?
Probably.

The study, based on telephone interviews with 1,461 participants aged 12 to 17, appears in the August issue of Pediatrics, being released today.

Teens who said they listened to lots of music with degrading sexual messages were almost twice as likely to start having intercourse or other sexual activities within the next two years, compared with teens who listened to little or no sexually degrading music.

Among heavy listeners, 51 percent started having sex within two years, versus 29 percent of those who said they listened to little or no sexually degrading music.

Say what?
They asked a bunch of teenagers - on the phone , no less- about their sex lives...Including a two- year projection of what activities they might potentially start having over the next two years?
Did the quizzer read from a list of activities and ask the kids " so... do you see yourself trying CBTWG within the next two years?"

I wonder if the questions themselves raised any 'curiosity'?

At some point, we all lie about sex. Those lies are likely to be told between the ages of 12 and 17.
All this study proves is that kids who listen to music about sex are more likely to tell phone interviewers that they are sexually active than kids who don't listen to 'dirty' songs.

This same tired old "music is ruining our kids" bugaboo gets trotted out from time to time. It was, is, and always has been bullshit.
Blame someone else. Blame the schools; the music; the government; TV; religion ; fluoridation... blame anything , so long as it puts the accountabilty elsewhere.
Bad parents ruin kids, but it's so much easier to blame it on the bossanaova.


Consider the following exchange between the late Frank Zappa and Congress, Sept 19, 1985.
In 1985 the Parents Music Resource Center wanted to place ratings and restrictions on albums that might be offensive to them.

Zappa, as you might guess, was deadset against this. He felt that it was the parent's responsibility to determine what music, books and other arts their children were exposed to.

(And yes, it's that Sen. Gore)

19 September, 1985- United States Congress

Senator Exon: Mr. Chairman, I might help him out just a little bit. I might make a statement. This is one Senator that might be interested in legislation and/or regulation to some extent, recognizing the problems with the right of free expression.

If it will help you out in your testimony, I might join Senator Hollings or others in some kind of legislation and/or regulation, unless the free enterprise system, both the producers and you as the performers, see fit to clean up your act.

Mr. ZAPPA: OK, thank you.

The First thing I would like to do, because I know there is some foreign press involved here and they might not understand what the issue is about, one of the things the issue is about is the First Amendment to the Constitution, and it is short and I would like to read it so they will understand. It says:

Congress shall make no law respecting an establishment of religion or prohibiting the free exercise thereof, or abridging the freedom of speech or of the press or the right of the people peaceably to assemble and to petition the government for a redress of grievances.

That is for reference.

These are my personal observations and opinions. They are addressed to the [Parents' Music Resource Centre] as well as this committee. I speak on behalf of no group or professional organization.

The PMRC proposal is an ill-conceived piece of nonsense which fails to deliver any real benefits to children, infringes the civil liberties of people who are not children, and promises to keep the courts busy for years, dealing with the interpretational and enforcemental problems inherent in the proposal's design.

It is my understanding that, in law, First Amendment Issues are decided with a preference for the least restrictive alternative. In this context, the PMRC's demands are the equivalent of treating dandruff by decapitation.

The PMRC promotes their program as a harmless type of consumer information service providing 'guidelines' which will assist baffled parents in the determination of the 'suitability' of records listened to by 'very young children'. The methods they propose have several unfortunately [sic] side effects, not the least of which is the reduction of all American Music, recorded and live, to the intellectual level of a Saturday morning cartoon show.

Children in the vulnerable age bracket have a natural love for music. If, as a parent, you believe they should be exposed to something more uplifting than "Sugar Walls," support Music Appreciation programs in schools. Why have you not considered your child's need for consumer information? Music Appreciation costs very little compared to sports expenditures. Your children have a right to know that something besides pop music exists.

lt is unfortunate that the PMRC would rather dispense governmentally sanitized heavy metal music than something more uplifting. Is this an indication of PMRC's personal taste, or just another manifestation of the low priority this administration has placed on education for the arts in America?

Senator GORE. I have listened to you a number of times on this issue, and I guess the statement that I want to get from you is whether or not you feel this concern is legitimate.

You feel very strongly about your position, and I understand that. You are very articulate and forceful.

But occasionally you give the impression that you think parents are just silly to be concerned at all.

Mr. ZAPPA. No; that is not an accurate impression.

Senator GORE. Well, please clarify it, then.

Mr. ZAPPA. First of all, I think it is the parents' concern; it is not the Government's concern.

Senator GORE. The PMRC agrees with you on that.

Mr. ZAPPA. Well. that does not come across in the way they have been speaking. The whole drift that I have gotten, based upon the media blitz that has attended the PMRC and its rise to infamy, is that they have a special plan, and it has smelled like legislation up until now.

There are too many things that look like hidden agendas involved with this. And I am a parent. I have got four children. Two of them are here. I want them to grow up in a country where they can think what they want to think, be what they want to be, and not what somebody's wife or somebody in Government makes them be.

I do not want to have that and I do not think you do either.

Senator GORE.
Do I understand that you do believe that there is a legitimate concern here?

Mr. ZAPPA. But the legitimate concern is a matter of taste for the individual parent and how much sexual information that parent wants to give their child, at what age, at what time, in what quantity, OK. And I think that, because there is a tendency in the United States to hide sex, which I think is an unhealthy thing to do. and many parents do not give their children good sexual education, in spite of the fact that little books for kids are available, and other parents demand that sexual education be taken out of school, it makes the child vulnerable, because if you do not have something rational to compare it to when you see or hear about something that is aberrated you do not perceive it as an aberration.

- -- --- --- --- --- ----

What Zappa is saying is that a well-educated kid will be able spot bullshit when they see it, but that if they are kept uninformed about sexuality and other 'adult' matters, they will form distorted conceptions based on what media they observe, by chance or otherwise. This distorted perception is what causes problems, not crap music.
Crap music can be turned off.

But it's so much easier to blame music.
Or the internet.
Or books.
Or paintings.
Or sculpture.
Or movies.
Or dancing.
or [ this space left blank]

It must be the music.
1,461 American teenagers wouldn't lie about sex, would they?

Maybe this non-story will die out amidst the growing global chaos- perhaps it will gain popularity as a diversion from real issues- who knows?

Same old song , same old song and dance again...

Make Money Blogging and Other Lies

Would you like to make $400 or more a week -in your spare time- just by blogging and surfing the internet?
Of course you would. Who wouldn't?

It's easy- I have a time-proven method to do so and I will share it with you for free:

- First, you need to have about 40 hours per week of 'spare time' and a fondness for indigent living.

-Second, you'll need to use this spare -time to find a dead-end cube job with Internet access.

- Third, blog from work.

This isn't rocket science. That's why I'm telling you for free.

I've been an office temp for years, and I've seen a lot of PCs at my various jobs;
I have blogged from all of them, and I know I'm not the first one- often I will I type the first character of my username into the sign -in field and find it already has a list of "cookies"- other usernames from previous employees.

My all-time favorite is "Creative7".

Someone was sitting here, thinking " hmmm...what name would suit me? I am creative...hey! Howzabout "Creative 1?"

Of course, Creative 1 has been taken already.

So have Creative 2 , 3 , 4 etc...you get the idea.
Imagine two bloggers coming up with Creative1-why the odds against such a thing are simply staggering!
What a setback that must have been. True to name, our mystery blogger came up with an ingenious solution- they just kept adding 1 and trying again.
Creative!

I actually checked- you currently have to go to Creative12 - all the rest are now used.
Before you mock me for wasting time checking such a trivial matter, remember: I am on the clock.

I'm a bit amazed that 7 was available- I'm pretty sure I know who this particular person was, and they are fairly new to Blogger,I don't know what their blog is called, but I thought 7 would be long gone...

I do know that the person had a habit of Googling stuff that starts with "U Can", as in "U Can Turn $100 into $10,000 overnight!" and "U Can Lose 200 lbs. in 200 Minutes- without dieting!"

Yep.
No problem too large for the old "quick-fix."

Uphill Both Ways Through Snow

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Money Problem

I recently learned that I have inherited a few thousand dollars. It's from my uncle Steve, who shot himself, so it's not easy money to receive, nor is it easy to spend. I can't waste it, that's for certain.

I've got to face facts- a few thousand bucks is not that much money, but it's more than I'm likely to see again- EVER- so I'd better spend it wisely.

My first thought was my car- not enough cash to replace it, but I can get it fixed enough to last a few more years...maybe.

But really, what I want is a vacation. Do you know when the last time I took vacation was?

Of course you don't.

I haven't had a vacation since I started this blog. I've been blogging for years...
My last vacation was in 2002, but I didn't enjoy it much- I was recovering from a nearly-crippling neuropathy at the time and was in constant, agonizing physical pain.

I'd like to visit Chicago and the Twin again, but I've done that a lot- and it's still America, even if the food is better than average- and I don't have any 'time-off' allowed from work, so it seems silly to quit my job just so I can visit a place I already know quite well.

I'd like to travel abroad before it's too late.

I've tried to re-establish contact with my long-lost Aussie penpal- at one time I had planned to travel to Adelaide to meet him and his family, but he fell ill and his wife sent the last reply- over a year ago- it was a mailing list 'form letter', explaining that Stephen was very ill... no more has been heard. I fear the worst.

Europe? That's quite possible. I even searched some airfares- not so bad as you'd think. I'm tempted to sell all my non-essentials ( keep the guitar, the bass and the toothbrush) and flee to the Old Country- except it wouldn't be a vacation, it would be an expatriation.

My family is very small and will soon be much smaller- after that, I really won't have any reason to stay here at all.

I don't know what to do with this death money. I should do something that makes me feel alive- and I think a holiday may be just the thing. I just don't know where to go.

I wish I had someone to travel with. I used to enjoy traveling on my own-prefered it really- but now I think I'd like to travel with someone- oooohhh, look at that , I would say, pointing out some natural or man-made wonder.
aahhhh, amazing....my companion would reply, squeezing my hand, glad that they are with me - wherever we are.

(In my fantasy, my travel companion is always female- sue me.)

Options are limited, but they are still open.

I need to do something living with my new death money.