Author: anthony Page 14 of 72

One of the least pleasant parts of my job is answering the webmaster email.  There’s so much spam and angry people to get through and I know that it’s not good for me  – but sometimes there are good messages too.

I got a note a couple weeks ago from a father who had two daughters that had had both graduated from UA – one just this past spring.  His third, oldest daughter, was developmentally disabled and was so proud and excited for her sisters and their college success.

He asked if we could make up some kind of fake diploma for her and said it would mean a lot to her.

I considered sending it to the Office of the Registrar, but figured they would be bound by the rules and not be allowed to produce some kind of document like this. 

So, I instead sent this over to our social media guru  – figuring that if anyone could make this fun thing happen, it would be her.

She was delighted with the request and ran with it – and today, I got a great update from her.

The alumni office agreed to make this guy’s daughter an Honorary Alumni of The University of Akron and are going to hold a special event for her and present her with a certificate.

How awesome is that?    That young woman is going to be bursting with pride that day – I can’t even imagine her delight.

So, some days the email is terrible and crap – and some days, it can be wonderful.

I’m a sucker for a good book gimmick.  A fancy cover, sure, but if the fonts are weird or if there’s a sweet map on the inside cover – well, I’m in.  I picked up a book recently that was two books in one. The first in a sequel on one side and then you flip it over and there’s the second book.

Cool!

I read the blurb on the inside cover for each of the books and was a little wary.  The narrator is a poet working on the introduction for an anthology of poems – hence the title of the book “The Anthologist”.

But, the covers had me hooked and I dove in.

And… seriously?   It was terrible.

The guy – Paul Chowder – has writer’s block.  That’s pretty much the premise. His girlfriend moves out because he’s too pathetic and he spends most of his time not writing the introduction and instead tells us his arrogant version of the history of poetry.

I managed to drag myself to page 101 where I found this gem:

“Let’s try again.  The history of poetry began, quite possibly, in the year 1883.  Let me write that date for you with my Sharpie, so you can have it for your convenience. 1883.  That’s when it all began. Or maybe not. Could be any year. The year doesn’t matter. Forget the year!  The important thing is that there’s something called the nineteenth century…”

It’s like some kind of stream of consciousness by an idiot.  I got to that drivel and hit the brakes and went back to the front cover.  Winner of the National Book Critics Circle Award? “Startlingly perceptive and ardent…Chowder is possibly the most appealing narrator Baker has invented.” The New York Times Book Review.

I kept at it for as long as I did for two reason:

1. I’ve been inflicting my own poetry on other people recently with my Haiku tweets and felt it was a kind of penance.
2. I hoped, somehow, that it would get better.  Maybe he’d write a poem that could raise the dead.  Or his dog is a communist. Or his ex-girlfriend invented the chicken sandwich.

But, I couldn’t see myself getting another hundred pages into this and still having him not accomplish anything. At all.  

So, I bailed.  And the book is going into my Half-Priced Books pile in the hope that someone else – perhaps with lower standards or expectations – will enjoy it.

————————

Youtube has figured out that I’m a crafty sort and has lately started to suggest some resin projects.  I found some two-part resin on the cheap and decided to give it a whirl. I had two things I wanted to try – using a mold and something called “secret wood”.  

I had a silicone mold from a Sculpey project that I hoped would work for the project and the secret wood just needed a broken piece of narrow wood.

I followed the instructions carefully for the two-part resin and added some dye to give it a little color.  I poured – and waited.

And mostly failed.

I had used packing tape to make a framework for the secret wood and it didn’t seal well – about half leaked out onto my protected work surface.  The molds did a little better, but I hadn’t been able to get all the clay out and some got stuck in the resin. And the resin itself turned out to be a shade of green that matched mouthwash.

But, I learned a lot.  I’ve got new ideas for preparing the wood and building a better frame around it.  And the molds are now clean so the next attempt will be clean as well. And I know that the colors work and can do a better job of getting the shade right.

Time to trim more wood and mix up more resin.  I don’t recall the last time I was this excited about things going wrong – it was a good learning experience.

I fixed some rice the other night and since my rice cooker has a minimum setting of “enough for an army”, I had plenty left over.  So, I bought myself some soy sauce and found a recipe online for fried rice that I followed exactly.

Well…

The recipe called for “day old” rice – and mine was closer to three days.  I don’t own a wok so I made do with a skillet.

It called for a cup of frozen carrots and peas – thawed – but I had just enough broccoli and cauliflower mix and figured that would do instead of opening a new bag.  I misread the labels on the microwave and was well into a “cook” instead of a “thaw” before I got it stopped.

It called for sesame oil, but I only had olive oil.  

And I was out of eggs so I skipped those two scrambled that it called for.

Of course, the green onions got skipped too.

I used slightly more soy sauce than it called for.   And I added imitation crab instead of the chicken or shrimp.

But other than that, it was exactly the same.

I had a really rough day at work yesterday and though the thought of actually “doing” anything afterwards filled me with a nameless dread, I did have my swim gear with me and the pool was open.

So, with a staggering reluctance, that voice in the back of my head – the really mean and persistent one – forced me to the pool for a swim after work.

When I got there, the locker room was full of literally shrieking kids – some kind of summer camp, I guess – and the lanes were set to the long – ways.

Because of course they are.

Grumbling like I was being forced to skip dessert, I jumped in the water.  And uttered this phrase:

BLAGING BLURPLE BLARCHED BLARRRRRG!!!!?!?!?

I was underwater at the time, trying to keep my heart beating with the sheer force of profanity after the shock of the icy cold water.  

You do not want the translation.  It would have killed fish, had there been any in pool.

I surfaced, kicked off, and began my first lap.

The bargain I struck with the “persistent voice” was that I would do a half mile.  Every stroke through the water hurt my arm. And I never did get used to the cold.

But, when I reached my goal, I felt strong enough to keep going for a few more laps.  When I got out of the pool, I felt strong enough to do more – if I’d wanted.

And, of course, I was rocking that speedo still.

I didn’t feel “good” after that swim.  More like “somewhat less miserable” – but it’s something and knowing I can hit the water and excel even after not swimming for a while was pretty cool too.

I’m going to try and get back in the habit again.  It’s clearly good for me – even if I’m not exactly enjoying it at the moment.

Yesterday morning, at nearly the last minute, Jim invited me to join him on a guided walk around Firestone park.  

He didn’t think I would want to go since history and old houses are on my “so boring I can’t believe it” list – but I do like a good walk.   And there were free cookies.

I hustled down to the community center just as the the tour guides were introducing themselves and we were soon off.  I grabbed a cookie for the road.

And, as expected, I liked the walk but was a little bored. I’d be more interested in history, I guess, if we collectively really learned from it.  But we don’t and we keep making the same mistakes. Seems a little pointless until we get it figured out.

Case in point was the flagpole in the park.  There had been a huge pine tree there, but the area held water and the roots rotted.  So, they dug it up and – without fixing the water problem – put in another super expensive tree in the same spot.  And those roots also rotted. It was eventually replaced – most likely by an eagle-eyed controller looking at the tree budget – and now we’ve got a flagpole.  But no flag, yet.

On the walk were state and local representatives – as well as staff from the Mayor’s office.  One of the reps was trying just a little too hard, but the group overall was pretty nice. And I inadvertently learned a little about the history of my neighborhood.  I didn’t retain that knowledge, but I’m sure it was interesting.  🙂

———

Sunday morning for me is usually laundry and video games and I fired up my Playstation with anticipation of some Final Fantasy grinding.  There’s a Chocobo eating fiend on the path ahead and I knew I needed to level up before taking that thing on.

I was playing for a bit when I noticed… a smell.  I thought it might be on my shoes, but they were clean.  And then I realized the back of my pants and the gamer chair I was sitting on were wet.

Thunder(cat) had pissed on my chair.

I got up and threw my pants and underwear in the wash – then took a shower.  Yes, it soaked through that bad.

As I was trying to clean the chair, I looked over at my cat – lying peacefully on the dining room floor.  He was looking back at me and casually flipping the tip of tail up and down as if to say:

“This could have been avoided if you’d done a better job on cleaning the litter box.  Idiot.”

At least, I suspect that was his motivation.  It’s hard to tell with a cat. And like a dutiful servant who’s been upbraided by his boss, I got the litter box cleaned next.

It could have been worse, certainly.  Even if the chair has to be trashed – it could have been my bed.  I like to think that he assumed that this was my favorite place to sit and figured that would send the right message – but he wasn’t willing to escalate this to defiling a sleeping area.

Again, it’s hard to tell with a cat.

So, there’s some tension in the house at the moment.  He’s currently sitting on top of the couch, facing away from me.  And I’m at the dining room table, facing away from the living room.

We’ll get over it soon enough, but for now…

Jim and I have been watching a series on Netflix called Black Mirror.  It’s an anthology series set in the very near future where technology is not your friend and you can’t swing a cat without hitting a dystopia.

Now, I love me a good dystopia – Brave New World, 1984, Fahrenheit 451, Logan’s Run – but I wouldn’t want to live in one.

Make Oceania Great Again?

Anyway, the series is dark.  Like, really really dark. So well written, well acted, great production.  And really really dark. Like “Holy shit, they went there!”

I’m eating this up and really enjoying the show, but the last episode we watched – and it might really be the last episode since it’s Jim’s Netflix account – was the darkest yet.

I could see where it was going and was thinking it was one of the most probable of the near futures. And I was enjoying the thought provoking nature of the show.

Jim, however, was not enjoying it.  I could tell he wanted to stop watching at one point, but also wanted to see how it played out.

And when the ending was even darker than he expected, well, he was troubled.  As the ending credits rolled, he turned off the TV and said he didn’t want to watch the show anymore. We talked about it for a few minutes and he tried to re-write the ending to make it a little less terrible.

Instead of calling it a night, he sat up with the puppies and looked at Facebook and Youtube for a while.  And when he did go to sleep, he said he didn’t sleep well and had nightmares.

As for me?  I thought about it for about 2 minutes and determined how I would react if put in the situation of the characters, and then dismissed it.  Totally unphased – and I didn’t lose a wink of sleep over it.

Kind-hearted Jim doesn’t want to watch anymore.  And I’m hoping the next episode is even darker – figuring that “people are terrible” and “technology makes people worse”.  Bring it!

And I’m maybe a little worried at how little this bothered me.  Does my immunity and enjoyment of this kind of dark fiction mean that…ummm… maybe things aren’t quite so rosy in my cranium?  

I mean, we’ve already figured that I’ve got the “fun” parts of a Schizotypal Personality Disorder – the unconventional thinking, unusual attire, peculiar speech patterns…while still being grounded in the real world and being able to interact socially with other people.  Mostly.

Could it be worse than that, though?  Could those voices in my head – the ones with really great/terrible ideas – be a sign of something…ummm… sinister?

Ummmm… no.

I mean, I’d totally be a super-villain if give powers or a budget, but I’m really more on the whimsical end of whatever spectrum I’m on.

The immunity to Stephen King, Clive Barker, American Horror Story, and Britney Spears is more about having built up a tolerance over the years for things that show the dark heart of the human soul.  I mean, have you listened to her lyrics?

When I was a kid – maybe 7 or 8 – I got ahold of a copy of the Amityville Horror.  And read it, cover to cover. When I was done, I announced that I was never going to sleep again.  Ever.

Seemed like the best solution.

My dad sat me down and had a talk about what was real and what wasn’t real.

“But it was based on actual events!” I countered, but he eventually settled me down and – worn out from a long day of scaring the shit out of myself – I did go to sleep.

When I started in on Stephen King in earnest a few years later, it troubled me a bit.  But, I was pretty well grounded by that point and shrugged it off. Even to the point where I would read “It” about 20 pages ahead of my mom and tell her what pages to skip.  The late 700’s were a rough…

Once you’ve faced down/ been raised on a self-imposed diet of evil clowns and vengeful ghost/demon/zombie things, it’s tough to let a little thing like a less-than-optimistic future society get to you.

—————–

 

I wrote the above before Jim got up the gumption to watch another episode and this one was as sweet and joyful as the last one had been dark.  It even had, dare I say it, a happy ending?

Ugh.

So, looks like we’re in it for the rest of series.  

And I’ll have to break out some Lovecraft if it stays sunny.

Prelude

I started the recent long holiday weekend with some serious thought to how I’d spend my time.  Jim had homework and mulch planned for much of it, so I needed something to do. A couple of my friends were going to have their grand opening of a winery in West Virginia and while I’d like to support them I don’t drink and that’s a long drive.

It also occurred to me that it has been a while since I’d been back to visit the cemetery where Jeff’s ashes were scattered – also in West Virginia.  

By themselves, neither is perhaps really a good use of time, but together it seemed like a good day trip.  

On Friday, I checked in with Jeff’s sister to see if she would be around for a visit.  She wasn’t going to be – instead she was at a party for her nephew (just graduating high school) and niece (graduating college early).  She sent me photos and I was gobsmacked. It had been 6 years since I’d seen them and the passage of time had turned them both into adults.

So, I did a little checking on my own and found the address for the cemetery – and the winery – and planned to head out Saturday morning.

—————-

Part 1 – The grave

I started my trip with a stop at the ATM – just in case – and on my way to the gas station my tire pressure warning light came on.   I got that resolved, but it wasn’t an auspicious way to start the trip. I was soon on the road and headed to Wheeling, WV.

The trip took a couple hours and traffic wasn’t bad. I found the cemetery without trouble and parked my car near where I thought the grave was located.

And that was the problem.  I’d been there once with Jeff to visit his mom’s grave and again when his dad passed.  And once with Jeff’s sister three years ago – but at no point did I really know where the graves were located.

And it’s a big cemetery.  I wandered around for a bit, but started to overheat.  So, I headed up to the office to see if they had a map.  But when I got there, the door was locked.

I stood there for a minute, trying to figure out what to do next.  I had gone all that way and…

I decided that I would just find a shady spot, sit, and think for a bit.  And that would have to be enough – though it was disappointing.

As I was heading back to my car, a guy in a golf cart pulled up to the office and said he was opened up.  We went into the cool air and he asked for the name. I gave them Jeff’s parents’ names since he had a headstone there, but his ashes had been scattered. I didn’t know how that worked, but the guy found them in the computer and asked me if Jeff was there too.  I said he was and he remarked that he used to know Jeff.  Jeff had been a funeral director in Wheeling for a time so it wasn’t that odd, but… still…

With an “address” of sorts and a map, I was on my way.  It turned out that my instincts had been correct and I’d been close, but any navigational triumph was short lived.

I found his grave.  And I broke down.

I tend to compartmentalize things and figured this part of the trip would consist of carefully opening the mental box and gently sorting through the memories – then closing it back up and putting it neatly away.

Instead, it was as though someone pulled a pin on a mental grenade and tossed it into my head. Cardboard, tape, and carefully lettered labels went flying in my head.

Everything washed over me as though no time had passed at all and I just stood there and sobbed uncontrollably.

I just let it happen and eventually I settled myself down.  I knelt in the grass by the grave and apologized. Again. I couldn’t have saved him, but perhaps I could have made his last days less terrible – at the cost of my own happiness. Seems a small price to pay, in hindsight.

I took a few deep breaths and then pulled a few weeds.  Seemed the thing to do. Then I stood, said goodbye, and headed back to my car.

I know, right down to the absolute core of my being, that he wasn’t there.  That it was just a place and just a stone and literally anywhere else would have rationally been just the same.

But, you know… It did matter.

So, I occupied myself with finding a place to eat lunch and then eating before I got on the road again.

And on the long road, I thought about the mess in my head and started to put things back into their boxes.

———————-

Part 2 – The winery

It was two and a half hours to Point Pleasant – the site of my friends’ new winery.  At one point I debated on skipping that part of the trip and just heading home – too much Aimee Mann, I suspect – but I do like surprising people and it would be a good thing to do.

The GPS guided me unerringly and I arrived safe, though tired. As I pulled into the parking lot, I saw my friend wrangling a barrel outside to clean it.  I got out and walked over to him and it took him a minute to recognize me – I think I was just so far out of context it threw him – then he grinned and gave me a big hug.  I told him I was “sort of” in the neighborhood – Wheeling – and decided to check out the operation. He laughed and his partner met us at the door – and his partner was just as surprised to see me.

I got the tour of the wine making area, met the rest of the crew, and bought a bottle of wine for Jim.  We talked for a bit and I decided to head out when they got busy again.

I think they were both glad to see me and I was happy I could help support their new adventure in a small way.

Back in the car and three hours home.  I listened to some more upbeat music and got home safe and sound.  

It was an odd way to spend a Saturday, but mostly a good one.  I think I needed that trip and it was the right thing to do.

I sit here tonight with a now cold cup of tea and a head that’s still not sorted out. 

But that’s okay.

And I’m okay.

Last Saturday was the Maker Faire and I was up bright and early to head to Wayne County for the event.  I had packed up the night before, so all I needed to do was say goodbye to the cat and fire up the GPS.

I got there and got set up and even before the official start time, I had kids lined up at my table. I had done some samples and that made it a little easier for the kids to choose what they wanted to do – and it limited the crazier requests.

I got a break at 11:30 to give a short presentation.  I was a little nervous, but started my talk by showing the audience a piece of paper and then putting my hands behind my back.  While I spoke, I quickly folded a crane. And just as I wrapped up my talk I brought my hands back around to show them the completed crane.  When I made the wings flap, I got a round of applause.

The rest of the time was some intense paper folding – about 5 hours worth.

At one point, I had three kids at my table that all wanted to make different things with different starting points.  I closed my eyes for a moment and ran through all the steps of each model before opening them and getting each kid started.

For fun, each cube we did got a tiny crane dropped in before we closed up the box.  And the somewhat insistent little girl from last year was back for another mette ring.

One of the best moments was a kid that had been stuck at a table all day. He was showing some lego projects and some model planes – and while it was interesting it wasn’t a crowd magnet.  So, he spent the day a little bored.

As we were getting ready to pack up, I dug out an x-wing fighter I’d made from paper that looked like legos – the best one I’ve done like that – and took it over to his table and gave it to him.  No one had seen this at my table – everyone would have wanted one and they are terribly complicated to make – so it was a complete surprise. His eyes lit up and I got a huge smile and a thank you.

I got all my gear packed up and loaded into my car -then drove back to Akron.  Once home, I forced myself to unload my car before I collapsed.

My back hurt and my hands were aching, but it was a good day and I made a lot of people happy.  And if there are some “future folders” that got their start there, well, that’s pretty cool too.

I recently got a letter from my bank indicating that because I hadn’t done anything with it in too long, my savings account was now inactive.

Should I have taken it out for dinner?  Maybe bought flowers? Rotated the tires?

No, in fact, I was just supposed to have deposited more money in it.   

Now, I treat my savings account as a safeguard for “when things go horribly wrong”.  When I hit a certain threshold in my checking account, I’ll transfer some over to the savings.   Keeps the day-to-day disasters at bay – and makes that nest egg a little better over time.

But that’s not how I’m supposed to be doing it, apparently.  

My savings account needs constant attention and contact – and I got a cat because i want to do the exact opposite and the cat is fine with that.

We’re like, “I like you a lot, but if we could limit our interactions a bit, that would be great and no one will get hurt,”

But my savings account needs more from me and if I don’t give it more, it goes inactive.

Though, that really didn’t seem to do anything.  I went ahead and transferred some money over and there were no warnings or indicators in the online system.  It wouldn’t have closed since there was money in there and I’m using the rest of the accounts pretty normally.  So, ummm… maybe it just missed me?

I try not to get angry at people since it’s usually a system or process that’s really at fault – though if people don’t stop putting cheese on my hamburgers I may have to raise my voice – but I think this needs a little additional investigation and a policy change request.   

My savings is something I’d kinda like to ignore until I need it.  Much like how my cat ignores me until he thinks he needs the litter box cleaned.  Or a belly-rub for a precise but unknown amount of time.

At least I know now the interval for the savings account.

The cat is… variable.  And more likely to draw blood.

With the increased yard work, I’ve also been making more trips to Lowe’s.  And since the former owners of my house loved vines, I needed to buy some yard waste bags for the dreaded spring clean-up.

I headed to my local Lowe’s and tracked down the bags.  They were in packs of 5 each and only a couple bucks per package, so I hemmed and hawed a little about how many I thought I would need.  3? 4?

I picked up a few packs and headed to the front of the store – along with a couple more items. At the busy check-out, I set the bags down on the counter and told the clerk I had 3 packages.  He scanned the top one, rang me up, I paid, and was on my way.

When I got home, I took the bags to the backyard to open up the first package and start the clean up of sticks and twigs and vines.

Except, there were 4 packages of bags.

My hemming and hawing had confused me on how many I’d gotten – and I’d ended up shoplifting.

45 years old and now a felon.

Took me longer than I figured, actually.  What with the streaking and liberal definition of “valid recyclables”.

A couple days later I needed to go back to Lowe’s and made my first stop at the return desk.   I explained to the clerk there that I’d inadvertently picked up four packages and only got charged for 3.  

She was a little surprised, but thanked me – and I went on into the store to get more supplies.

Given that it was only a couple bucks I’m guessing a lot of folks would have just kept that extra pack – but it would have worked on me like a tell-tale heart. 

“The bags! The bags!  The crinkling of the bags!”

Ehem.

I guess I’m off the hook now, but if they come for me, I’m running and they’ll never take me alive.

————————

Lunchtime at work last week and the thought of nuking some frozen meal made me just… sad.  So, I hopped in the car and headed out to the local fast food restaurant.

The same one that had the “feather-nugget”.

Now, I wasn’t going to get nuggets this time.  Or for the foreseeable future.

But, I could go for a burger and I ordered my usual.

“#1 combo, medium, lettuce only, no cheese.”  

The person making the burger recognized me and set to work – I always get the same thing and always order it the same way.

In a few minutes, I had a bag of food and I was on my way.

I got to the office, sat down, and opened the bag and the sandwich.

Instead of the expected:  bun | burger | lettuce | bun

 

I got: bun | cheese | burger | lettuce | cheese | bun

Really?  Double cheese?  Double freaking cheese?

That’s it.  I can no longer stand this effrontery.  They are dead to me. DEAD. TO. ME.

So, lunch was fries and a diet coke.  

And a sullen silence.