I see a national crisis inextricably coming, and I'm not sure if anyone else sees it too. "Keeping up with the Joneses" has become a national pastime. If we live in the same neighborhood, have children and other similar lifestyles, I should be able to afford whatever my neighbor has, right? We can go to eclectic stores and fancy places to purchase something nice and unusual, usually at four times the price, as long as we are the first on the block to own one. This behavior is not self destructive at first, but certainly is over a long period of time. Some Americans seem to live in the here and now, look for the quick self indulgences, and seem to be competing with this imaginary neighbor, The Joneses.
For the past ten years, primary mortgage banks have been loaning out money to pay off credit card debt. Secondary lenders have been doing this for 20+ years. I'm more wary now because, in America today, the national average of credit card debt per household is about $8,500, instead of ten years ago it was $2,200. A 75% increase is frightening. It's some people's ideas of having the best of everything, even if they can't afford it. They are spending their equity they've built up in their homes, and their security is gone. Some banks will refinance your home up to 120% of its value! Foreclosure rates have jumped over 50% in the past two years. In 1991, one of our nation's bleakest foreclosure years (thanks to the dissolution of the RTC), it rose only 5%.
The credit card banks are making 8% to 30% interest when we charge. Having a higher balance is not a problem to the banks, as they will increase your limit instantly, if you at least make the minimum payment on time each month. They also sell your name to other banks, who will offer you an endless supply of additional credit cards. The higher your balance, the more you are actually paying for items. In some cases, every dollar these people spend end up being $3.00 in the banks' pockets.
If the Joneses have a Mercedes Benz, why can't we? One recent article said, in estimation, half of Americans' personal net worth was equivalent to the sticker price of their new car. In recent years, everyone has heard the loud advertisements of late night TV from car dealers. These commercials blare into the wee hours of the morning, screaming "It doesn't matter if you have bankruptcy, foreclosure or bad credit. You will drive off our lot with the car of your choice!" Are the banks are taking a chance with a person with risky credit? No, not really, as they will repossess the car quite easily, and have all the money the customer paid, AND the car back on the lot, waiting for the next customer.
I do not go to the mall, unless I have to purchase something particular. The times I go to the mall in any given year can be counted on two fingers. Examples of necessary mall trips are buying a wedding/shower gift from a registry, or ONCE during the Christmas holidays. You can shop on line very easily and not get bogged down with impulse buying. You can go directly to what you need and not spend the extra money of fast, "gotta have" purchases. When I was younger, I went to an after Thanksgiving Day sale and once was enough for me. The newspaper triples in size to accommodate for these sales. Weeks before Christmas, every news station reports that the retailers are whining about poor and stagnant sales from previous years. A news story now tries to direct us into going out and spend MORE money.
Anyone with kids know the price of clothing. Then there are the birthday parties, field trips, year books, school pictures twice a year, cars, insurance, senior year expenses, college educations, and everything else that the Jones' kids receive. It keeps us in a competitive rat race all of our lives, when in the end, it really doesn't matter. As long as they are clothed, fed, educated and loved, isn't that what is most important?
Home Depot had, and may still use, the slogan "because you deserve it", while advertising for a new kitchen or bathroom. This slogan pisses me off and should not be the primary reason. It should be affordability first, not just because you deserve it, because everyone in the whole world really deserves it. "Loreal, because I'm worth it" is another bullshit slogan. Of course, you're worth it, dear. It doesn't mean that your gray hair will not be covered just as well with another dye product. Quit believing the obvious commercialism and propaganda!
If you are a big eater, as I am, you will be disappointed in the serving sizes offered in Europe. They are much smaller there. I remember sitting with a French colleague of mine, at a famous five star steak house chain in Houston, Texas. She was appalled and disgusted with the size of steaks and plates coming from the kitchen. LOL! Since France was suffering the affects of Mad Cow disease, she ordered Steak Tar Tare, as it was safe here. She ate about a fourth of the serving brought to her.
Then, there are the extras going on in this country. Botox, plastic surgery, vacations, weight loss, cosmetics, entertainment, private schools, electronics and eating out are just a few. Sometimes there are perfectly logical explanations for every one of these things. However, to spend the money because you know the Joneses have it, is egocentric and dumb.
I partake in a few of these selfish behaviors on occasion, but I learned, when I was a single mom and simultaneously opening my own business, I had to be cautious. I was the only safety net I had. I budgeted and said "no" at times. Owning a successful business is mandatory for frugal behavior, and frankly, I really didn't care what the Joneses, Johnsons or any other neighbor owned or thought.
The banks aren't telling anyone they are only in the money business, but they are. Once they take it back, they are willing to sell houses, cars and everything else, to convert to money as soon as possible,no matter what you have invested in the property. They are banks - that's what they do. I used to sell foreclosures to investors during the last recession. I learned from this experience, that self indulgent people have their houses taken away because they make the frivolous choices and superficial decisions. We will always have the Joneses, MacCartneys or Gates in this world, all richer individually, than all of us put together. Why keep up?
Thursday, April 24, 2008
Tuesday, April 22, 2008
Share and Share Alike
I don't like to share some things. I like the fact my life is not under a microscope for all to see. For some of my feelings and events I am going through, I would rather just keep them to myself or the confines of the house. I feel sorry for celebrities, at times, when everything is blasted out for everyone to see and hear. Sometimes it happens to the "civilians" in this world. Recently, a guy was stuck in an elevator for two days. Can you imagine?!? Now, please remember, in two days, our bodies have natural functions. The elevator, complete with video camera, probably filmed this guy - doing what comes naturally. Eeewwww!
There is no way I could ever do something like "Big Brother", "Survivor" or some of the other reality shows where every move, feeling and reaction is filmed. Ya'll would hate me! And I would hate you too, if you did it! Don't get me wrong, I'm not that bad and you probably aren't either. It's just too personal for me. Thankfully, they seem to give them privacy for most bodily functions.
I was talking to an old friend by email and I could just tell that something was wrong. I decided to give her a couple of days and email her again, to really know "everything is fine", as she had said. It wasn't fine, and she needed to unload. So many times we see things on the surface and nothing below the water line. If you look below, you may see a friend drowning, waiting for you to come down and pull them up. None of us realize what any other human is going through at any given time.
I'll never forget when I taught my kids to drive. The road outside our neighborhood is a two lane road, 55 m.p.h. Pulling out onto this road for the first time, they were both scared. The cars were zooming by so fast to them. I told them the only way to freedom, is to pull out onto the road, as it is the only way out into the world. Driving slower than the flow of traffic, both of them were afraid when impatient people behind our car would pass them. I told them that the man's kid may be in the hospital. His wife might be having a baby. He may be late for work and is feeding eight kids at home. His mother might have just passed away. He may just be a jerk that drives recklessly. Either way, don't get upset. You don't know what he's going through right now.
The woes of life and heartaches are not mentioned often, even with close friends. I think it is a personal responsibility of everyone to understand some people may be going through difficult times. People take an uncaring attitude for many reasons. Some are self absorbed, some are going through stress of their own, some don't realize there is something going on, some are too busy to stop and listen.
The people, friends or family going through these events may not want to share or may want to keep it to themselves for different reasons. Some think their friends are too busy, some may not understand or some don't really want to listen or know how to listen. Most people hear what you are saying, but they don't really listen. Tonal inflections can mean everything. Certain words can be triggers. An optimistic friend, who will not put you down and knows how to listen, is what we really need during these times.
Sharing is an action that we are taught in kindergarten or sooner. We are told to share, because it's the nice thing to do. Somehow, we made this invaluable teaching turn into only sharing the good things in life. "Keep it to yourself", "Big girls don't cry" or "Take it like a man" are fallacies that we should just get over. On occasion, life sucks because we need to share our load. It's beneficial when we lighten our load onto another's shoulders, because we ease our minds and can be constructive again in our life again.
There isn't a camera filming my life, thank God. Though, some parts would be kind of funny, as I talk to myself constantly. I talk to the dog, when she and I are in the house alone. I talk to the ghost, Mr. Donaldson, who haunts our house. And I sing loudly and bang on the piano. Sometimes I make up words for instrumental songs. LOL! I don't want to be filmed. I don't want to share, though I think I just did.
"Pain shared is pain lessened; joy shared is joy increased. Thus do we refute entropy."
--- Spider Robinson
There is no way I could ever do something like "Big Brother", "Survivor" or some of the other reality shows where every move, feeling and reaction is filmed. Ya'll would hate me! And I would hate you too, if you did it! Don't get me wrong, I'm not that bad and you probably aren't either. It's just too personal for me. Thankfully, they seem to give them privacy for most bodily functions.
I was talking to an old friend by email and I could just tell that something was wrong. I decided to give her a couple of days and email her again, to really know "everything is fine", as she had said. It wasn't fine, and she needed to unload. So many times we see things on the surface and nothing below the water line. If you look below, you may see a friend drowning, waiting for you to come down and pull them up. None of us realize what any other human is going through at any given time.
I'll never forget when I taught my kids to drive. The road outside our neighborhood is a two lane road, 55 m.p.h. Pulling out onto this road for the first time, they were both scared. The cars were zooming by so fast to them. I told them the only way to freedom, is to pull out onto the road, as it is the only way out into the world. Driving slower than the flow of traffic, both of them were afraid when impatient people behind our car would pass them. I told them that the man's kid may be in the hospital. His wife might be having a baby. He may be late for work and is feeding eight kids at home. His mother might have just passed away. He may just be a jerk that drives recklessly. Either way, don't get upset. You don't know what he's going through right now.
The woes of life and heartaches are not mentioned often, even with close friends. I think it is a personal responsibility of everyone to understand some people may be going through difficult times. People take an uncaring attitude for many reasons. Some are self absorbed, some are going through stress of their own, some don't realize there is something going on, some are too busy to stop and listen.
The people, friends or family going through these events may not want to share or may want to keep it to themselves for different reasons. Some think their friends are too busy, some may not understand or some don't really want to listen or know how to listen. Most people hear what you are saying, but they don't really listen. Tonal inflections can mean everything. Certain words can be triggers. An optimistic friend, who will not put you down and knows how to listen, is what we really need during these times.
Sharing is an action that we are taught in kindergarten or sooner. We are told to share, because it's the nice thing to do. Somehow, we made this invaluable teaching turn into only sharing the good things in life. "Keep it to yourself", "Big girls don't cry" or "Take it like a man" are fallacies that we should just get over. On occasion, life sucks because we need to share our load. It's beneficial when we lighten our load onto another's shoulders, because we ease our minds and can be constructive again in our life again.
There isn't a camera filming my life, thank God. Though, some parts would be kind of funny, as I talk to myself constantly. I talk to the dog, when she and I are in the house alone. I talk to the ghost, Mr. Donaldson, who haunts our house. And I sing loudly and bang on the piano. Sometimes I make up words for instrumental songs. LOL! I don't want to be filmed. I don't want to share, though I think I just did.
"Pain shared is pain lessened; joy shared is joy increased. Thus do we refute entropy."
--- Spider Robinson
Thursday, April 17, 2008
Feelin Blue
A friend called and told me she was blue today. Before the conversation ended, I knew I had to make her laugh. For a different reason, I had this same conversation with RT when we were dating. I had him laughing too.
"You're blue?" I asked. "Uh huh" I heard in the receiver. "Well, what kind of blue are you? Of all the colors to be, blue can be defined in too many ways." I said to her.
So then I went on my "blue rant. "There's the azure in the sky over the Grand Canyon that seems to go on forever. The teal Caribbean that can not ever be captured on film. The blue in the eyes of a newborn getting used to the light of the new world. Yet another blue in those softest, most comfortable pair of jeans we all own. The blue that trickles from a cold bomb pop in the summer heat, and the blue sparkle of a fiery sapphire. The dark midnight blue of the sky, just before the stars come out. The blue in a Las Vegas marquee light, that glows better than all the other neon in town. The violet blue of Hyacinth that is the first to shoot up at the beginning of Spring. The deep blue that shines through a stain glassed window in an old cathedral."
"Are you done?" she asked.
"No" I replied. There's the red, white and blue of Ole Glory. The sweet blue taste of a Blue Curacao Martini. The soft fuzzy blue of The Cookie Monster, or the blue of a bluejay with its wings in flight."
I paused for a minute to catch my breath. She said, "I feel like the blue in a bruise, after getting hit upside the head."
I still made her laugh . . . And she made me laugh too.
"You're blue?" I asked. "Uh huh" I heard in the receiver. "Well, what kind of blue are you? Of all the colors to be, blue can be defined in too many ways." I said to her.
So then I went on my "blue rant. "There's the azure in the sky over the Grand Canyon that seems to go on forever. The teal Caribbean that can not ever be captured on film. The blue in the eyes of a newborn getting used to the light of the new world. Yet another blue in those softest, most comfortable pair of jeans we all own. The blue that trickles from a cold bomb pop in the summer heat, and the blue sparkle of a fiery sapphire. The dark midnight blue of the sky, just before the stars come out. The blue in a Las Vegas marquee light, that glows better than all the other neon in town. The violet blue of Hyacinth that is the first to shoot up at the beginning of Spring. The deep blue that shines through a stain glassed window in an old cathedral."
"Are you done?" she asked.
"No" I replied. There's the red, white and blue of Ole Glory. The sweet blue taste of a Blue Curacao Martini. The soft fuzzy blue of The Cookie Monster, or the blue of a bluejay with its wings in flight."
I paused for a minute to catch my breath. She said, "I feel like the blue in a bruise, after getting hit upside the head."
I still made her laugh . . . And she made me laugh too.
Tuesday, April 15, 2008
Respecting The Man Museum
I used to hoard things when I was young. Growing up in a poor family with five hungry kids, none of us had any respect for each other's things. You learned if you needed it later or ever wanted to see it again, you had to hide it. Not all, but almost everyone in our family was a pack rat too. When I got out, I vowed to not have things cluttered and piled up high in my home. I made it happen too, with one exception: I am now married to a collector of various things, but I've learned he's not a pack rat. He's more like an accumulator, an obtainer or a gatherer.
RT has very sound reasons for his collection, but he has more stuff than Manny, Moe and Jack. I don't know what some of them are either, but I learn something everytime I follow him into his space - The Man Museum. He has a two car garage workshop and it's filled with things guys like to have. A few of his friends are in awe of his space. There's a work bench, complete with the pegboard that all real men have above their workbench. Of course, the pegboard is filled. There is a screwdriver for anything you can imagine. There are power tools, and I can recognize most of them, but not all. There are a couple of larger machines that do things I don't know what, a couple of stacks of tiny drawers filled with tiny parts, a paint cabinet, shelves with chemicals and solvents.
It's interesting because he has his stock source of cleaning supplies, but they look nothing like mine. I have Tilex, Windex, Scrubbing Bubbles, Pledge, recognizable stuff that everyone is familiar with. He has Mama's Aluminum Polish, 7 different types of car waxes, some smelly stuff for tires, a tar for trees, many types of different motor oils. Why is it when you send a guy to the store, they come back with the wrong thing, but they can find these peculiar items?
He has an old car, an old truck and a couple of motorcycles. He has an old refrigerator in the Man Museum, with beer, so he doesn't have to go upstairs for one, if he doesn't feel like it. I've also used it for overflow when we have had parties. Decorations on the walls are an older neon Harley clock, a beer tin sign and some memorabilia from Bike Week. There are four and five foot remote control airplanes and a couple of rockets. There is fishing gear - fresh water separated from the salt water tackle. There is a generator, that has served the house during ice storms and electrical outages, as well as when he welds with it. There is a lawnmower, some power gardening tools and several different kinds of shovels and rakes. I thought a shovel was a shovel until my tour of the Man Museum. One is curved, one round, one flat, one pointy, a post hole digger and a power spinning thingy for the big holes needed, all with their own reasonable purpose. There are boxes of motorcycle, electrical, plumbing and other parts stored neatly in large plastic tubs with lids, and they are even marked of the contents.
At first, I thought it was just clutter again. It looked eerily familiar with the dysfunctional disorganization I had grown up with. Though, after a nice tour of the Man Museum, you see the logic in it all, and if you listen, will even learn a few new things. He has whatchmacalits and doohickys he doesn't use much, and puts them in higher places, where only he can reach. The projects he is tinkering with at the time, are laid out for him to work on whenever he chooses or when he has time. His pegboard is organized and the many screwdrivers and wrenches are in proper size order. He has different hammers collected together, which have different functions. Girls, just so you know, the bottom of your shoe and a butter knife are not real tools. Trust me. I've seen the mother load!
He's in the steel business, so there are specific tools of his trade. Harleys have very different parts and tools than the vintage BMW and my Honda motorcycle. There are various reasons for the different items. And, when something needs to be fixed, he has the part, tool and goop to make it work. He doesn't have to go to Home Depot or the local hardware store. If it's time for a fishing trip, I've seen him restring the rods the evening before, and not have to leave once to the Bass Pro Shop for any additional items we need. If there is a fan or lamp to fix, he's got it all there. Just once, he has took something apart and was not be able to get it back together. But, hell, it was broken when I handed it to him, right? Nothing scares him or me when something around the house needs repair.
As many gadgets as there are in the kitchen, he has as many in his Man Museum. As many small appliances as I have, he has as many power tools. No, they all don't get used weekly or even monthly. My ice cream maker hasn't been out in so long, I can't even remember the last time I used it. But there it sets, dust and all. He has some tools like that too, but when he needs it, it is there waiting for him. We work well together to keep the house going. When he's in the kitchen, he respects where I put things, though it may not make sense to him. I need to give him the same respect when I'm in Man Museum.
RT has very sound reasons for his collection, but he has more stuff than Manny, Moe and Jack. I don't know what some of them are either, but I learn something everytime I follow him into his space - The Man Museum. He has a two car garage workshop and it's filled with things guys like to have. A few of his friends are in awe of his space. There's a work bench, complete with the pegboard that all real men have above their workbench. Of course, the pegboard is filled. There is a screwdriver for anything you can imagine. There are power tools, and I can recognize most of them, but not all. There are a couple of larger machines that do things I don't know what, a couple of stacks of tiny drawers filled with tiny parts, a paint cabinet, shelves with chemicals and solvents.
It's interesting because he has his stock source of cleaning supplies, but they look nothing like mine. I have Tilex, Windex, Scrubbing Bubbles, Pledge, recognizable stuff that everyone is familiar with. He has Mama's Aluminum Polish, 7 different types of car waxes, some smelly stuff for tires, a tar for trees, many types of different motor oils. Why is it when you send a guy to the store, they come back with the wrong thing, but they can find these peculiar items?
He has an old car, an old truck and a couple of motorcycles. He has an old refrigerator in the Man Museum, with beer, so he doesn't have to go upstairs for one, if he doesn't feel like it. I've also used it for overflow when we have had parties. Decorations on the walls are an older neon Harley clock, a beer tin sign and some memorabilia from Bike Week. There are four and five foot remote control airplanes and a couple of rockets. There is fishing gear - fresh water separated from the salt water tackle. There is a generator, that has served the house during ice storms and electrical outages, as well as when he welds with it. There is a lawnmower, some power gardening tools and several different kinds of shovels and rakes. I thought a shovel was a shovel until my tour of the Man Museum. One is curved, one round, one flat, one pointy, a post hole digger and a power spinning thingy for the big holes needed, all with their own reasonable purpose. There are boxes of motorcycle, electrical, plumbing and other parts stored neatly in large plastic tubs with lids, and they are even marked of the contents.
At first, I thought it was just clutter again. It looked eerily familiar with the dysfunctional disorganization I had grown up with. Though, after a nice tour of the Man Museum, you see the logic in it all, and if you listen, will even learn a few new things. He has whatchmacalits and doohickys he doesn't use much, and puts them in higher places, where only he can reach. The projects he is tinkering with at the time, are laid out for him to work on whenever he chooses or when he has time. His pegboard is organized and the many screwdrivers and wrenches are in proper size order. He has different hammers collected together, which have different functions. Girls, just so you know, the bottom of your shoe and a butter knife are not real tools. Trust me. I've seen the mother load!
He's in the steel business, so there are specific tools of his trade. Harleys have very different parts and tools than the vintage BMW and my Honda motorcycle. There are various reasons for the different items. And, when something needs to be fixed, he has the part, tool and goop to make it work. He doesn't have to go to Home Depot or the local hardware store. If it's time for a fishing trip, I've seen him restring the rods the evening before, and not have to leave once to the Bass Pro Shop for any additional items we need. If there is a fan or lamp to fix, he's got it all there. Just once, he has took something apart and was not be able to get it back together. But, hell, it was broken when I handed it to him, right? Nothing scares him or me when something around the house needs repair.
As many gadgets as there are in the kitchen, he has as many in his Man Museum. As many small appliances as I have, he has as many power tools. No, they all don't get used weekly or even monthly. My ice cream maker hasn't been out in so long, I can't even remember the last time I used it. But there it sets, dust and all. He has some tools like that too, but when he needs it, it is there waiting for him. We work well together to keep the house going. When he's in the kitchen, he respects where I put things, though it may not make sense to him. I need to give him the same respect when I'm in Man Museum.
Monday, April 14, 2008
I REALLY MISS YOU!
If someone took something from you, without asking your permission, you would certainly want it back where it belongs. Even if you weren't using it at the time, then you found out that it it disappeared, you'd still want it back. I am missing a few things and I want them returned immediately.
For instance, milk is a HUGE issue for me (Miss Calcium Deficiency). When you need milk and have to run to the grocery store, or how about a Super Walmart, Super K-Mart or Super Target? OMG! What ever happened to the small corner store, where your kid was able to run down the street and retrieve the milk for you? The corner store is gone forever.
Where is the milk man? I'd love to get that service again, since there aren't any more corner stores. The milk man is gone forever.
Then there is the milk carton. Paper disintegrates in the landfills much faster than plastic. As I get older, I don't like the heavy gallon jugs any more. The old milk carton is gone forever.
Invisible Scotch Magic tape is a much more expensive product than the old yellow type of cellophane tape. If tape shows up on a gift for me, I kind of realize that it's not "magically" sticking together because the tape is invisible. I truly realize that tape was used, and whether it shows or not makes no difference to me. Cheap tape is gone forever.
I want penmanship to come back into grade school and middle school kids. Not that anyone writes letters any more, with the convenience of email, but there are times when I can't read anyone's writing any more. Good penmanship is gone forever.
Pants that fit the teenager. The girls are tight and very low and the boys are hanging off their asses with their Jockeys showing. I have no clue how either are staying on their bodies. I really want to see this corrected. Correct clothing sizes are gone forever.
I would love for full serve gas stations to return again. Sometimes I need to check my oil. Sometimes, it's too cold or it's raining. With today's exorbitant prices, I kind of want my ass kissed a little, instead of the clerk staying warm and dry, waiting for my money. Gas station attendants are gone forever.
I don't know what the heck happened to etiquette. We don't hear "thank you" enough, and even fewer times, "you're welcome". People in traffic are always flipping each other off, and it's become an acceptable gesture. I honked at a young kid for cutting me off the other day, I received his gesture, and then I blew him a kiss. He got so mad at me, he was beating his steering wheel. (LOL! This will probably work even better if you're a man.) Good manners are gone forever.
The rest of the things are secondary, but I would still like to see them again. Board games, clocks with faces & hands, TV trays, ELP, CCR & ELO concerts, slot cars, Gumby & Pokey, Zagnuts, and the lucky red marble I had as a kid.
Some things I wish never to come back again like Stuckey's peanut logs, the hustle, home perms, saddle shoes, Fantasy Island, the title "Ms.", and shag carpeting. These are all forms of torture and should never have been put on this Earth in the first place.
So if anyone has seen any of my stuff, please give me a polite telephone call. I'm going to go buy milk now. When I get back from this errand on Thursday, I'll write you a neatly written and very nice thank you note.
For instance, milk is a HUGE issue for me (Miss Calcium Deficiency). When you need milk and have to run to the grocery store, or how about a Super Walmart, Super K-Mart or Super Target? OMG! What ever happened to the small corner store, where your kid was able to run down the street and retrieve the milk for you? The corner store is gone forever.
Where is the milk man? I'd love to get that service again, since there aren't any more corner stores. The milk man is gone forever.
Then there is the milk carton. Paper disintegrates in the landfills much faster than plastic. As I get older, I don't like the heavy gallon jugs any more. The old milk carton is gone forever.
Invisible Scotch Magic tape is a much more expensive product than the old yellow type of cellophane tape. If tape shows up on a gift for me, I kind of realize that it's not "magically" sticking together because the tape is invisible. I truly realize that tape was used, and whether it shows or not makes no difference to me. Cheap tape is gone forever.
I want penmanship to come back into grade school and middle school kids. Not that anyone writes letters any more, with the convenience of email, but there are times when I can't read anyone's writing any more. Good penmanship is gone forever.
Pants that fit the teenager. The girls are tight and very low and the boys are hanging off their asses with their Jockeys showing. I have no clue how either are staying on their bodies. I really want to see this corrected. Correct clothing sizes are gone forever.
I would love for full serve gas stations to return again. Sometimes I need to check my oil. Sometimes, it's too cold or it's raining. With today's exorbitant prices, I kind of want my ass kissed a little, instead of the clerk staying warm and dry, waiting for my money. Gas station attendants are gone forever.
I don't know what the heck happened to etiquette. We don't hear "thank you" enough, and even fewer times, "you're welcome". People in traffic are always flipping each other off, and it's become an acceptable gesture. I honked at a young kid for cutting me off the other day, I received his gesture, and then I blew him a kiss. He got so mad at me, he was beating his steering wheel. (LOL! This will probably work even better if you're a man.) Good manners are gone forever.
The rest of the things are secondary, but I would still like to see them again. Board games, clocks with faces & hands, TV trays, ELP, CCR & ELO concerts, slot cars, Gumby & Pokey, Zagnuts, and the lucky red marble I had as a kid.
Some things I wish never to come back again like Stuckey's peanut logs, the hustle, home perms, saddle shoes, Fantasy Island, the title "Ms.", and shag carpeting. These are all forms of torture and should never have been put on this Earth in the first place.
So if anyone has seen any of my stuff, please give me a polite telephone call. I'm going to go buy milk now. When I get back from this errand on Thursday, I'll write you a neatly written and very nice thank you note.
Saturday, April 12, 2008
PRospect 2-8195 -- Home Telephone Number, c. 1966
We still have a home telephone because . . . well, I really don't know why. We have our own cell phones and everyone can call and get us individually and directly. I'm not sure why the home phones and extensions are still all over this house.
The only telephone calls on the home phone are from unknown people, and are mostly aggravating. You're just ready to walk out the door and it rings. You have to drop everything, including your momentum, and pick up the phone. It's the Police Benevolent Association, a political call or, my all time favorite, AT&T. (Note the sarcasm.) I am so confused when they call us to "upgrade" our services, that I don't even speak to them. I act like the submissive wife that will surely get beaten if I make a decision. I tell them to call back and speak to RT. [LOL]. To begin with, I don't even know what services we have, much less to upgrade them. They are all too confusing to me. When all three kids moved out, NONE of them got home telephones installed. It's our generation that spans through the many changes of Ma Bell and other technology leaps and changes.
When we were young, and television was still new, we watched Aunt Bea go to the telephone on the wall, crank it up and ring up Sarah, Mayberry's only telephone operator. That nosy woman used to listen in on everyone's calls. My childhood home was much more advanced than poor old Mayberry, with a telephone where we could actually dial the number directly and privately. Our generation has been through party lines and the old rotary phones. When I was growing up, in a house with five dating teenagers, we only had one telephone and no extensions. We had to wait and bitch at each other to get off the phone, as there was always someone hogging it. We used to have to wait for Ma Bell's lineman to come in and actually install the telephone line inside the wall. Then, we watched in awe, as technology changed to the touch tone telephones we could just plug straight into the wall, without the help of a service call or technician.
Our generation went through the bag phone stage, where your mobile phone had to be wired or installed in your car. If you weren't in the car, you missed the call, because you couldn't take the mobile phone with you. This isn't very mobile, compared to today's standards. We went through the years of answering machines with the little cassette tapes, which always sounded garbled. We've also seen telephone numbers add a digit, the exchange letters disappear, and area codes added for local calls. We've been through LP albums, 8-tracks, cassettes and CDs, and all the machines that supported them. We've been through the old mimeograph machine copies from our teachers, where we all immediately smelled the purple ink before it dried. (Oh, you know you did!) We went through the phase of the old Quip machines, the first fax machines, where both parties, at a designated time, had to simultaneously put the receivers of their telephones into the cradle of the machine. We've gone through the old game of Pong on our televisions, and watch it develop into Atari, Nintendo, PlayStation, XBox, and Wii. We have long given up our old slide rules, typewriters, IBM Selectrics and Victor adding machines with the crank handles, in exchange for Excel and text messaging.
We have so many new choices now - Caller ID, Call Waiting, 3-Way, Call Return, Ring Control, Privacy Function, Voice Mail, to name a few and that's just for our telephones. Then we add cable, email, Blue Tooth, DSL, ISPs, cameras, PDAs, MP3s, iPods. On top of all of this, there are over 300 television stations, DVDs, CDs, TiVo, and, each television set up in our home is different in every room. I can't even count the number of remote control thingys in this house. In my childhood, we used to have three TV stations, one UHF station and one PBS station - all in black & white. You had to get up and change the channel with a dial or knob. I called The Baby the other day and she said she was watching an episode of House on her computer! Can you really do that?
I have seven email addresses! This is insane, right??? They are for work, various activities or other places I need a pseudonym. I have a cell phone where I've just learned to use the camera this past weekend while out of town, and completely on accident. I'm embarrassed to say, I've had this phone for almost a year. I bought a new computer earlier this year - a Mac. It was very difficult and a challenge for me to get used to, but I love it now. I still don't know how to work everything. By the time I get settled into it, I'm sure new technology will take over again, if it hasn't already.
With all of this technology, there are about 7 large and 15 - 20 small appliances that I've learned to use, as well as a lawnmower, treadmill and electric piano. The car and motorcycle have their own special buttons, procedures and personalities. I have a PC at the office, that has very different computer programs than the one at home, and a laptop near the kitchen with a few hundred recipes on it. Of course, there is my beloved iPod that goes everywhere with me. I have learned some new things over the years. I'm not a complete dumb ass.
WHEW!! I used to keep up with this technology krap, but I'm tired. The 1960s through the 1990s wore my ass out. The manuals are getting bigger and more difficult, and I just don't have the patience for it any longer. Now, it all seems to be moving at warp speed and there's just no slowing it down.
Eliminating the home phone won't even make a dent. I think I'll just let it ring.
The only telephone calls on the home phone are from unknown people, and are mostly aggravating. You're just ready to walk out the door and it rings. You have to drop everything, including your momentum, and pick up the phone. It's the Police Benevolent Association, a political call or, my all time favorite, AT&T. (Note the sarcasm.) I am so confused when they call us to "upgrade" our services, that I don't even speak to them. I act like the submissive wife that will surely get beaten if I make a decision. I tell them to call back and speak to RT. [LOL]. To begin with, I don't even know what services we have, much less to upgrade them. They are all too confusing to me. When all three kids moved out, NONE of them got home telephones installed. It's our generation that spans through the many changes of Ma Bell and other technology leaps and changes.
When we were young, and television was still new, we watched Aunt Bea go to the telephone on the wall, crank it up and ring up Sarah, Mayberry's only telephone operator. That nosy woman used to listen in on everyone's calls. My childhood home was much more advanced than poor old Mayberry, with a telephone where we could actually dial the number directly and privately. Our generation has been through party lines and the old rotary phones. When I was growing up, in a house with five dating teenagers, we only had one telephone and no extensions. We had to wait and bitch at each other to get off the phone, as there was always someone hogging it. We used to have to wait for Ma Bell's lineman to come in and actually install the telephone line inside the wall. Then, we watched in awe, as technology changed to the touch tone telephones we could just plug straight into the wall, without the help of a service call or technician.
Our generation went through the bag phone stage, where your mobile phone had to be wired or installed in your car. If you weren't in the car, you missed the call, because you couldn't take the mobile phone with you. This isn't very mobile, compared to today's standards. We went through the years of answering machines with the little cassette tapes, which always sounded garbled. We've also seen telephone numbers add a digit, the exchange letters disappear, and area codes added for local calls. We've been through LP albums, 8-tracks, cassettes and CDs, and all the machines that supported them. We've been through the old mimeograph machine copies from our teachers, where we all immediately smelled the purple ink before it dried. (Oh, you know you did!) We went through the phase of the old Quip machines, the first fax machines, where both parties, at a designated time, had to simultaneously put the receivers of their telephones into the cradle of the machine. We've gone through the old game of Pong on our televisions, and watch it develop into Atari, Nintendo, PlayStation, XBox, and Wii. We have long given up our old slide rules, typewriters, IBM Selectrics and Victor adding machines with the crank handles, in exchange for Excel and text messaging.
We have so many new choices now - Caller ID, Call Waiting, 3-Way, Call Return, Ring Control, Privacy Function, Voice Mail, to name a few and that's just for our telephones. Then we add cable, email, Blue Tooth, DSL, ISPs, cameras, PDAs, MP3s, iPods. On top of all of this, there are over 300 television stations, DVDs, CDs, TiVo, and, each television set up in our home is different in every room. I can't even count the number of remote control thingys in this house. In my childhood, we used to have three TV stations, one UHF station and one PBS station - all in black & white. You had to get up and change the channel with a dial or knob. I called The Baby the other day and she said she was watching an episode of House on her computer! Can you really do that?
I have seven email addresses! This is insane, right??? They are for work, various activities or other places I need a pseudonym. I have a cell phone where I've just learned to use the camera this past weekend while out of town, and completely on accident. I'm embarrassed to say, I've had this phone for almost a year. I bought a new computer earlier this year - a Mac. It was very difficult and a challenge for me to get used to, but I love it now. I still don't know how to work everything. By the time I get settled into it, I'm sure new technology will take over again, if it hasn't already.
With all of this technology, there are about 7 large and 15 - 20 small appliances that I've learned to use, as well as a lawnmower, treadmill and electric piano. The car and motorcycle have their own special buttons, procedures and personalities. I have a PC at the office, that has very different computer programs than the one at home, and a laptop near the kitchen with a few hundred recipes on it. Of course, there is my beloved iPod that goes everywhere with me. I have learned some new things over the years. I'm not a complete dumb ass.
WHEW!! I used to keep up with this technology krap, but I'm tired. The 1960s through the 1990s wore my ass out. The manuals are getting bigger and more difficult, and I just don't have the patience for it any longer. Now, it all seems to be moving at warp speed and there's just no slowing it down.
Eliminating the home phone won't even make a dent. I think I'll just let it ring.
Sunday, April 6, 2008
OK, I'm a bitch. BYE!
I’m may sound like a total bitch after this blog, but here it goes anyway.
People love to associate themselves with others like themselves, with similar likes and dislikes. We have people constantly around us, influencing our lives - most of them in good ways, a few of them in bad ways.
In the past, I have made a couple of decisions not to associate with certain people. Either the person changed drastically, no longer cares for one of us, or has treated myself or someone close to me with almost irreparable damage. I have thought about their actions or behavior, and at first, tried to rationalize it. However, after several chances, and when a person I love is hurt over and over again, there seems to be no other choice but to end the relationship. A few people close to me, used to question these decisions, but they no longer second guess me. They don’t have to be the bitch, I do. They are the ones in the background being protected by the lioness - never worrying that anyone will hurt them.
These are very difficult decisions to make, and they aren’t knee jerk reactions to the situations. Narcissism, addictions, and plain old apathy can quickly turn a loving relationship into ugly, no matter how close you once were. They are all unhealthy positions and traits, and can taint love like a cancer. I believe though, they can be transformed and corrected, if the desire is strong enough for a change in these people. Maybe I am impatient in waiting for the changes to come, because most of the time, the change never comes, and having the person(s) in my life has lead to more disappointment.
So what is wrong with wanting a "normal" life, without melodramatic events taking place. Life, and the decisions and mistakes we all make, are difficult enough, without someone throwing a wrench in the gears, and upsetting the people I love the most.
I realize that I do not walk in any shoes, except my own, but I have to be concerned with family issues right now - both good and bad. All three of our kids are going through major decisions in their lives, and all three are asking for our help. Toss in a little apathetic jerk and their snide comments for the 14th time, and VOILA! Severed! Cut! Discarded! It’s not a public thing either. On the contrary, it’s a very quiet event. There are no returned calls, no emails, excuses and alibis, if needed. I will do anything to keep them away and safeguard my family. Maybe I am a bitch.
They give us dolls when we are little girls, a sneaky way that they think we should practice our mothering skills. Bastards! Who thought of this!!!???!! Unlike real babies, we can throw that doll in the corner anytime we want. There is never wiping the tear away and feeling the pain of that doll. There isn’t a manual for child raising either, no matter what Dr. Spock or any other "professional" says or writes. If a manual magically came to me, there would be three different manuals, as I have three very different children, with different personalities going through three different times in their lives, and those manuals would constantly need updating and editing.
Being a mother makes you even more protective of the home and the immediate family. J. D. Salinger once said that "all mothers are slightly insane". I totally agree! A good mother has the horrible job of using her whole life, devoting her entire mind, energy and soul to the child, with an extraordinary, undying love. Then, for the kick in the ass, we have to teach that child to live independently of us and leave. It’s enough to make us a little crazy at times.
Throw in a self centered family member or acquaintance that swears their problems are worse than mine could ever be, and I should drop the juggling of my maternal duties and help them with their problems. Add the fact that they don’t know what is going on in my life, and it breaches our family’s importance. I just give up! I can usually handle many events and emotions simultaneously, but after the 7th call of distress from this individual in a month, I just feel I have no other choice! They undermine the spirit of love in our family life.
I guess I am a bitch. I don’t feel I have the time between all the happy events, anxious moments and questioning of my own decisions of being a mother, to even begin to evaluate whether severing relationships is right or wrong. And I guess if I have to take the rap for being the bitch of the family, so be it. I am a bitch.
People love to associate themselves with others like themselves, with similar likes and dislikes. We have people constantly around us, influencing our lives - most of them in good ways, a few of them in bad ways.
In the past, I have made a couple of decisions not to associate with certain people. Either the person changed drastically, no longer cares for one of us, or has treated myself or someone close to me with almost irreparable damage. I have thought about their actions or behavior, and at first, tried to rationalize it. However, after several chances, and when a person I love is hurt over and over again, there seems to be no other choice but to end the relationship. A few people close to me, used to question these decisions, but they no longer second guess me. They don’t have to be the bitch, I do. They are the ones in the background being protected by the lioness - never worrying that anyone will hurt them.
These are very difficult decisions to make, and they aren’t knee jerk reactions to the situations. Narcissism, addictions, and plain old apathy can quickly turn a loving relationship into ugly, no matter how close you once were. They are all unhealthy positions and traits, and can taint love like a cancer. I believe though, they can be transformed and corrected, if the desire is strong enough for a change in these people. Maybe I am impatient in waiting for the changes to come, because most of the time, the change never comes, and having the person(s) in my life has lead to more disappointment.
So what is wrong with wanting a "normal" life, without melodramatic events taking place. Life, and the decisions and mistakes we all make, are difficult enough, without someone throwing a wrench in the gears, and upsetting the people I love the most.
I realize that I do not walk in any shoes, except my own, but I have to be concerned with family issues right now - both good and bad. All three of our kids are going through major decisions in their lives, and all three are asking for our help. Toss in a little apathetic jerk and their snide comments for the 14th time, and VOILA! Severed! Cut! Discarded! It’s not a public thing either. On the contrary, it’s a very quiet event. There are no returned calls, no emails, excuses and alibis, if needed. I will do anything to keep them away and safeguard my family. Maybe I am a bitch.
They give us dolls when we are little girls, a sneaky way that they think we should practice our mothering skills. Bastards! Who thought of this!!!???!! Unlike real babies, we can throw that doll in the corner anytime we want. There is never wiping the tear away and feeling the pain of that doll. There isn’t a manual for child raising either, no matter what Dr. Spock or any other "professional" says or writes. If a manual magically came to me, there would be three different manuals, as I have three very different children, with different personalities going through three different times in their lives, and those manuals would constantly need updating and editing.
Being a mother makes you even more protective of the home and the immediate family. J. D. Salinger once said that "all mothers are slightly insane". I totally agree! A good mother has the horrible job of using her whole life, devoting her entire mind, energy and soul to the child, with an extraordinary, undying love. Then, for the kick in the ass, we have to teach that child to live independently of us and leave. It’s enough to make us a little crazy at times.
Throw in a self centered family member or acquaintance that swears their problems are worse than mine could ever be, and I should drop the juggling of my maternal duties and help them with their problems. Add the fact that they don’t know what is going on in my life, and it breaches our family’s importance. I just give up! I can usually handle many events and emotions simultaneously, but after the 7th call of distress from this individual in a month, I just feel I have no other choice! They undermine the spirit of love in our family life.
I guess I am a bitch. I don’t feel I have the time between all the happy events, anxious moments and questioning of my own decisions of being a mother, to even begin to evaluate whether severing relationships is right or wrong. And I guess if I have to take the rap for being the bitch of the family, so be it. I am a bitch.
Tuesday, April 1, 2008
Dad's Whale
I have a ceramic whale on my piano. This is a new acquisition of mine, and when I saw it, I had to immediately purchase it. It is identical to the one my Dad used to have when I was a little girl. It’s nothing more than a small ceramic black planter, and he kept his spare change inside the planter part of the whale. He gave me a nickel every week for being a good girl. It’s a silly and trivial memory, you would think.
The man would always lovingly bend down to my level when he talked to me, even at four years old. He made me feel like I was the only person in the world at that moment in time. His blue eyes mirroring mine, held that shiny nickel. "Pumpkin, were you a good girl this week?" Of course, I always told him "yes", though I probably wasn’t most of the time. Was I a liar? NO! I just wanted the nickel and I was only four. He always gave me a big smile, the nickel and a hug.
The second last time I saw my father, he patted the empty seat on the sofa next to him at his home. I sat beside him and faced him. Looking back, I think he wanted me on his level again, as I am short and he was 6’4". When we sat together, we had a better view of each other. He put his arm around my shoulder, on the sofa that day, and told me not to worry. He never wanted to see me cry. When I was with him, he always touched me - a hug around my shoulder, a pat on my shorter head, a squeeze with my hand in his.
I was the only one of his first five children that had a relationship with him in our adult years. I was the one that had to break the news that he had passed away to my siblings. I was the only one at the funeral, of the five of us. I was the one that had to explain his hereditary disease that had a chance of running through our genes and to our children, and the only one without regrets.
The last time I saw Dad was at his funeral. My great uncle, Uncle Louie, was around 90 when Dad passed away, and in his thick accent, he said hello to me and gave me a hug. He and I said goodbye to Dad together. He knelt next to me in front of his casket and prayed with me. Uncle Louie was his own man - a typical stubborn Italian. No one told him what to think. It was his way of telling me he agreed at what an amazing man his nephew was.
I am humbled and lucky to have known him, much less to call him Dad. I think of his past advice and the many talks we had. I remember his warm touch, and the way he talked to me. I wish I could be half the parent to my children as he was to me. I miss him like crazy lately, and would love to talk to him for that comfort and security that only "Daddy’s Girl" ever receives.
Dad’s whale reminds me of all those times I was lucky enough to be with him. A simple man, he knew to look people in the eye. He knew how to have fun. He knew how to be thoughtful and think of others. He knew how to pray. He new how to love. Although it is a material object, I can touch and hold the whale, and have a small memory of Dad, though some weeks I don’t deserve the nickel.
The man would always lovingly bend down to my level when he talked to me, even at four years old. He made me feel like I was the only person in the world at that moment in time. His blue eyes mirroring mine, held that shiny nickel. "Pumpkin, were you a good girl this week?" Of course, I always told him "yes", though I probably wasn’t most of the time. Was I a liar? NO! I just wanted the nickel and I was only four. He always gave me a big smile, the nickel and a hug.
The second last time I saw my father, he patted the empty seat on the sofa next to him at his home. I sat beside him and faced him. Looking back, I think he wanted me on his level again, as I am short and he was 6’4". When we sat together, we had a better view of each other. He put his arm around my shoulder, on the sofa that day, and told me not to worry. He never wanted to see me cry. When I was with him, he always touched me - a hug around my shoulder, a pat on my shorter head, a squeeze with my hand in his.
I was the only one of his first five children that had a relationship with him in our adult years. I was the one that had to break the news that he had passed away to my siblings. I was the only one at the funeral, of the five of us. I was the one that had to explain his hereditary disease that had a chance of running through our genes and to our children, and the only one without regrets.
The last time I saw Dad was at his funeral. My great uncle, Uncle Louie, was around 90 when Dad passed away, and in his thick accent, he said hello to me and gave me a hug. He and I said goodbye to Dad together. He knelt next to me in front of his casket and prayed with me. Uncle Louie was his own man - a typical stubborn Italian. No one told him what to think. It was his way of telling me he agreed at what an amazing man his nephew was.
I am humbled and lucky to have known him, much less to call him Dad. I think of his past advice and the many talks we had. I remember his warm touch, and the way he talked to me. I wish I could be half the parent to my children as he was to me. I miss him like crazy lately, and would love to talk to him for that comfort and security that only "Daddy’s Girl" ever receives.
Dad’s whale reminds me of all those times I was lucky enough to be with him. A simple man, he knew to look people in the eye. He knew how to have fun. He knew how to be thoughtful and think of others. He knew how to pray. He new how to love. Although it is a material object, I can touch and hold the whale, and have a small memory of Dad, though some weeks I don’t deserve the nickel.
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