Cccccccold, but simple

As of yesterday, at 3pm, our power has been restored. Somehow, I thought that the surge of electricity would make me more motivated. I imagined myself rushing around the house, cleaning and organizing. No such thing happened.

As the hours went by, I noticed that the temperature in the house had not changed. The heating system's fan was only blowing cool air. We took all of the common sense steps (resetting fuse box, resetting on/off button for furnace, etc), but to no avail. The heating sytem is most definitely broken.

Now we're sitting in an electricity-filled house, but with the absence of heat. I'll call the heating technician today and get it fixed, further making it apparent that homes are simply money pits. Once one thing is fixed, something else breaks. I miss the days of living in an apartment. When something broke, all I had to do was write a letter to maintenance and, within a day or two, the problem was fixed.

We're thankful for the electricity being back though. Lights! I have never been so thankful for lights!

I was telling John that I hope Hurricane Sandy and the loss of power for consecutive days will make people less likely to take "the little things" for granted. He asked what I meant and it was hard to explain. I feel that we already live simply. Part of the simplicity is due to financial issues, but part of the simplicity is just the desire to not be people who are obsessed with acquiring new objects. I guess for people who are object-driven, living more simple would be challenging. Things are probably best summed up from a quotation that I heard years ago: "Live simply so that others may simply live." 

Something from Faulkner

In college (over a decade ago!), I recall reading Faulkner's As I Lay Dying. In short, the book details a family making a cross country pilgrimage for the purpose of burying the deceased matriarch (or at least that is what I recall).

Seven years ago, when my sister, mother, and I drove to Ohio for my grandmother’s funeral, I remember having a Faulkner moment. I was trying to drive as fast as possible, while simultaneously trying to block out the sounds of my mother talking. At some points, my sister and mother argued with one another and I tried blocking out those shrill noises. It was a Faulkner moment, otherwise known as a crazy family moment.

Amidst the power outage (still!), I am experiencing another Faulkneresque moment. We’re still staying at John’s parents’ house, but the situation has become more complex. There’s John and me. Then there’s his sister, a dependent 26-year old who has no qualms about still calling her parents “Mommy” and “Daddy.” There’s my mother-in-law, who resents that she works full time while my father-in-law is retired. There’s Flash, our former cat who now belongs to John’s parents; they were able to put up with his annoying habits (scratching at doors to have access to every part of the house, tapping on windows so that you will open them even in the middle of winter). Flash just had surgery, so he is convalescing (shaved fur, stitches, prescriptions for special cat food). There’s also Santo, John’s schizophrenic and bipolar uncle. He was in the hospital last week for an infection and is also convalescing at John’s parents’ house. Lastly, we created further chaos by bringing out cat, Lola, to the house. Last night, she growled often, snuck bites of Flash’s food, and stole his toys.

I don’t regard mystery writer Sue Grafton as a wondrous sage, but she has uttered words that do speak truly about family: “People talk about 'dysfunctional' families; I've never seen any other kind." While I think that John's family is wacky and while my own family is the epitome of dysfunction, dysfunction does appear to be the norm in our society. 

Post-Sandy

For two consecutive years, there has been catastrophic weather during the week of Halloween. Perhaps I will just leave the state altogether during Halloween of next year.

We had a mindfuck, post-Sandy. For four straight days, we have had partial power.Power power equates to all of the light fixtures being able to work, but being very dim. The stove works, but I have to wait significantly longer for things to boil or cook. The microwave does not have enough "juice" to work efficiently. The refrigerator keeps foods "good," but I would not exactly label them as "fresh." Cable and internet completely work.

Flash forward to last night. We had dinner at John's parents' house and then went to a birthday party. We came home late at night and, upon walking into the house, were in complete darkness. It turns out that while we out yesterday, the whole street lost partial power and has no power. The house is 45 degrees, the food is  rotting, and I am just utterly frustrated.

There was no devastation to our house, just tons of leaves and branches on the ground (which would have occurred anyway, at some point). This week has been depressing though. I don't know how I will have the energy to go into work on Tuesday (IF the power is restored to the schools by then), have a smile on my face, and be positive enough to teach. Again, my mindstate is negative, and we barely lost anything. I can't imagine how the people near the coast are feeling.

Four years ago, on this day, we were still in Hawaii on our honeymoon. We had moved on from Kaui to Maui. At one point, I recall that we thought, "Wouldn't it be great to just leave our house and 'junk' in NJ and move here?...just to move and start over with whatever possessions we currently have?"

I feel that same way now.

How NOT to act at a shiva

After a long battle with cancer, my aunt passed away this past Thursday. I'm not particularly close to that side of the family, but I wanted to pay my respects and attend the shiva. Despite my father's side being Jewish, I can't ever recall attending a shiva. I had no idea what to wear or what to bring with me (food?), so I texted two friends. One friend replied to my text as I was literally parking in front of the house for the shiva (no help, thanks a lot) and another friend was casual with her reply (John doesn't have to wear a suit, don't worry, I don't think you have to bring anything).

John and I, therefore, used our "best judgment." He wore dress pants, a dress shirt, and a blazer. I wore a skirt and a nice top. We didn't know what to bring and didn't have access to a Kosher bakery, so we just came with our condolences.

Unfortunately, my mother also attended the shiva with us. Since she doesn't drive, we had to pick her up, bring her to the shiva, bring her back home, and then drive back home ourselves. According to my calculations, we drove 52 miles OUT OF THE WAY to bring her to the shiva. I didn't mind all that much, until after the shiva, when her monumentally horrible behavior coaelesced.

While I did not think this was possible, my mother's behavior has warranted me to create a list of "Top 10 Things to NOT do at a shiva." Note: these requirements for how NOT to behave fall in no particular order.

1. While the prayers are being said and all attendees are solemnly standing outside, do NOT go back into the house, take off your shoes, and lounge in the comfy living room leather chair.

2. Do NOT continue walking around the house, which isn't yours, with your shoes off. Really?

3. Upon re-meeting a relative whose name you do not recall, do NOT start out the conversation with guessing aloud,  "Wait, wasn't your husband the one who died while crossing the sidewalk?" When the person with whom you are speaking quickly replies, "No," do not continue to guess the person's former husband's mode of death.

4. Do NOT hit on the recent widower by saying, "I LOVE men with gray hair. You know, I'm not too far from your wife's age."

5. Do NOT comment on how the shiva house hasn't changed in 25 years and how, with all the money the homeowners have, you'd think the interior decor would have changed.

6. Upon entering the house when you first arrive, do NOT start walking around the house, giving yourself a personal tour (while everyone else is congregating outside and getting ready to begin the shiva readings).

7. Since this occasion honors someone else's life, do NOT take the time to talk about how your own husband has been gone for 25 years, blah, blah, blah.

I can't believe that I only came up with a list of seven things. I've probably pushed the other tactless acts out of my mind. I tried doing the "nice thing" by having my mother attend the shiva with us, despite the fact that everyone on my father's side of the family could care less about her attendance there (me included). What really angers me is the total lack of tact that she displayed. John and I were respectful and, overall, acted how a normal human should act. I feel like some of my relatives just lump me in with my mother in their minds. However, she and I are completely, utterly, exponentially different from one another.

Trampy Halloween Costumes II

I know I posted about this same topic a few Halloweens ago, but I have realized that the possibilities for trampy costumes are limitless.

At work, we're attempting to corral a bunch of people into doing an 80s Halloween theme. During the summer, I was pondering Halloween costumes and thought that being Mario could be fun. Now, my ideas have come "full circle," since Mario fits in well with the 80s theme. I am not that "into" the costume that i am willing to wear the unflattering, cotton jumper costume that is sold, complete with inflatable belly. Just having the hat, moustache, and a red shirt should suffice.

I started looking online at other 80s themed costumes and the sluttification-factor stunned me. I mean, ok, no one should be stunned that a company can take an "innocent" concept and turn it into something provocative, but some of the costumes were simply ridiculous. Examples include trampy Princess Peach (also from Super Mario), trampy Rubik's cube (yes, it exists!), and trampy Ghostbusters fighter. Miss Piggy's chubby cuteness has even been tarnished.

A trampy Slimer costume (also a character from Ghostbusters fame) does not yet exist. I guess there are some limits and boundaries. Basically, if the original character is obese and spews forth mucusy substances, then it cannot be sluttified. Good to know.

Venn diagram of a relationship

Today we held a garage sale. I made $20 in five hours, which makes my hourly "job" rate $4.00 an hour. Luckily, friends came over to help with the garage sale and it made the day more fun.

Last night, I was going through CDs to sell at the garage sale (no one ended up buying ANY). My friend, Jen, persisted, "Don't sell your CDs. What if you want to listen to them?" Even I, who have droned on and on about how I would never get rid of any of my CDs, recognize that it is 2012 and 1] most of my CD collection is on my Itunes list anyway and 2] I can always get digital copies of music or even go to the library. I ended up allowing myself to "attempt" to sell 40 CDs from my collection.

While going through the CDs, I noticed the duplicates that John and I have. Now, I had noticed this years ago when we used to have our CD collection meticulously displayed in alphabetical order. You'd get to certain parts of the alphabet and two identical CD spines would be resting, side by side.

It's interesting how amidst our combined 700+ CD collection, there are only about five duplicates. The fact that someone who listened to rap, David Bowie, and metal music & someone who listened to 80s music, goth, and pop music somehow own five identical CDs says something about the pop cultural value of those album titles:

1. REM's Automatic for the People--- REM is weird, odd, eccentric, ---say it however you want. I've never really listened to an entire album of theirs, despite the fact that they have many singles I like ("Orange Crush," "End of the World," etc). Automatic For the People is listenable and enjoyable.

2. Pearl Jam's Vs. --First of all, the album art is awesome---- a vicious dog trying to break through a caged area. Pearl Jam's album, Ten, has tons of hit singles on it and I was wondering why John and I didn't own that one too. I figured it out. Ten came out when we were 12 and 11, respectively. We probably were still listening to radio and not paying too close attention to certain bands. Vs. came out when we were 13 and 12. I don't think we bought it at those ages either. Later on, I think that that dog image really reeled us in. Vs. is okay and features my favorite song, "Glorified g."

3. Nirvana's Teen Spirit--I didn't buy this when it came out, but I vividly recall one of my childhood friends had the CD when it came out. We would've been 12. Once again, the album art reeled us in. This is one of those CDs that I would expect a majority of people my age to have owned at one point in their lives.

4. Door's Greatest Hits- Self-explanatory--Lots of teenagers go through Doors phases but, most times, it never gets past the "Oh they were kind of cool" point. You buy the greatest hits album to appease your curiosity and then the interest wanes.

5. Radiohead's The Bends- I have the album because I was not "into" Radiohead's more experimental stuff and liked the predictability of songs like "High and Dry." Also, "High and Dry" was in Clueless, a movie I loved. John hates this album because it's, by far, Radiohead's weakest--but he probably bought it because he wanted to complete his collection of their albums.

If someone ever needs to know albums that represent a generation, the above list would work for us Gen Xers...Yers... whatever I am classified as...

BTSN

BTSN---it's what all the cool cats use to abbreviate Back to School Night. Tonight was Back to School Night #11 for me. I can still remember my first BTSN. I borrowed John's mother's clothing (that should give enough of a visual!). It was a Nina Ricci outfit--- black and linen material. There was a dress with a drawstring waist and a light jacket to go over the dress. Basically, I wore a burlap sack.

I get nervous with BTSN. I guess that's good because it means that I care. I always feel the need to "get dressed up," but in the end I feel like someone who is "playing dress up." I had on a black, short-sleeved mock sweater and a black/white polka-dotted skirt. With my one inch heels and stockings, I looked Mad Men-esque, but without the sexiness. Moreso, I resembled a 1950s housewife.

Whenever I wear stockings and heels, I feel so unlike myself. Everything is compressed and uncomfortable---not exactly the best feelings to have in place when making an oral presentation. Stockings just aggravate me too. If you're thin, they serve to make your legs look tan and blemish-free. If you're even slightly chubby, stockings serve to "compress your chunk." Basically, you'll still look like you have a pot belly, but it will look like a pot belly of steel, encased in cellophane for extra protrusion.

I don't think I'll ever enjoy the concept of dressing up. Part of me will always revel in what I did as a teen---I went to a wedding with my best friend and as soon as the reception began, we changed into tattered jeans and tshirts. When you pull stunts like that as a teen, you're just a smart ass teenager---how you're supposed to be. As an adult though, you're just labeled immature. I think we could all use a little immaturity in our adult lives.

Accomplishment of the Summer

Normally, if something is bothering me, I tend to hold back my emotions. I especially tend to hold back my emotions if I am in a public place. The amount of rudeness I see on a daily basis angers me, but I just keep my mouth shut. Truthfully, if I "confronted" a  rude person, he/she would most likely be ruder back to me. What would be the point?

On Friday night, I actually let me emotions (moreso opinion, actually) be heard. Four of us were at a Jason Mraz concert----very low key---- lots of acoustic sets, violins being played, and just a generally "chill" atmosphere. We had lawn seats, which I also refer to as anarchists' domain since "anything goes." People all around us were talking and just not really paying attention to the music. Our friend Michael commented, "It sounds like we're in a cafeteria." Working in a middle school environment for over 10 years, I have a definite conception of what cafeteria noise sounds like and he was absolutely correct.

However, one group of voices was particularly jarring. There were four girls (I say girls because they seemed like they were college-age) who were to the right of us. They just kept talking and talking; they had those voices that I associate with "Valley girls" from 1980s movies---shrilling, with an emphasis on letters like s and k.

The pinnacle of the evening was when I went over to them and uttered the following words: "Hi, um, are you by any chance college students majoring in elementary ed?" (They then quizzically looked at me and said "No.") I then replied, "Ok. You just have these loud and grating voices like elementary school teachers and it is really noticeable. Is there any way you could lower your voices? In fact, you're not singing or anything with the concert. You could walk back to the concrete with your drinks and have the same exact concert experience you are having up here."

Queen bee of the group (with huge Amanda Seyfried-like eyes) says to me, "You know, you don't have to be so rude. You could have said something to us like 45 minutes ago" (although I would have still called their voices loud and grating...so I don't know how the 45 minute timespan would have made a difference). She also said, "Oh, sorry, we'll try to have less fun."

I do admit that calling a groups' voices "loud and grating" could be considered rude, but oh well. I felt proud of myself for saying something, for once. They were okay for the rest of the concert, but they intermittently would all say, "Shhh" in unison. I should have started out with asking them if they were in high school; that's what their behavior suggested to me.

At the end of the show, they tried saying something snarky to me. I just walked on, but my friend got in their faces. It would have been hilarious to go home and say to John, "Um, hon, I got into a fight at the Jason Mraz concert." 

Triathlete

My neighbor across the street drives a maroon mini van. I just thought I'd state that detail.

In terms of being an active person, she is the complete opposite. She has a Stop-n-Shop truck deliver food to the house on a biweekly basis.  She also has housekeepers come to her house on a weekly basis. While one could say that those are simply signs of affluence rather than inactiveness, I also never see this woman outside of her house. She has two young children and a pet dog. I never see her playing outside with the children or even walking the dog. The dog sits on the lawn, ambles around, and then goes back inside the house. An "invisible electric fence" keeps the dog within the lawn area.

Anyway, on the back bumper of the caravan are two stickers. One sticker proudly proclaims "13.1" (half marathon). The other sticker simply says "Triathlete."

I'm all for people accomplishing goals, but if someone runs a half-marathon and has a bumper sticker stating triathlete status, that person shouldn't walk around looking like a frump in her oversized t shirts and tight "yoga" pants.

Just sayin'. 

Extremes

In regard to Facebook, I guess I can't complain about the stupid posts people write if I am the one who chooses to read them. Sometimes though, what people see as "best," "worst," or "disaster" simply serves to make me laugh.

A recent acquaintance posted the following: The worst thing happened. I needed to make pesto sauce before the basil went bad. The awful part was I had to put it in the fridge for tomorrow because I have a dentist appointment in the pm and I couldn't offend the dentist! I guess I will be happy tomorrow .

That whole "travesty" is so insignificant and laugh-worthy. There's tons of my friends who don't even have dental insurance and who would love to have the quandary of having pesto-breath before their dentist appointments.

This is the same girl who posted a photo of her new, gleaming Sub-Zero fridge and posted something along the lines of: Oh my gosh! I am so happy!

People really need to start getting their priorities straight...or they simply need to acquire more intelligence. 

On a side note, the woman I am speaking about is a teacher and constantly misuses words or makes grammatical mistakes---and stupid grammatical mistakes at that---we're talking your vs. you're. 

People like that embarrass me. 

Encroachment

Two of our good friends recently purchased a home. Yesterday was move in day. Their house has over a half acre of land. In most parts of the U.S.,  a half acre is nothing, but in NJ it is considered palatial estate space. Half of an acre! 

The lawn was miraculously bright emerald green, despite the recent lack of rainfall. There were not really fences in the neighborhood and the houses were spaced apart so that privacy was a reality.

I don't think John notices it, but I zone in so much on the noises of my neighborhood. During the weekdays, I hear three or four different sanitation companies' trucks riding up and down our street. That beeping noise that indicates a backing up motion of the truck aggravates me. I zone in on my neighbor training his dog to run back and forth across the small expanse of the backyard. I notice the intermittent stop-and-go of the postal office delivery truck. I hear weed whackers, lawn mowers, and so on. Most of the noise is machine-made, not human-made.

I don't see myself as the rural/country type, but you never know your thresholds until you experience them. I'm looking forward to an eventual next phase in life---where I feel like I can go outside, breathe, exhale, and not hear noise. There has to be some nature enthusiast hidden somewhere inside of me. 

Lazy

Oh my god. I was so incredibly lazy today. Sometimes I think that if I had a summer job, it would be beneficial because I'd be forced to "do something with my day." Then I get angry with myself for thinking that I need a job in order to "do something with my day."

It's almost 7pm now and the largest accomplishment of my day has been watching many consecutive episodes of Roseanne. I next plan on heading to the gym for a bit. I'm not planning anything too strenuous, just walking for 45 minutes or so and listening to some music.

I think I am starting to get into a summer funk---getting antsy, nervous, annoyed with the prospect of school starting up again. Having summers off is amazing, but I think it makes it more difficult to segue back into the work routine. I'll have to wear my "teacher clothing" (if I fit into it) and be energized at 7:40am.

I own a tshirt that proclaims "Procrastinators Unite!!...Tomorrow." All too often, I put off things that I could have easily done today. I might have to lean a little more toward the type A personality route and start jotting down daily tasks in my planner. Lame. 

Safari Barbie

It is amazing how a thought can be out of the human mind, almost forgotten, and then tons of memories can be ignited when one sees a single object or image.

Yesterday, we went to Scranberry Coop, a consignment-style shop featuring 100+ booths of various goods.

Instantly, I saw objects that made me think of memories from childhood. I saw a basket-style tumbler (Melmac--after some research) that made me think of my grandmother. She had those tumblers throughout my childhood, in addition to the Welch's jam jars that converted into drinkware. The store also had tons of limited edition glasses from McDonald's. The limited edition drinkware usually celebrated a new film such as Star Wars or The Great Muppet Caper. The store also has an abundant supply of Russ trolls. I remember those being popular when I was younger.

The biggest "Ooh" moment, however, occurred when I saw a Barbie doll. She was labeled as "disco Barbie," which could not be further from her actual title: Animal Lovin' Safari Barbie. She wears a gold lamee halter top, gold and pink leopard vest & matching ruffled mini-skirt, and pink hiking boots with a heel. She also has a gold fish-net style hair bandana.

As a young girl, I didn't own tons of Barbies. I preferred art toys like Etch A Sketch or Video Painter. I totally remember having that Safari Barbie though. In retrospect, the doll's outfit is hilarious. Even more hilarious is the accessory kit that is offered for the Safari Barbie. I looked online and saw that the accessory kit contained a pink picnic table, pink cooler, radio, pots, pans, and bamboo-style dish drying rack. I'd give Mattel much more credit if Safari Barbie came with a 12 gauge shotgun, a buck knife, and emergency malaria medicine.

I guess the California "safari" terrain is quite a bit different from the African Plains.

Shaking on a Monday

I had three cups of coffee this morning. I tried going light on the amount of sugar and cream. Last December, I went on a low-sugar kick and drank black coffee. I'd like to get back into that routine.

Right now, my hands are actually lightly shaking. It's 12:37 and I am energized, even if artificially, for the day. The past week at Artist/Teacher Institute has been amazing, but my eating habits were totally off-kilter. I don't want to step on a scale, but I can imagine the havoc I have wreaked. Last night, I watched an episode of Extreme Weight Loss Makeover on ABC. If the 543 pound guy on the show could eat 2000 calories daily and have ultra crazy workouts, I think I can get back to my good habits and eat healthier, in addition to going to the gym.

I am almost the same weight I was in early college---not good.

Here's to shaky hands and the start of better habits!

Delia's Wishes

I love the word corpulent. It surpasses fat, heavy, big-boned, obese, overweight, any plump. Corpulent tells it like it is-- utter gluttony and sloth embodied in rolls of flesh.

In high school, I was corpulent. I did not have the advantage that some "fat" girls have---large breasts and a large ass. Corpulent girls do not get those benefits.

I wore guys' clothing because it was easier to find 38 waist pants than to step foot into a Lane Bryant. I wore guys' boxers "with the dick holes" as I so eloquently describe them. I wore cottony bras that were one step above the flattening effects of sports bras, but were nowhere near the sexiness of bras with lace or see-through effects. I wore horizontally-striped shirts sized for men.

Today, I got a Delia's catalog in the mail. Delia's can be found in most malls and has been in existence since my teen years. Sassy magazine (RIP) used to always have Delia's ads.

Two years ago, I ordered comic book style Converse from Delia's and have been on the mailing list since. NONE of this clothing would really ever fit me. Although I weigh less than I did in high school and am more plump than corpulent, Delia's clothing is juniors fit. It is meant for lanky, awkward, curveless girls. I could probably shimmy into an XL tee, but anything else from the store would not fit me properly. The clothing is also inappropriate in that many shirts are flirty and midriff-baring. Other shirts have cute slogans or are silkscreened with images of One Direction band members. You can proclaim your love for all of One Direction or for an individual band member. The styles of jeans have names like Morgan, Perry, and Jordin--- names that would fit bitchy girls in high school cliques. Delia's carries the size of double zero.

Although the only thing I have ever purchased from this company is a pair of shoes, I still feel compelled to remain on the subscription list. Part of the reasoning is nostalgic and part of the reasoning is wishful thinking. I think that part of me hopes to one day "get in shape" enough to wear Delia's clothing. Bodies can't be time machines though.

At least I can always fit into their jewelry. 

Non-mechanical side

I find that in modern society that having too many choices is completely overwhelming. I realize that that idea is nothing new or enlightening. Best said in the words of author Barry Schwartz, there is a "paradox in choice." Choices seem like a positive thing, but when there are a myriad of choices for every category of possession, it can be daunting.

We did a small remodel on our bathroom one year ago. Finally, I decided on an over-the-toilet organizer to purchase. This should not have been something that required me to search endlessly. However, with the variety of sites out there, I did not choose an organizer until a few days ago.

The package arrived yesterday, left outside our front door. I felt proud enough for taking the bulky, cumbersome cardboard box inside. Today, I decided to put the organizer together. Using something a day after receiving it is "not my style." Usually, once I purchase something, it will rest in its cardboard housing for days and days, until I finally decide to open it. Delayed gratification, I suppose.

The box hailed: "15 minute assembly! No tools required!" Of course, I remained hyperaware of the time, so as to see how well I fit into the over-the-toilet-organizer-assembly population.

As I started putting the pieces together, within minutes I was uttering curses under my breath. The directions spoke of buttons with tapered ends and push buttons---what the hell? While trying to get one piece into another, I had a sudden premonition that one of the satin nickel rods would suddenly burst out of its correct spot and impale me. The directions were written in a detailed way and were numbered, yet they remained frustrating.

I finally got the organizer put together in 20 minutes, with 33% more time needed than the average assembler (if my math is correct). I relied on the assembly method that worked during much of my childhood when I had to put together Barbie houses, She-ra castles, and other domiciles for fictitious characters: looking at the colorful picture on the front box.

The directions recommend anchoring the organizer to the wall... I think I'm just going to play over-the-toilet-organizer roulette and hope that the China-made tower doesn't tumble down on me.

Gym pigs

The gym is the source of much fascination for me. When I am on the treadmill, I go into ADD mode. I observe all of the people weightlifting (and taking an unproportionate amount of drinks breaks in comparison to painstaking workout time) and stare at the ceiling tiles and mammoth air conditioning units as if they were some new, innovative product.

When I am at the gym, I also notice patterns in behavior.

A common pattern is people getting off the treadmills and other cardio machines and not turning off the TV. This bothers me. I hate being on a treadmill and then having a line of empty treadmills beside me with flashing images. I am the gym's good samaritan who turns off all of the unused television sets.

One main pattern I see is in regard to gym "machine etiquette." People that are running maniacally, truly sweating all over the handgrips of the machines, have a tendency to NOT spray the machines down. The pattern of non-spraying also stems from very attractive and/or muscular people. I envision them getting off the treadmill and thinking in their minds, "Fuck it. I'm too good looking to follow the etiquette."

Sandcastles in the air

The mind is quite enigmatic at times. Just now, for instance, I started thinking about a sandcastle figurine that I used to want. These figurines are nothing special, simply plaster covered over with sand and glittery fragments, in the shape of a sandcastle. Some of the castles have blue or pink glitter and some of the castles are shanties while other are mansions. Overall though, these castle figurines are available at any tourist destination near a beach.

There was a store close to my childhood home and it sold these sandcastles. The store also sold overpriced jewelry boxes, necklaces, and picture frames made out of beautiful seashells that were not indigenous to NJ. Outside of the store, when you drove and passed by, you'd be greeted by bright pink, blue, green, and yellow tubes and rafts in the shapes of various animals. In short, this store was a cheesy tourist trap and, being that I was "local," I never actually purchased anything in it. I'd stop in and get entranced by all of the merchandise, but I never bought anything.

A few weeks ago, I saw a sandcastle figurine at the Goodwill Store. I could have purchased it, but it just didn't seem "right." That kind of purchase needs to be made from a cheesy tourist shop.

On a whim, I used GoogleMaps to track the route I would have needed to take to the tourist store. Whenever I went there, it was in a car, since I was terrified of riding my bike on Route 9. The route is 1.5 miles! I hardly ever drive down to Ocean County anymore but the next time I am near there, I am going to stop by that little tourist shop and pay a ridiculous price for a sandcastle shanty.

Habits and observations

First, the "new" (it's probably been out for over a year, but I waited until they "forced me" before I moved over to the new format) Blogger set up is annoying. It's all white space, icons, and confusion.

I must get back into the habit of blogging and, in general, writing. Too many times I doubt myself and then spend time belittling myself instead of simply writing. Somehow, I feel that self-doubt is a common writer's ailment.

If you pay attention and take life's moments at a slower pace (extremely challenging if you live on the East Coast in the tristate area), those small moments and observations will inevitably make you smile.

Today I went for a quick walk around the lake. There had been a pair of swans gliding across the lake in February.  Now, months later, and there are grey Cygnets traveling with them. I had noticed the baby swans about a month ago, but never stopped to really watch them. Today, I stood at the edge of the lake and got a view of the mother swan bobbing her head up and down in search of food. The baby swans (now significantly bigger than they were one month ago) followed her lead and bobbed their heads up and down too. A few minutes later, the two "parental swans" led the way and the baby swans followed behind, single-file.

When I was in Aldi, waiting on the line to the register, a woman turned to me and said, "Beach day tomorrow," while pointing at her groceries. On the conveyer belt were chips, rice cakes, other carb-heavy foods, beverage containers, and a few other miscellaneous items. I smiled back and said, "I might go too, if the weather is nice." On my way out of the store, she said, "Have fun." It seemed like she truly just needed someone to talk to and tell about her exciting adventure. Kind of pitiful, but kind of sweet too.

Lastly, I am a admirer of words and those who use them well. At the gas station, the attendant who was helping me uttered, "Have a good evening." People rarely use the word evening. We need to bring that word back into vogue.

Getting Childhood Wants

Kids in America are "branded;" they do not desire winter boots, sunglasses, or sweatsuits. Instead, they desire Uggs, Ray Bans, and Juicy Couture sets.

When I was a kid, there certainly were material items that I desired. I recall wanting this ridiculous (in retrospect, of course) pair of cowgirl-style boots. They were white, white white fringe and small pseudo-turqouise embellishments. I have no idea as to what compelled me to desire those boots.  I remember they were expensive for the time, either $50 or $100...and I remember splitting the cost with my mother...probably with monies from a birthday or a holiday.

There were tons of other items that I desired, but never got.  The amazing thing is that those items that were expensive, in the early 90s, are now being sold exponentially cheaper at "deep discount" chain stores. It's amusing because, if desired, I could get all of those items that I desired in my youth for similar 1990s-esque prices. Kind of like some weird nostalgia time machine.

Brands that come to mind:

Airwalk shoes and sandals--now sold at Payless

Goofy JoeBoxer prints--now at Kmart

Starter athletic apparel--now at Walmart

OP-- now at Walmart

Mossimo--now at Target

I have yet to find a store that sells HyperColor clothing though:(