I bet you think

Me and my crew at work decided to have a Kodak moment.

Some you can't disguise

I'm guessing this is pretty much how the phone call went;
"Hey, House of Saud Guy, it's me George W."
"Could you guys lower the price of gas, to some outrageous amount for about a week before the election?"
"What!"
"Yeah, just so Merikans can get to driving around and forgetting that there's some silly kind of financial crisis. That way they won't remember that they don't want the republicans anymore, and Sara, I mean John can be president by a close enough margin that it will look legitimate."

Or not, but that's what I came up with at around four this morning when I was doing the point counterpoint thing with myself, because why would I be sleeping, or resting, or thinking good thoughts when I could be working on all of those more important issues.

A search that shall remain

When Eamon and I celebrated our 76th wedding anniversary, as it is his romantic nature he bought me a DVD. It was a concert of New Order Live in Glasgow. He is a big fan of the concert experience in the comfort of our own home, so he tries to draw me in to that and has had much success. At first, with this one, I watched a few of my favorite songs, as the band was one that I'd seen live, but just a few times and both of those were not the most memorable shows.
There is a song, that I love, and when I watched it, I saw that Bernard Sumner was playing a melodica at the beginning. I had always thought it was just a keyboard. After a few viewings I went to the ever faithful eBay to find one, and it took a few months. Who knew these old instruments could a) be so expensive b) so very popular. I finally managed to obtain one, and it's a Hohner, one of the original German designs, so you know it's good.
It came and my old man opened the box and played it for awhile. Then I did and I played the opening of the song as if I'd been doing it for hundreds of gigs, nay, thousands.
My dad can pick up any instrument and in a few minutes play it reasonably well. I on the other hand am more of an idea person. But, in this case I think that little ditty had been roaming around in my head for so long, it was just ready to spring forth.
The best part, is that I got an e-mail from the seller, she wanted me to know that she had overcharged me a few dollars for shipping and, because she was a christian, she was sending it back to my account.

You got a your good thing

Last night in my weakened state, I got sucked into a Mitch albom Lifetime movie vortex. Next thing you know, I will be shooting Moose, Wolves and Polar Bear from a plane while wearing a red suit and stiletto boots.
I was worn down to a nub after work, they were all there; the needy, the rough customers, the nuts and bolts, it was endless. I admit it I turned the TV on to cable, in that state I would have bought a combo pedipaw and dermawand if it had been made available to me. What happened was, there was Ellen Burstyn and she was talking to John Voight and the place they were looked really otherworldly (heaven, duh) so I was intrigued and since I hadn't been warned away by the Lifetime logo in the corner, I watched for about 20 minutes until by the wonders of modern television this flashed across the bottom of the screen; "you are watching The Five People You Meet in Heaven" and I knew I was totally fucked. I yelled at the unresponsive screen and started crying, pulling my hair out, but nevertheless I watched the rest much to my husband and son's disdain and scorn.

Dripping with disdain

I'm very self conscious about my neck right now, and probably for infinitum as it's not going to get better. So when I'm talking to people I think that's where their gaze will wander, or when I look at my reflection, it's the first thing I notice.
When I was a more youthful gal, it was my stomach, or my clothes, so it's really not any particular focal point is it; I'm just going to choose something to fixate on in a negative way and then grind it until it's dispersed like a talc on my whole being. I fabricate that I don't pick at things and make them worse like the Gusser might, but I do function that way, it's just not as obvious or apparent on the first go round.

Young and dumb and fucked up in the head

Okay, picture Jack, he's smallish, thin; his picture used to be up with me in the profile area, he's got curly red hair glasses; ' nuf said. We, all of us in the O'Neill clan come from the land of bad karma when it comes looks. Not to say that we're not a handsome brood, we just are unusual and not, shall I say classic looking.
Jack has had some trouble at school of late, most of which revolves around him not having the stamina to make it with the cool kids as it takes a tremendous amount of energy to be an asshole, and Jack being a lot like his dad just doesn't have it in him.
He's being kicked to the proverbial curb because he can't make it, and here's me trying to talk to him about it as he says he's fine, it's not bothering him and his face is scrunched up as if he has made some sort of a mess because actually he's doing his darnedest not to cry and throw himself down on the floor, arms and legs flailing, sobbing about the cruel world of middle school, wait no that's me. He's standing there telling me everything is okay meanwhile, inside his head a pogrom is just in the frothing up stage.

People run in circles

Just when I thought I was out, they pull me back in.
I wasn't going to do it, I had told myself that opening up that can of whatever was something I wanted to avoid, because the way I see it no matter how much we discuss the election, speculate, plan, complain, announce, project, predict... None of that will matter. But, because somehow we got on an RNC mailing list, and have had the privilege of receiving their mailings; I forgo all logic and reason in order to be like them, but just for a moment. Picture if you will, a rudimentary collage ala marketing 100, not even 1o1, photoshop of Obama, Barbara Streisand and Leonardo DiCaprio. Okay, got that now, here's the caption; "With Wall street in Crisis, Obama parties with Hollywood's elite."
Done and done.

This is why events unnerve me

I don't get out much, as I've mentioned; that is to say, Eamon and I don't go out with other adults on a usual basis, unless our kids are somehow involved. But, tonight we did, and it was his oldest and best friend's 50th, birthday party, a surprise, which is always a risky endeavour, I can say, from experience.
We drove over to the east side, little Italy, and celebrated. It was fun, we both looked nice, I drank some; which is always an experience, whether it be internal, or usually results in me becoming sick very quickly. But tonight I managed to pace myself and enjoyed it without letting the world know in an inappropriate way.
The party started at 4 so we got out pretty early and I wanted to walk as I had eaten and was laden with supper, some exercise seemed optimum. We went into a cozy store, very chic very urban with money; and the owner started a dialog with us. We ended up drinking her wine and staying over an hour to hear about her, her brother the neighborhood and the theater that I spent many a night in the 80's watching independent or new wave films with the rest of Cleveland's finest cinephiles.
It was quite a night, not the one I had expected, but one that brought a lot back and enabled me to bore the shit out of Eamon for the drive home as I pondered Fassbinder, Roeg and Tarkovsky as if they were relevant and meaningful, until the wine wore off and all I had was the memory of my droning on and on and his appreciation of the absurd.

Shining down on you

The other day at my place of work, I got a call from a colleague who was working on the first floor where all of the movies and music are housed. He asked me if I could help him and do some "readers advisory" for a new mom who doesn't have much time to read, and when she does would like it to be light and easy because of the constant interruptions.
So, I scurried over to the fiction area and started to think within those guidelines what books might work for her.
I grabbed some chick-lit, a couple of light mysteries, The Da Vinci Code, People of the Book, both of which deal with Christianity the origins of religion and the bible, but not too controversial, just thriller-esque. I gathered them up, went down the stairs, rounded the corner and I am not kidding, I said D'oh.
Standing at Joe's desk was a young Muslim mom. Now, I know there was no way that he could have told me that, and who would have thunk it, but his and my eyes met, and it wasn't love, it was so many things like; shit, sorry, it's okay, wow, boy we should have a code. All of that and then, I handed him the books and ran away before they could look through them cause that is how I roll.

O sole mio

I've been letting something stew for a little under a week.
Last Tuesday was my Father in-law's 84th birthday, and as it was his want, we headed on over to The oasis known as the Olive Garden . I was actually supposed to be at a phone bank for the library levy, but felt spending time with an octogenarian trumped cold calling people and having them tell me a thing or two about a thing or two.
It really wasn't that bad; I'll say that to start, to soften the tone of what's coming. It's not that the food wasn't tasty and plentiful, that the restaurant and it's Eden like atmosphere wasn't lovely. What it is, is that it's theater. Not to say that many restaurants aren't a place to make the scene or act out gastronomically. But in that we were outside of a mall, next to a car dealership, in North Olmsted , I just can't quite suspend it for long enough to eat my 11th bread stick with my 18th salad fill up. Six hours later when the food actually arrived, I was napping on the table and just had them artfully box it up for me to bring to the food bank to feed a family of 90.
Am I being elitist, judgemental. Yes and yes; restaurants like this are a grand way of gauging the nature of our world; too much, no substance and a shit load of money wasted.

Where the puzzles and pagans lay

I am truly a big fucking fake. Seriously, I act like it's all cool that there is a body in the room, and it belongs to someone who meant so much to many people, and it's not effecting me, and I'm not thinking about it and la-de-da.
But, it's all I'm thinking about, I can't focus on anything else, I want to. I'm talking to people who at one time meant the world to me, and that still echos today, but there's a body and we're all here and she's not, except she is and that totally fucks with me conceptually and I guess literally in that my knees shake, and I ate before I went so I know it's not hunger.
My people have the funeral the next day, regardless of the extremes that one might have to go to in order to be there. There is no laying out, we sit Shiva for 7 days afterward, eating and talking about stuff. In that case there is an elephant in the room, and that, I can work with.

I feel as one

Just when you think it's safe to go back in the water.
It's not; it never will be, there is always going to be more to challenge the rational reasonable mind set.
Jack has come out, in that he has decided he would like to follow some aspects of a certain religion. With that disclosure has come some mighty nasty stuff at school. And, being in eighth grade, the time when people are at their best, he has experienced a variety of emotions in dealing with the intolerant bag of fun.
One such method, was to tell his friends that he was done; what he meant and what they took it to mean are two very different things, and they acted on what concerned them, which helped Jack to undestand that he's not in any of this mess on his own and that he is loved, liked and in some cases reviled for who or what he is.

Who could ask for more

With joy, unfortunately often a lot of sorrow.
I went to Nature's Bin yesterday, and found that they had one of my favorite things in the world. So I bought a box and was told by the cashier that there was no discount with buying the whole box.
I said, " that's not a problem, I hadn't even thought about that. "
And, she said, "Well, unless your fifty-five, then there is one."
I paid full price and much, much more.

Unless you know

I've spent forever trying to figure out people's motivation, the reason behind what they are doing, and mostly, how they felt about me.
With the utmost assuredness, and certainty, I can say now that I've never been able to tell, and if I thought I could, I've usually been wrong. So why then do I still consider it an option to think this way, to spend a wholly unreasonable amount of time paying attention to other people, and ultimately missing out on far too many opportunities for myself.
The name of the game in a nutshell; I like not thinking about the stuff that may help to change my situation, so I've used distraction as a method to keep me out of my own backyard.
So what now, how do I reconcile a way of being for decades, end it, embrace the notion that it's what makes me who I am, or perhaps blog about it and then just continue on because I don't know any other way to live. Yes, I'll take that one thank you.

She caves

I remember reading how Bernard Kerik helped to turn the city of New York around in the eighties by making the police take people to task for basic things like jaywalking, littering; the little stuff that people do all of the time and that are often overlooked, especially in an already taxed environment. By curtailing the minimal stuff, the behaviors actually trickled up and there was a substantial decline in crime and nare-do-welling in general. Since that point, he's pretty much gone down hill; but for awhile, he had a good run.
Perhaps what I'm getting at, is that whenever we bring down the gauntlet at home, it's a radical transformation we're looking for, though we've been letting things slide for a while and don't really have much in place for any real change. The tidy and controlled lasts for awhile and then we slip once again into the chaos of rushed attempts of order and gum stuck under the table.

Like roses and clover

So, a long long time ago in a land far away, where and when there was no electricity, there was known a phenomenon, called primo somno or comcubia nocte; for those of us who don't understand Latin, I'll translate, first and second sleep. This would occur at around 4 am, and people would either stay in bed and talk or fool around, or if they were inclined, they would write poetry or maybe do their bills.

I being the Renaissance person I am, have been continuing this tradition. However, in my case, I have to get up early so there is no second sleep just a lack thereof.

Finding a commonalty, in what we as a culture deem insomnia, relieves me greatly. There is no room to fret when I know that contextually what I'm going through is human and universal, not just Abby and her dumb hormones; but It's myself and a good portion of the world; some of who treat yet another normal experience, as a medical condition.

There's no sorrow that the sun's not gonna help

I've been scared to blog this week.
Initially I thought it was because I didn't have anything to say, now I realize, it's because there is too much.
To start, well the world seems to have become a mixed up mess of a thing. That in itself is nothing new, except for the extremely tanned old people walking around with their golf clubs, nowhere to live and no money because their, previously enormous pensions are dust in the wind.
And then there's having to tell Eamon I've found someone new, and for him to just have laughed; that was a real blow. It's the taste thing all over again. The primal thing, the attraction to people that don't fit any kind of mold or type. This guy, the bass player for Metallica, is just the end all for me, and apparently I'm de-evolving, because he is very primate like, so says my over the top with jealousy old man.