Category Archives: personal

Not Even an Excuse

Well, here it is Middle-aged Musings Monday and I have nothing, not even an excuse.

Other days when I have not written my blog post while at work, it has usually been because I was working on my novel. Truth be known, this is not an airtight alibi, because other days I have been able to do both, utilizing different breaks for each purpose. Still, working on a novel. There could be no possible objection.

I did work on the novel. I wrote a little more than a page.

And it wasn’t very good.

I realize I may not be the best judge of this. However, since I am the only one allowed to read the dumb thing at this point, I am the only judge. And I judge: gotta do better than this.

That’s really all I want to say about the novel, though. For one thing, if you talk too much about a novel, you no longer need to write it. And anybody out there who says, “I told you that years ago,” just shut up, you did not. Oh, but that’s the other thing: everybody is SO READY to offer advice, whether or not they have actually written a novel themselves. Even a bad novel. Even a stupid novel that never got published.

Oh wait, I wrote a stupid novel that never got published. I guess that means I can give myself advice. My advice to myself is: don’t publish this blog post, it’s stupid. Write something good.

How many of you out there take advice? Let me see your hands.

Shouldn’t the Mice Have Eaten Cheese?

As I checked out the listings for TCM one Saturday, in my ongoing quest for cinematic cheese, I came across a kind of a blast from my past, Gay Purr-ee (1962).

I remember that I watched Gay Purr-ee with my sisters one Saturday afternoon roughly a hundred years ago. I remember that I watched it more than I remember watching it, if you see what I mean. I was pretty young, although I couldn’t tell you my exact age.

I know I was rather unsavvy about cinema (that was expertise I was to acquire in later years) (and anybody who said, “Still waiting, huh?” I bet you’re pretty pleased with yourself). I thought it was The Aristocats. In my defense, beautiful fluffy white cat with a rough and ready tom for a boyfriend. Which was pretty much all I knew about The Aristocats, either.

One thing I remembered well: the tom cat has this thing he does when he goes after a mouse. It’s as if he’s possessed and becomes a mouse-catching machine. Or maniac. His eyes bug out, his fur sticks out, his claws come out… it’s pretty cool. And if figures hugely into the plot, so I don’t like to say too much about it.

Anyways, I DVR’d the movie for nostalgia’s sake. Eventually I got around to watching it.

Who knew there were movie star voices! It seems I should have at least known Judy Garland plays the beautiful white cat. I knew who Judy Garland was; we watched The Wizard of Oz every year when it came on television (this was the olden days, even before VCRs).

As I watched it this time, I also recognized at least one voice from the Rankin/Bass Christmas specials, but I did not track down the name that went with it. Of course I would not have known the name as a kid, but I might have been expected to say, “Hey, that’s Burgermeister Meisterburger!”

Speaking of Christmas, at times the animation reminded me of Mr. Magoo’s Christmas Carol or How the Grinch Stole Christmas. I believe I saw the name Chuck Jones at the beginning, and I think he had something to do with those.

It’s sometimes fun to watch a movie you saw years and years ago and say, “I remember that part!” and “I don’t remember that AT ALL!” Sometimes you say, “Wow, I had lousy taste as a kid.” Sometimes you say, “That was worth a watch.” Gay Purr-ee was fortunately in the latter category. It’s not a great movie. I won’t be searching out the DVD for my younger relatives, but I didn’t mind watching it once. And so my search for cheese continues. As always, I hope you’ll stay tuned.

In My Defense, I’m Fighting a Cold

Well, I wrote some more on the post about the non-cheesy movie, but I’m just not up to it right now. Anyways, it’s Lame Post Friday. I don’t care how many times I wimp out during the week with a silly post, I treasure my Lame Post Friday.

Even when the post itself is no treasure.

I did have a random observation today. I observed a kid wearing a t-shirt from a nightclub that closed long ago.

“The shirt lasted longer than the club did,” I remarked. My co-worker agreed.

I didn’t observe much else today, other than the speed limit (well, I thought it was a funny thing to say). But I do have one bit of half-baked philosophy: I thought to myself today, “I could have BEEN somebody!” My next thought was, “Who else could I have possibly been?” In fact, I could have turned out into somebody worse. So I started thinking about who other people might have been.

For example, maybe Mother Theresa could have been the CEO of a multi-national corporation that made bazillions of dollars exploiting the masses and wreaking havoc on the environment (I’m not saying all multi-national corporations do those things; I’m just saying Mother Theresa could have headed up one that did). The CEO of some big corporation could have been a stay-at-home mom or dad (I know, probably dad), raising kids who could have been…

Did you say Mother Theresa?

Enough of this foolishness. I see I am over 200 words. Woohoo! If I can only think of a headline, it’s wine o’clock for me.

Just Saying

I started to write another post about a movie (alas, not cheesy), but did not finish it, so I will attempt something off the cuff for Non-Sequitur Thursday. Full disclosure: if hearing about going to the bathroom may cause you to shout, “TMI!” stop reading now (and none of you wiseasses need to comment, “TMI,” either)(you know who you are)(and why is my computer telling me “wiseasses” is misspelled?).

We went to the laundromat today. One good thing about the Colonial Laundromat in Ilion, NY is that there is a clean restroom available. This is a thing I look for just about everywhere I go. Just saying.

The door was closed. And remained closed. I really could not wait much longer. I walked over and asked two ladies folding their clothes if anybody was in there. No, they said. I tried the door. Locked. They felt bad for having misinformed me. I went back over to where Steven was and watched the door.

Oh dear, it was taking a while. Not to be indelicate, but nobody really wants to use a bathroom where somebody else has just been in there for a long time. Just saying.

Our clothes still had nine minutes in the drier (actually, they ended up having a lot longer than that, but this isn’t really a post about laundry).

“I’m walking to Citgo,” I announced.

What a lot of traffic Ilion gets. I guess it’s the hip, happening place to be on a Thursday night. I had to cross the street twice at the intersection. Tricky, but I managed it. After crossing one way I considered staying on that side of the street and going to Stewart’s, but I couldn’t remember if they have a restroom. I was able to make the second cross while I was still thinking about it.

After walking to first one then another corner of the store, I saw the sign for “Restroom” in the third corner. Of course it was locked. I stood there, having to pee. I considered knocking on the door to see if someone was in there. I wondered if you were supposed to get a key from the cashier. There was no sign to say so. Some of your better convenience stores have that little thing on the lock that says “Vacant” or “Occupied,” depending. No offense, Citgo.

I got tired of waiting. Cross the street to Stewarts? Wait, there’s McDonalds! Before there were convenience stores everywhere, McDonald’s was the operative place to go to the bathroom when on a road trip. Then you bought french fries or a coffee or something. What you might call a win/win. I would use their bathroom and buy Steven a coffee.

“I haven’t been in here since you remodeled,” I said to the cashier as I purchased the coffee. “It’s fancy.”

“You think so?” she sounded skeptical. Nice customer service, trying to make me feel foolish (oh, I know, it’s not that hard to do)!

I made it back to the laundromat before our drier buzzed. Steven appreciated the coffee. I felt better about everything.

Cemetery Walk

At the last program I attended at the Herkimer County Historical Society, I made a note of a cemetery walk in Oak View Cemetery in Frankfort, NY.

The walk had been postponed from Monday to Thursday last week. This was good news for Steven and me, because we could not make it on Monday. We drove to the cemetery and after some slight confusion as to where to pull in and park, we joined the crowd that was gathering for the walk.

I’m always pleased to see the people that gather for these historical society things, both the number and the variety. I like to see that people are interested and that they get away from their televisions and computers to participate. I know it is good for me to do so.

I was a little sorry I had forgotten to use bug spray, but this was a minor point. Sue Perkins, head of the historical society gave the presentation, assisted by Caryl Hopson. Caryl carried the speaker for Sue’s cordless microphone. It worked pretty well except for the occasional feedback. I think everybody was able to hear.

Sue and Caryl had visited the cemetery, picked the graves they liked, then researched the stories of the people buried there. They also had a binder with pictures of some of the people and places talked about. A little girl walked around showing us the pictures. after a while she must have gotten tired or bored, because her mother took over the task.

We heard a wide variety of stories. The one that particularly struck me was about a black baseball pioneer, John W. Jackson, also known as Bud Fowler, who was buried in the Potters Field. A Potters Field is where they used to bury indigent people, whose families could not afford a proper burial. A marker has since been placed for Jackson.

The final grave — they saved the best for last, Sue said — was Dieffenbacher. In face, there were Dieffenbachers in the crowd, one of whom was wearing a Dieffenbacher’s Potato Chip t-shirt. I think everybody though that was pretty cool.

I really enjoyed the walk-around aspect of the talk. My only problem was that i could not take proper notes for my blog post. I did pull a small pad out of my purse and jot down John Jackson, Dieffenbacher, and Whipple-Winkel Co. I took no further notes, so I don’t know what kind of company Whipple-Winkel was. Perhaps I could look it up at the Historical Society and make it the subject of a future blog post.

For more information on the Herkimer County Historical Society, you can visit their website at http://www.rootsweb.ancestry.com/~nyhchs. You can also like them on Facebook, where they have been known to post some really cool pictures.

I Wanted a Ghost

I DVR’d The Ghost Ship (1943) on the vague hope that it had something to do with a movie that I THINK was called Ghost Ship starring Julianna Margulies that Steven and I saw some years ago. Or vice versa, I guess. I seem to remember not being too nuts about the latter movie, especially the meant-to-be-shocking ending, that I believe did NOT take Steven or me by surprise. Oh dear, I haven’t put in the spoiler alert yet (I know I could always fix these things when I edit, but it’s more fun this way).

Here it is: Spoiler Alert! Although I may have already spoiled the Julianna Margulies movie for you. Maybe I ought to seek that movie out again, watch it again and write about it. But I am unlikely to do that before hitting publish on this.

Where was I?

I thought by the title “Ghost Ship” that the movie would have at least one actual ghost. Turns out not so much. I might have suspected such a thing from the description on digital cable, which said nobody will believe the third mate when he tries to tell them the captain is a sadistic psychopath. Still, I thought a sadistic psychopath might be worth a watch.

When we started to watch the movie, I saw that it starred Richard Dix. I said, “All right!” He was in those Whistler movies I enjoyed so much. I like that Richard Dix.

Naturally he is the sadistic psychopath captain. It’s actually good casting, because with his lovely deep voice, matinee idol good looks and kindly manner, it is easy to see how he fools everybody. The audience is privy to everything the third mate sees, so there is no “is he or isn’t he?” mystery, which may have been fun.

I would like to explain why it is a ghost ship, but I did not properly understand it myself. Something psychological, explained by the good woman whose love could perhaps have saved psycho captain. There’s still hope for the third mate, if only he can survive the voyage. If that sounds a little vague, sorry. I’m not up to giving a full plot summary.

It’s actually a pretty good movie. It gets suspenseful and exciting, and if a few of my favorite characters get killed off, well, you’ll have that. Still, I would have liked a ghost.

Incidentally, the plot of Ghost Ship, (2002, no “the”) (I looked it up), has nothing whatsoever in common with The Ghost Ship. If I were a real movie writer, I would edit this whole thing and delete any reference to it. And here we come to the ugly truth about me.

Don’t Quote Me

Thank heavens it’s Middle-aged Musings Monday. Now all I have to do is pry my wrist off my forehead and think of something to muse about.

This raises a number of things I have talked about before: first, that even on the “nothing” days, I still have to think of something to write; second, that even though I have attained middle age (if I live to be a hundred), I have very few words of wisdom to impart. In fact, I have a few, but they’re mostly quotes.

Oh, that gives me something. Have you noticed how many people spend a lot of time on Facebook sharing these little cartoons or pictures or just big old squares with quotes? They can be inspirational or funny or profound or political or rude, or any combination of the above. I’ve done it myself. It’s almost a guilty pleasure, hitting that “Share” button. Maybe I didn’t think of it out of my own head, but I can take credit for being clever enough to recognize its worth.

Was that more of a random observation? And there is no Seinfeld-style punch line, so sorry about that. Incidentally, my best quotes have not been gleaned from the internet. I have had some of them for years. I found them in books.

My musing today is, do we really try to live by these words of wisdom? I’m talking now about the profound, inspirational ones, not the ones that give us good excuses to drink wine and eat chocolate, or extoll your good friend who will help you hide the body (I KNOW people live by those).

My contention has always been that “Do as I say, not as I do,” is really not bad advice. Most of us talk a good game. I may have voiced this opinion in this space before, but I shall not apologize, because I think it’s a good one. My more didactic readers may feel free to lecture me on repeating myself. I will nod wisely, knowing that they are probably repeating themselves. I will attempt to do as they say, not as they do.

And I will try not to share that sentiment on Facebook.

Breakfast with Rachel

I put Rachel’s name in the title, so she can pretend she’s famous. At least, perhaps she is famous in certain circles, but I don’t think my blog will increase her fame. I’m afraid my blog is a little rinky-dink compared to some. Still, I like it.

Where was I? Ah yes, forgoing Wrist to Forehead Sunday for once (I hope) to write a little about my breakfast with my friend, and to give another shout-out to Crazy Otto’s Empire Diner.

When Rachel told me she would be passing close enough to Herkimer, NY to stop for a brief visit, she suggested we meet at one of those yummy places I write about. Since we would be meeting for a latish breakfast, I thought she would like Crazy Otto’s.

Obviously, lots of people like Crazy Otto’s. They didn’t have a booth free, so we sat at the counter. I pointed out the Georgia license plate Steven and I contributed to the decor. She was suitably impressed.

After hearing the specials we perused the menu. I picked something I had never noticed before, French toast with coconut flakes. Rachel wanted pancakes with eggs. This came with choice of meat. The waitress recommended sausage, which I must say looked pretty good. I may have to have another meal at Crazy Otto’s soon so I can try it.

It was really wonderful to sit and talk with a friend I had not seen in years. I only felt bad that it was just a meal and not the whole weekend. I guess anybody who knows me knows I could talk for three days at a stretch, but I would have let Rachel talk, too.

As I write this (I am composing at the keyboard, just to give you the proper mental image), I feel a bout of Wrist to Forehead coming on. Rachel read yesterday’s post, where I said I would write a post about our breakfast. She expressed (via Facebook comment) that she was looking forward to reading what we talked about. I commented back that now I felt the pressure to come up with something profound. Well, everything Rachel says is naturally profound, but this blog, not so much.

Never mind, we had a lovely breakfast, and I hope it is not another eight years till we see each other again. If you are meeting a friend you saw eight years ago, or one you just saw yesterday, or eating breakfast by yourself, I recommend Crazy Otto’s Empire Diner. Their website is www.crazyottosempirediner.com. You can also like them on Facebook.

Whine O’Clock

Yes, it is Lame Post Friday, and it should surprise no one that I got nuthin’.

I was about to say I’ve had a bear of a week, but I seem to remember last week being rather bearish as well (ooh, look at that, according to my computer “bearish” is so a word; I thought I had just now made it up). Earlier today I told a co-worker I was in a terrible mood, because all I could think about was things that piss me off. She advised me to think about something else.

“What should I think about?”

“3:30 this afternoon.” That’s our quitting time. “Wine-thirty.”

“It’s whine-thirty all day long for me,” I admitted. “Because all I do is whine.”

See, you get the pun right away when you write it down.

I thought it was a kind of a preemptive strike on my part (I’ll be damned, according to my computer pre-emptive is not hyphenated) to admit that I was whining. You know how upsetting it can be when all you want to do is relieve your feelings by expressing your discontent and you get told to stop whining. Actually, I had taken care to go to the co-worker that doesn’t usually say that. You have to be careful who you whine to. Uh, I mean express your discontent.

I was going to go into some half-baked philosophy about whining and perspective, but I believe I have covered it before. I would look back, find the post (or posts, I know I repeat myself sometimes), but hey, it’s Friday and I’m one of those lucky bastards who have a three day weekend. I’m thinking it’s beer o’clock.

Maybe Next Time with Peas

People share all kinds of good advice on Facebook lately. Decorating ideas, recipes, security concerns… and some health suggestions.

My cousin posted a rather silly looking picture of a girl sitting crouched over on the edge of her bathroom sink. To cure a headache, the caption said, sit with your hands and feet in warm/hot water and put a bag of frozen peas on the back of your neck. It went on to explain how this worked, but I don’t read all these things any more than I pay attention to all the plot points on cheesy horror movies.

My first thought, which I immediately posted as a comment, was that I could never do this as there are never frozen peas in my house. I hate cooked peas, always have. I like to eat raw peas straight out of the pod, I add for the sake of pea lovers who might be inclined to cut my acquaintance. My sister suggested I purchase one bag of frozen peas for just such a purpose. I thought this not a bad suggestion, as I would be disinclined to cook and eat any vegetable that had spent an appreciable amount of time on the back of my head.

Of course I did no such thing.

However, suffering from yet another headache this afternoon, I thought I would try the technique, as best as I could. I did not sit on the edge of my bathroom sink. For one thing, I’m far too lazy to clear it off for such a purpose. For another, I really do not need to know whether my fat ass will or will not crack marble (I’m hoping not, but why put it to the test?) (oh, I know, back on the South Beach Diet for me). I sat on the edge of my tub. A frozen gel pack substituted for the peas. Nobody took a picture for Facebook and other embarrassing purposes, so if anybody had their hopes up, sorry.

And I am sorry to report: it did not work for me. Maybe I had the wrong kind of headache.

On the brighter side, I thought it would make an acceptable blog post for a Non-Sequitur Thursday. Hmmm… I guess nothing particularly non-sequiturish about it, but it will have to do. I hope to see you (figuratively speaking, of course) on Lame Post Friday.