And Thank You, Brian’s

Monday during our various movements dealing with the computer (see yesterday’s post), Steven and I got a little hungry. I suggested lunch at Brian’s Roast Beef Deli.

We easily found a parking place on Main street and easily found a table at Brian’s, even though they were doing a brisk lunch business. The menus were on the table, under plexiglass. I got up and checked the Specials board as well. Lots of good choices.

Steven decided on a deluxe hamburger with macaroni salad. I got garlic boneless chicken wings and a side of macaroni and cheese. I had been thinking of that macaroni and cheese ever since I suggested Brian’s. Seven got coffee to drink. I daringly ordered a draft beer, smallest size.

The waitress was one we’ve seen before. I asked her if she had lost weight since I last saw her. I always hesitate before I ask that question. I’m afraid the answer will be, “What, you thought I was FAT the last time you saw me?” I usually meet with a good response, though, and so it was this time. She had been trying to lose a few pounds and was glad it showed.

Our food was delicious. While we ate I noticed a note below the plexiglass on the table talking about how all the food was fresh made from the finest ingredients. I could tell. They were some of the best boneless wings I’ve ever had.

A lady Steven knows came in while we were there. She and her luncheon companion were sharing a large antipasto.

“Ooh, that looks good; I should’ve gotten that,” I said. “That’s what I do in restaurants,” I explained. “I look at what other people are eating and see what looks good.”

The lady said she thought my lunch had looked pretty good. I assured her it was. She may get the boneless wings next time.

We greatly enjoyed our lunch at Brian’s. It made a nice interlude in the midst of our computer dealings.

Brian’s Deli is located at 122 N. Main St., Herkimer, NY 13350, phone number 315-866-3664. They are open Monday through Thursday from 11 a.m. to 11 p.m., Friday and Saturday from 11 a.m. to midnight. You can like them on Facebook.

Thank You, Beasley’s

I spent the latter part of last week lamenting my computer woes and feeling grateful to Herkimer’s Basloe Library for filling in the gap (who says I can’t multi-task?). Monday, Steven and I managed to do something about it, thanks to Beasley’s Electronics.

We were pretty sure our problem was the monitor and that we would have to replace it. Still, we didn’t want to just buy a new monitor, hook it up and find out that wasn’t the problem. we thought a good repair place could advise us. Besides, what do we know? Maybe the monitor could easily be fixed (yeah, right after we win the lottery and I change into that acid-wash denim mini-skirt with the 26-inch waist).

We used to notice Beasley’s a few years ago, when we had dinner at Cherry’s, a restaurant across the street, now sadly closed. In those days we had nothing that needed repair, but one remembers some things.

First we went to… a certain big box store that does not need a plug from Mohawk Valley Girl. I had unfortunate visions of road trips to New Hartford and other big box stores (I know, it’s not that far; I just didn’t want to mess with it). But no, monitors are obtainable in Herkimer. We drove down Mohawk Street to Beasleys.

When we walked in we discovered that there was very little room to walk. the place was packed with televisions, computers, etc, in various stages of repair or waiting to be recycled. I also admired a couple of antique radios. I don’t know if they were there to be fixed or just to look cool, but they certainly did look cool.

After speaking with Greg Beasley, we went and got our monitor, which I had foresightedly unhooked from the tower the previous night. He said he would take a look and call us later in the afternoon. As we predicted, he did not hold out much hope of a repair but said he might have a new or used monitor he could sell us.

When we returned to Beasley’s, a man with two adorable young boys was purchasing a used wide screen TV. When the boys stepped outside for a minute (I forget why), Steven and I moved into the space where they had been standing, so as to be out of the way when they moved the TV.

“Hey, you took our spot,” the younger boy accused when they returned.

“We did,” I admitted. “Shift your feet, lose your seat.” It was not technically a seat, but you know how I like to rhyme. I think the older boy was amused.

We ended up buying a new monitor for a very similar price to what we would have paid at the big box store (I say similar because it was a different brand and I don’t remember the exact numbers).

“And now you have someplace to take it if it gives you any problems,” Greg said. That was a big selling point for me.

We got our new monitor home and hooked up with very little problem. I am once again typing my blog posts at my leisure, in my house. Love that Basloe Library, but I prefer to go there for books.

Beasley’s Electronics is located at 313 Mohawk St., Herkimer, NY 13350, phone 315-866-0866. You can visit their website at http://beasleyselectronics.com/.

Just a Little Silliness

I’m afraid it’s Wuss Out Wednesday, a feature I have not taken gross advantage of like, for example, Lame Post Friday and Wrist to Forehead Sunday. I didn’t like the “real” post I was working on, but I came up with this bit of nonsense which I am oddly a little proud of. It may be that this will only be appreciated by theatre geeks — uh, I mean theatre lovers. It’s best read out loud in an airhead voice.

I have to do this paper for my online MFA course, so I thought I’d do it about that modern playwrite, Henry Gibson. Why everybody thought he was so modern when he was writing in the 1800s, I don’t know, but that’s what they call him. I know he wrote a play about hunting, something about a Wild Duck. I don’t think it it included recipes, which is too bad, because my boyfriend hunts.

What? I don’t see why plays can’t include recipes. They could put them in the program notes. I once read an Agatha Christie novel that included a recipe for chocolate cake. Delish!

Anyways, getting back to Gibson, I think he also wrote a play that was a biography of Hedda Hopper, only he had to change the name to avoid a lawsuit. I forget what that one was called.

I was hoping they had made movies out of his plays so I wouldn’t have to read them. Of course I mean read them AGAIN. I’ve read Gibson. That other guy, too, that wrote about the salesman. Roger Miller. Or was it Barney?

Witness to a Lucky Murderer

Spoiler Alert! I’m pretty much going to recount the entire plot of Witness to Murder, including the dramatic climax.

I did not think Witness to Murder (1954) was going to be particularly cheesy when I saw that it starred Barbara Stanwyck, but you never know. They were still cranking out movies at a pretty good pace in the ’50s. They couldn’t all be cinematic masterpieces.

Things start right out excitingly with Stanwyck looking out her window to witness a murder (hence, the title) in an apartment across the street. She really has quite a good view. Some may carp over a murderer acting in front of an open window with the lights on, but, hey, it almost worked for Raymond Burr in Rear Window. Anyways, when we meet the murderer, played by George Sanders, we quickly learn that he is egotistical enough to feel he can get away with anything.

Stanwyck quite sensibly calls the police. This is about the last sensible thing she does, but we can’t really complain about that, because the movie would have been much shorter otherwise. Also, Sanders would have probably gotten away with murder and that character is definitely not likable enough for us to want that to happen.

Gary Merrill and Jesse White play the cops that show up to investigate. White doesn’t really have much of a part. His presence at least enabled me to make a couple of bad jokes about the Maytag repairman, but I must also say, kind of a waste of a good comedic actor.

Sanders is one of those lucky movie murderers who is easily able to cover his tracks. He has one bad moment when he freezes, mid-drag while moving the body, to stare at the elevator dial, afraid the cops are in it. Which struck me as a little silly. I guess I don’t think like a movie murderer, but if I’m dragging a dead body by the elevator and think the cops might be on it, I think I would be more likely do drag the body FASTER, not stand staring at the elevator to see if I’m right.

Now that I’m pondering the point, though, it occurs to me that perhaps he thought the dead lady’s high heels would ka-thunk on the floor and the cops would hear. Maybe he was trying to come up with a good story, one that might begin, “Thank God you’re here! Look what I just found!” We’ll never know, because the elevator passes by, and Sanders is able to stash the body in a handily located empty apartment (did I mention he’s a lucky murderer?) and change into pajamas in time to open the door to the cops, all sleepy-eyed innocence.

The cops are easily convinced that Stanwyck dreamed the whole thing. They are later on very amenable to being convinced that she’s crazy. Stanwyck obligingly has hysterics when confronted with Sanders’ trumped up evidence, landing herself in the loony bin.

I was a little disappointed she doesn’t spend more time in the Snake Pit (it isn’t really very snakey or even very pitty, but I thought I’d throw in another old movie reference to sound more erudite) (did it work?). For one thing, she might have reformed things, like that lady did in Bedlam (perhaps you read my blog post about that movie).

She gets sprung fairly quickly and easily, I believe due to the good offices of Merrill. You may have guessed the two of them fall in love. I always enjoy a love interest, especially when the guy falls for a girl who has a little on the ball, which Stanwyck does, even though the script calls for some typical stupid movie female behavior.

Which brings us to the dramatic climax.

OK, Stanwyck has figured out how Sanders broke into her apartment to type the poison pen letters that convinced the cops she was crazy (yeah, I didn’t explain that part very well earlier, but I’m sure you can keep up). However, she does not, for example, call an all-night locksmith to put in a dead bolt or even spend the night with a girlfriend (actually, I’m not sure Stanwyck has any girlfriends in this; the producers didn’t really spend a lot on minor characters). Well, I suppose one can’t think of everything. She is awfully tired, having not gotten a lot of sleep in the loony bin.

Anyways, guess who’s waiting for her in the bedroom, having already typed a fake suicide note. Stop! As I type this in, I suddenly say, “Waaaait a minute!” The police have Stanwyck’s typewriter. They took it to prove she typed the poison pen letters. Either they nicely put it back rather than properly in the evidence room, or Sanders, in addition to being lucky, is foresighted enough to have ALREADY typed the note. But I digress.

Sanders’ plan is to pitch Stanwyck out the window. Suddenly a lady cop shows up, sent by Merrill to check on Stanwyck. Sanders is, of course, ready with his story, that he was trying to STOP this poor, suicidal crazy woman. Does Stanwyck realize she is now safe? Sanders can’t possibly thrown her out the window and pretend it’s suicide with a lady cop standing right there, for heavens’ sake!

In her second biggest Stupid Movie Female Move of the picture (stand by for number one), Stanwyck runs away screaming. Nobody seems to believe that the guy chasing her wants to kill her, but for some reason they all join the chase. Soon a whole crowd is after her. Boy, can that woman move in a pair of high heeled pumps! Sanders is the only one who can keep up with her!

Then she does the single, absolute biggest Stupid Movie Female Move imaginable: she runs all by herself into a deserted high rise building, all the way up all the stairs and OUT ONTO THE ROOF!!! What a good place to go when you are running away from a man who wants to throw you out of a building and pretend it’s suicide.

It’s a good thing this was the climax, because I was ready to wash my hands of the Stanwyck character after that.

Predictably, nobody in the busybody crowd follows them up the stairs. Equally predictably, Merrill arrives on the scene, armed with Proof that Sanders is a killer. I don’t suppose anybody will be surprised to know that Merrill’s proof is a spurious as the stuff he’s been rejecting from Stanwyck all through the picture.

No matter. This is a movie, he’s the hero, and he’s going to save the day. I didn’t need to include another spoiler alert before I told you that, did I?

Musings or Whinings? You Decide

So I watched two movies yesterday in hopes of having Movie Monday. Um, not Monster Movie Monday, unfortunately. Instead, I must resort once again to Middle-aged Musings Monday. Or a Pedestrian Post. I think it will turn out to be a little of both.

I have been remiss lately in writing postcards. This morning (oh, yes, I’m off work today, ah ha ha!) I sat down and wrote out four. My store of postcards is becoming a little depleted, but I found some nice Vermont ones. It has been dreadfully cold lately for March, but I thought I could wear my warm coat and be OK to walk to the post office with Tabby (my schnoodle, I explain for new readers, if any).

And here’s a slight musing about perspective: twenty-some degrees does not feel as warm as it did when temperatures rose to it in January. At that time I mused how 20 degrees felt a lot better when you got up to it than when you first went down to it. Well, now I find the second or third time I go back down to it… I was about to say it increasingly sucks, but I really don’t like to whine too much about the weather. After all, I can wait five minutes and it will probably be different (though not necessarily better). But I must observe: it does seem colder.

I’m thinking (I started a new paragraph, because this is a new musing) that it really truly does make a difference to get older. Dammit, my body does change! And sometimes so does my mind! They say change is good. I say loose change collects in the bottom of my purse, but perhaps I should save that line for Non-Sequitur Thursday.

Where was I? Ah yes, on the way to the post office. A light snow had fallen since the sidewalk plow last went by, but it was the loose kind that blows around, so it did not obstruct our way much. The temperature was not too bad, till later when the wind started blowing. Then, yikes! I had on my warm coat that I don’t often wear for over 20 degrees. My mom gave it to me years ago, when the coat I was wearing met with an unfortunate accident (so did the car I was driving, and my head, but long story, not very interesting). It is a wonderfully warm coat, and it has deep pockets. I had poop bags and tissues enough to ensure a comfortable walk.

If only I had also had a scarf. Now, remind me, what did I say about not liking to whine too much? I guess that was not exactly accurate. Tabby wanted to stop and sniff each yellow patch of snow as well as burying her nose in a few purely white patches. As usual, I tried to strike a balance between letting her enjoy herself and not taking eight years for a simple walk to and from the post office.

The walk actually felt good on my legs. I was glad I had gone. I couldn’t help thinking longingly of spring, though. I only hope we get some nice in between temperatures, and I don’t skip right to Middle-aged Musings in which I whine about how damn hot it has gotten. Oh dear, what a kvetch I have become. I do hope you’ll stay tuned.

A Brief Sunday Post

I have entertained (or not) my readers with my computer troubles and tribulations. I will say it again: as disasters go, this one is minor. One could say, more an inconvenience.

But it’s all a matter of perspective. My blog is important to me. It is a goal I have set myself to post something every day. When this becomes impossible for reasons other than my own lack of initiative, prowess, talent, oomph, etc., I get frustrated. Therefore, I would like to make a brief post today to give a grateful shout out to Basloe Library in Herkimer, NY, who has made my posts since Thursday possible.

Full disclosure: I am composing this on the keyboard at the library on Saturday. I just published my Saturday post and I see I have over twenty minutes left on my session. I further see that WordPress offers a feature that you don’t have to publish immediately but can put a date and time to publish. Perfect! I can write this now, set it to publish tomorrow (when the library is closed) and I HAVE NOT MISSED A DAY! This is wonderful news for me!

That said, I don’t really have a whole lot to say other than, “Thanks, Basloe and all the lovely people who work there!”

Well, why not be brief on a Sunday? I hope you all are having a lovely day, and I hope to see you Monday.

But About Me…

Thursday night I went to a meeting of Herkimer Now, a group whose goal is to revitalize the Village of Herkimer, NY. I intend to write a fuller post about Herkimer Now, but today I’m going to talk about me.

When I walked into the meeting at Basloe Library (one of my all time favorite places), the guys that were there introduced themselves, so I told them my name.

“With?” one of them inquired. Oh dear. Of course, these were all local business owners or community leaders of some sort.

“Um, nowhere in particular.” Then, feeling some explanation of my presence was called for: “I write a blog about the Mohawk Valley. I thought I might write a post about you guys.”

So naturally they wrote down the name of my blog. One fellow asked was “girl” spelled with a “u.” Apparently that’s how all the cool gurls do it.

“I’m not cool,” I admitted. Hmmm. Mohawk Valley Gurl. Never thought of that. But now that I think about it, sometimes you see it spelled “Grrrl,” especially when it’s plural. I feel so conventional. It’s embarrassing.

Now, I write this blog every day. I get some pretty positive feedback. I know some of my posts are pretty good (if I do say so). But I’m still not entirely comfortable presenting myself as Someone Who Writes a Blog. Or even as a Blogger, which sounds younger, hipper and, it must be said, a trifle less literary. I worry that people will Expect things from me.

“That’s a good thing,” I can just hear somebody arguing, with or without an admonitory finger shake. “You should expect things of yourself.”

For one thing, there’s that dirty word “should” again. For another thing, setting up Expectations (Great or otherwise) has a distinct chilling effect on creative endeavors. Sometimes you have to back into these things.

My other concern is, as blogs go, this one is kind of, well, rinky dink. I was all excited to be over 150 followers. I’ve seen other bloggers get twice that many “likes” on one post. I am not exactly big time.

Then again, 150 followers is nothing to sneeze at. And every “like” or positive comment is appreciated. The Herkimer Now people may find my blog perfectly enjoyable.

Later on at the meeting, a man was talking about the newsletter and how he wanted to add articles, especially about local businesses.

“If only there was someone,” he said, “Maybe someone who just happened to walk into a meeting. Someone who likes to write about local things. Maybe who has a blog.”

I’m probably misquoting, but it was along those lines. I felt extremely flattered. Of course I would be happy to write for them. With writing and with theatre, if somebody asks me, my answer tends to be yes. Unfortunately, I left the meeting without giving them my email. It was the day my computer died, so I did not feel it was the best way to get ahold of me. I’m still computerless. In fact, I’m typing this on a computer at Basloe Library (did I mention it’s one of my favorite places?).

So perhaps we have a new feature: It’s All About Me Saturday. I like it. But stay tuned, I’ll have more to say about Herkimer Now. Um, later.

Lame Computers, Anyways!

Yesterday I began my post with a lament about what a lousy blogging week it has been. Little did I know, it was about to get worse.

Um, I mean, I began the post I was handwriting in my notebook while on a break at work. I don’t remember how I began the post that got published and, quite frankly, I do not want to go back and look. The computer told me I have 55 minutes of time and I may need all of it to move forward.

So yesterday, blog post that never saw the ether of the internet (as opposed to the light of day) in my spiral notebook (to differentiate it from a computer called a notebook, which I do not have), I called my husband Steven during the nine o’clock break, and he informed me that the computer was down. It is not a new computer. It was graciously given us by my sister whose daughter had no use for it. It has served us well (thanks, Vicki!) (oh, and thanks, Diane, the sister who gave us our previous computer; not good to go online with, but excellent for word processing purposes).

Lately our monitor has been going black for no apparent reason. This is NOT due to a mis-set sleep mode. It goes black when you are in the middle of doing something. If you turn the monitor off then on, it comes back on for periods lasting from one second to the rest of the session. Usually one second. If you re-start or turn off the computer then turn it back on later (an excercise in patience using bursts of one-second screen time) (but I don’t repine over that; I need to build up my capacity for patience), sometimes it is fine.

Until Thursday.

When I got home Thursday (Steven was at work by that time) (and don’t you just hate the way that works out sometimes!), I expermimentally turned on the comptuer. One second screen time, utilizing the off/on method. It was showing a message, however, which was difficult to read in one-second spurts. Something about a corrupt file in disc drive C, I think.

Well, I have a disc in that computer that I have never taken out. I save everything on it that I want saved. I thought, I’ll take that disc out and see what happens. Do you think that disc drive would open. No!!!

At one point, I realized it was almost 4:30, and I remembered the library closes at five on Thursdays. I sprang into action. I showered, threw on clothes (not neglecting earrings) and got to the library by twenty to five. I can make a blog post in twenty minutes! I’ve done it before!

There was a computer free. Yes! Unfortunately, library computers (quite sensibly, I admit) close down before the library. When I logged on, the computer told me I had seven minutes. It could still work!

I wrote a foolish sentence or two. Wanted to write more, as is often the case with me once I get going. Refrained. I even managed to log onto my email. Didn’t look at everything, but saw what was there (nothing earth-shattering, as they say) (that’s one of those hyperbolic expressions many poepl love to use; there’s a good topic for a future Lame Post Friday). I even had a few minutes of the seven left, because when I hit “exit,” the computer asked me was I sure I wanted to end my session early.

I went home, feeling a little inclined to burst into tears, although I know that as disasters go, this one was minor. I turned the computer back on and finally got the disc drive to open. There was nothing there. WHAT? What have I been saving to all this time?

I was by now out of ideas.

And now I have written a lengthy piece telling the whole sordid sotry, and I’m betting that when I get to the library after work, I will not have time to type it all in. Only, as you see, I did. HA! But what about tomorrow? Could be a problem.

Well, what does my blog do, really, but entertain a few people, most notably myself. The world will keep turning if I miss a few days. Literature and the blogosphere will survive. I suppose I will, too.

Disaster!

I had a really stupid post written. Well, I thought some might find it vaguely amusing, but no matter. I’ve been informed by the library computer (Basloe Library in Herkimer, NY) that I have 5 minutes! Yikes!

My computer died! No post today! Maybe a post tomorrow! Sorry, folks!

I Get So Proud of Myself

I went all day without being able to think of a single blog topic. I was seriously thinking of reinstating Wuss Out Wednesday, a feature I toyed with last Halloween. Then after work I went to Curves to exercise, and I will attempt to entertain with what transpired.

In case you didn’t know, Curves is circuit training. You go around a circle twice, exercising on the various machines and running in place on pads in between. At least, you don’t have to run in place. You can march in place, or do aerobics, anything to keep your heart rate up. I’ve seen some ladies shadow box. I usually dance. I like to do the twist. I figure it worked for Chubby Checkers, it’ll work for me.

At each machine, there is a little box into which you insert this computer tag they give you. It is set to you and records your workout. The little box flashes green if you’re doing good, orange if not. Monday I was unable to make the orange go away entirely on some of those machines. So today I wore an bright orange shirt, as a kind of a “Fine! Be that way!” to my body.

At Curves, I tend to be kind of a comic relief. I sing along to the songs I know. I make remarks about some of the lyrics (for example, have you ever noticed that Madonna’s “Open Your Heart To Me” is a total stalker song?). I sometimes dance in a very silly fashion. And when I get no orange or make the orange go away on a machine, when I’m done on that machine, I shake my fist at it and say, “Got you that time, you bastard!” I shook my fist a lot today.

After the workout (and stretching — LOVE the stretching!), you can put your tag into the computer and view your results. One of the results screen shows two views of a body (generic, not your own) with green or yellow dots on the various muscle groups. I keep getting yellow dots. Grrr! Today I got all green!

“Yes! Yes! Yes!” I jumped around and pumped my fist in the air. “I get so proud of myself,” I explained sheepishly.

And that is my story for today. I don’t know if Curves commentary is as interesting as running commentary, but this is all I got. I don’t know what I’ll come up with for tomorrow, but remember it’ll be Non-Sequitur Thursday. Hope to see you then.