Magic Jewball

But you know, I’m supposed to be writing a paper. Plus Facebook seems to just shove these things in your face, doesn’t it? So I was just checking in, because, well, it seems the thing to do in the middle of the night when you should be doing something else. And then I saw it was one of my HS boyfriends’ birthdays today (happy birthday!) and someone I knew fairly well in college (well duh, we’re Facebook friends, doncha know) had sent him good wishes on the day. Right there in my feed: “College Friend -> High School Friend: Happy Birthday!” Weird! How the hell would they know each other? But then I remembered this conversation we’d had when he came back to visit Hopkins the year after he graduated and somehow we got on this topic. I don’t remember if it was, “you went to High School X, didn’t you?” or something similar, but somehow it was discovered that his sister was marrying my ex. This is what happens when you are only 1% of the population. Your college friend’s sister ends up marrying your ex from someplace completely different.

But I forgot about that until this very moment when that wall post brought it all back in a flash. If this were TV you’d see me looking at my computer confusedly and then the picture would go all wavy to Young Me sitting in stunned indignation at the sabbath dinner table of the Kosher Dining Hall. And then we come back to me right here at my laptop gazing at my Facebook feed.

Here’s something I always remember about that ex, though (and I remember a lot of things, believe me). When he got his driver’s license, he drove on over to my house in his beat-up, so old it barely had seat belts, Dodge to show me he could drive, and promptly hit my parents’ car. That’s what bumpers are for! But he was just that kind of guy. Anyway, I went just now to look at the wife of my ex/sister of my friend’s page and what do you know? Her and my ex’s daughter just got her driver’s license this week. The post was “S_____ just passed her driving test! She’d better start saving for a car.” What, no unsafe-at-any-speed mobile to give her?

I refrained from telling the story about S____’s father’s big driver’s license moment in a comment. Particularly since I’ve never met this woman and how many people do I really want to freak out today? Besides you people, of course. But this, my friends, is why you do not need big round numbers to tell you that you are old. Also because the below event, which seemed to be way in the future when the episode came out, is today.

Luckily, just like Lisa, I haven’t aged a bit.

This could be my most inspired song choice ever. Just for a treat, link goes to full song on YouTube.
The Normal – Warm Leatherette

Sometimes I forget that as a car-free American, I’m unusual. I totally tune out car commercials and people’s online discussions over things like handicapped parking spaces and road rage. I don’t really encounter these issues. I actually enjoy public transportation. Well, mostly. It is hot in the subway this time of year and on those days when the bus or subway stops for no particular reason and you are mashed against other humans with no idea of when you’ll reach your destination, well, I think about cars. But then I also think about traffic and gas prices and having to watch the road ahead of me instead of my app or my book. I think about getting lost, which I always seem to do while driving. That moment of panic as you wonder if this is your exit, with no bus driver to ask. And flat tires and roadside breakdowns. No thanks!

I was already planning this post when, while discussing a possible excursion of mine to an area a few states away, North of the City asked me, “have you researched the transportation there?” Well, of course I have researched it. Down to every possible permutation. Greyhound or Bolt Bus or Chinatown bus or regional rail? Which is the cheapest? Which is the fastest? Which meets up with the local bus of a city in which I have spent no more than five minutes of my life? Researching local buses is by far the most complicated yet interesting part of any trip I plan, in any state or country. The websites of local bus networks are meant for locals and they read that way. Even my own Metro-North site organizes its local trains by “East of the Hudson” and “West of the Hudson.” If I told you to meet me in Croton or in Hawthorne, how would you know which of those to choose? This is what you’re up against when you plan trips by public transport.

But I love doing it. I love the challenge and the planning and the novelty. And then, of course, you have to do the whole process again for the way back. That’s the most important part, really, and I discovered that two decades ago in college, planning a trip to a mall in the suburbs of Baltimore. I loved malls and the one in White Plains, where I grew up, was easily accessible by public transportation. The Bee Line, Westchester’s system of buses, has actually won awards for its coverage and organization. And then I came to the Baltimore area where things weren’t quite so good. I remember phoning the Capital Center in Landover and asking them how to get there by public transportation so I could see the Rangers play. “You can’t,” the guy said to me matter-of-factly. “I mean, you could take a taxi here, but no cab would come pick you up.” That sort of stunned me. How could there be a place not accessible by public transportation? That’s when I became a Baltimore Skipjacks fan. You could get to the Baltimore Arena easily on the #3. You still can, even though the Skipjacks left long ago and they keep talking about replacing it. The Cap Center is gone, though, replaced by an arena that is situated on top of a transit stop. Ha!

But back to the malls. I found that this mall (and I honestly cannot remember which one – White Marsh? Hunt Valley? Who knows) could be reached by bus and I planned my trip. Except somehow, I missed that there was only one bus in the afternoon that returned. Naturally, I figured that out after I had done my shopping and needed to get back to school. And then, and then, I had to go to the ATM and withdraw $40 which was what the cab cost to go home. That may not seem like a lot now, but back then, I had so little cash in my account that I usually couldn’t even use the ATM because it only dispensed twenties and I never had $20. I think I used my credit card to take a cash advance. The only way I could keep from mentally berating myself all the way home was to tell myself that it was a $40 lesson. The lesson was, always plan the way back, too. And I always do now. It seems pretty cheap if you average it over the years that it has stood me well. Good as gold.

I also learned to stick with Owings Mills or Mondawmin as far as malls went. In Mondawmin, which was the closest mall to campus, I was the only white person I ever saw. I remember thinking, “do no other Hopkins students know there’s this mall right here?” And you could take the bus or the subway, a rarity in Baltimore. Weird! Once, on the bus, in which I was also always the only white person who got on west of Hampden, I was walking down the aisle to get to my seat when a guy I had passed sitting in front called out, “I got jungle fever!” Later, I starred in the Baby Got Back video.

Anyway, I may still take this trip, it’s not been decided yet, but either way, it was fun to plan. The way back, too.

Stan Ridgway – Stranded

I’m a bit late with this post, that is, I meant to write it this morning where it could have basked in its anniversary moment. But I was busy with six hours of classes and then the library so I could avoid buying a book which is available there free online. And that’s as it should be, because that’s what I chose to do and this is the day I let the world know about that decision. A year ago today, I gave my notice at work after thirteen years at the company and sixteen in the business. I really chose it because it was the only day with sufficient advance time to the day I wanted to leave that had everyone I needed to tell not on vacation. Summer is hard. And it wasn’t a Monday so I couldn’t worry about it all weekend. But I liked that it was Bastille Day, the day the prisoners were freed from their chains. A year later, I realize that if I had chosen July 10th or 15th, I never would have remembered. It was because I saw that it was Bastille Day on the news this morning (naturally, there were deals to be had at French restaurants; that was the angle) that I suddenly recalled it.

I’d like to say that it doesn’t feel like a year but in fact, it feels like ten years. I barely remember what it’s like to lead a 9 to 5 (or 9 to 7, really) life or to answer to a boss or to care whether music is selling or what’s #1. If it weren’t for Facebook, I’d scarcely even remember the people. It seems like such a long time ago and worlds away from the way I live now. I’m hesitant to give a full on status report when it’s not really a year since I left (that’s in about five weeks) but suffice to say, I am thankful every day for the opportunity to do what I am now. In fact, I decided to stay on another year (I was supposed to finish in May 2010) because, quite frankly, this is like a vacation and who wants to go home? Also, because I feel like I just haven’t learned enough and am not quite prepared to start a new career. So onward we go to May 2011. Money will be even tighter and we’ll see just how far I can take a bag of dried beans. But it will be worth it, I know. Even if I lost everything today, it would be worth it. It’s just that good.

The funniest part, to me, is that I’ve always hated school. I used to say, after I was working, that my worst day at work was better than my best day at school. But maybe like youth, school is wasted on the young. When you’re an adult and you get to answer only to yourself and study things you like with other people who love it as much as you do and professors who are passionate about it, too, I mean, how much fun could putting together a spreadsheet for The Man be in comparison? Well, no, I still love spreadsheets. That’s a bad example. But I do remember calling Sarpon and crying to her on the phone on the night of the 13th that I was making a giant mistake and what the hell was I doing? I can’t remember anything she said but I do know one thing for sure: she was right.

I hope when the next stage comes along, I remember this part well. I have a feeling I’ll really miss it. Except for the beans.

The Plimsouls – A Million Miles Away

When you have a bad day or a crazy day or an interesting day and you want to tell people about it, they all say, get a blog! Yesterday I had one of those days (crazy and bad, we’ll see about interesting) and I considered tweeting about it or making it my Facebook status or starting a thread on my forum and then I realized: this is why I have a blog!

Behold, the day where everything went wrong! It began in the morning when I made myself an egg & cheese on an English muffin. This might remind you of a sandwich sold by a purveyor of less Kosher sandwiches, but rest assured, this one is made by me. Then I ate it and went back to my bedroom where I am holed up during this heat wave and can get away with using the smaller air conditioner which only costs a leg to run, as opposed to two extremities. Of course, I closed the door to keep the cold, cold air in. This also kept me from noticing that I had left the fire on under the eggless frying pan, the oil had all burned up, and the fumes of nonstick pan and burned oil and egg remnants filled the air. Some people might say, holy Jesus fuck. I am one of those people. That’s what I say when I realize I almost burned my apartment down while enjoying frigid air in ignorance. Good thing I got thirsty at some point and wandered out for water.

Later, I began my first day of classes. As I was packing up my bag at the end of the last one, I realized I was missing my phone. You know the one: my shiny new, same as the Queen’s, BlackBerry. Holy Jesus fuck! Where was my phone? I even had the professor brainstorming. I told her I had turned it off before my first class (I never use my phone as a phone but my one call a week always seems to arrive during a class) but she insisted on calling it to see if it would ring. It did not. I felt sick. I retraced my steps between the classroom and the last place I had seen it, the library. All along the way I asked every security guard if he had found it. One even called all the others. Nope. I asked someone at the library, where I had sat between classes, if anyone had turned it in. Nope. Wait, was it a Nokia? Nope. I went back up to my seat and there it was sitting in plain sight on the table where I had been. Does no one turn things in to the lost and found anymore? On the other hand, no one had taken it home in three hours, either, so that was pleasant. But more importantly, how does a person just walk away and leave their phone on a table that contains nothing but that phone and not notice? And how could that person be me?

That was bad. But I was on my way home and only a half hour later than planned. I waited for the bus even though it takes a bit longer, because it’s 500 degrees in the subway. Then I waited some more. And then more. Finally, just as I was about to think flameproof thoughts and head for the IRT, the bus arrived. I reached into my pocket for my Metrocard and… nothing. My pocket was empty. Holy Jesus fuck! Everyone who had been waiting with me looked at me curiously as I didn’t manage to actually get on the bus. No thanks! I just enjoy the wait. I wish I had an explanatory story for this but I don’t. I still have no idea what happened and where that card is. My pockets are pretty deep. So all that waiting for nothing and the loss of about $20 on the card itself, plus the case I use to carry it, which I like very much. Er, liked very much.

I decided that all of this occurred because I have been unable to sleep lately and my mind was utterly gone. But with actual Things To Tire Me Out happening, I felt very tired last night. Yes, thank goodness I was finally exhausted enough to fall asleep at 11pm so none of this would recur the following day. Naturally, I woke up two and a half hours later. That gave me plenty of quality time to scrub all the burned bits out of my blackened frying pan. Don’t you love a happy ending?

Garbage – Stupid Girl

[George reads a letter]
George: Severance package…The Yankees are giving me three months full pay for doing nothing.
Jerry: They did it for three years. What’s another few months?
George: I’m really going to do something with these three months.
Jerry: Like what?
George: I’m gonna read a book. From beginning to end. In that order.
Jerry: I’ve always wanted to do that…
George: I’m gonna play frolf.
Jerry: You mean golf?
George: Frolf, frisbee golf, Jerry. Golf with a frisbee. This is gonna be my time. Time to taste the fruits and let the juices drip down my chin. I proclaim this: The Summer of George!

Hey, it’s the first full day of Summer! And the longest day of the year. Which gives me even more time to do not much of anything. Are you one of those people who wish there were more hours in the day and you dream about what you might do with extra time if only you had some? So was I! Then it happened. I lost my student job and am only taking one class for the first third of the summer. So you can only imagine the novels I’m reading (and writing!), the museums I’m visiting, the leisurely walks in the park.

George: Hey, ‘The White Shadow’ is on…
Jerry: Boy, you’re really packing it all in.
George: Jerry, my vacation just started. I need a day or two to decompress. Besides, I did plenty today.
Jerry: Like what?
George: I bought a new recliner with a fridge built right into it.

But like George Costanza, my actual Summer of Me has mostly involved sitting around wearing clothes you would not be seen outside in and watching a lot of TV. I’ve traded in his block of cheese, though, for Internet surfing.

George: All right, that’s enough. I gotta go home and take a nap.
Jerry: It’s 10:30 in the morning.
George: I tell you, I’m wiped.
Jerry: So, has the Summer of George already started or are you still decomposing?
George: Decompressing.

This has sort of happened to me too. If you’ve been reading this blog a long time and have a good memory (both of you) then you know that in periods of non-9to5, my sleep schedule edges slowly towards the nocturnal, with me finally ending up going to sleep at 4am and waking up at 2pm. But, you know, I never had a chance to see how far it could really go. Because my one class happens to be online and so I don’t really have to ever get up in the daytime barring the odd doctor’s appointment. Lately, I have begun to go to sleep at 9am and sleep all day. At first I tried to adjust this but then thought, eh, what’s the point?

This week I do have a few daytime appointments, though, plus Wimbledon is on from about 7am, so I need to be up through the early part of the day. Oh, and in July I have actual, physical, in person classes which begin at noon, so I’ll need to be awake at some sort of decent hour (for me). But it is hard to get back on track. I’ve tried alcohol and supplements and drugs of the legal variety. But my body is stubborn. So today, NO George naps in the middle of the day. Because I have found that if you are sleepy and there is no risk of your boss coming in and saying, “is that report finished? Wait, are you sleeping?” then you just tend to drift off for as long as you want.

Now, I realize that I am incredibly lucky to have this time in my life (even if the Yankees aren’t paying for it) and that while I was, in fact, chained to a desk, I was jealous of people strolling down the street with no particular place to go. It’s a temporary respite from life and I am insanely thankful to have it. Eventually, I will have a 9 to 5 and it will probably even be 7-4 which will be torture. And, let’s be frank, I’d love an income even more than I love sitting on my ass watching the fan spin because I can’t afford to turn the air conditioner on. But for now, I’m going to get up whenever I want, watch a lot of tennis, and taste the fruits. The cheaper fruits.

The B-52′s – Summer of Love