Of Comics and Costumes

Why is it that sometimes the "little blue wheel of death" spins counter-clockwise and sometimes it spins clock-wise? I thought it always spun in the counter-clockwise direction but this morning I noticed it was spinning clock-wise.

If you are wondering why I look at the little blue wheel of death, it's because I spend a lot of time waiting for web pages to load, especially when the computer is still firing up behind the scenes. Go ahead, watch the wheel and let me know which way it spins.

Yesterday, I went to the Chicago version of Comic Con. It's not as fabulous as the "real" Comic Con (held annually in San Diego), but it's a good time, nonetheless. Besides, Chicago is a lot closer to Rockford than San Diego. My question from that adventure is: Why on earth are the Power Rangers popular again? When did this happen? I saw more Green Power Rangers yesterday than any other cosplay. When I got home, I googled this green power ranger thing. A movie is set to come out in 2016 (or, 2017, depending to whom you listen), with the original Green Power Ranger (Tommy, in case you are wondering) set to be in the movie in one way or another. I guess that's pretty big news, especially for MMPR fans. I know nothing of this show.

I have no plans of becoming a Power Ranger fan....not even the green one.

Back to yesterday's Comic Con. It was as anticipated--full of costumers, er I mean cosplay, crowded, happy, nerdy, expensive, chock full of good-clean-fun. It's very much a family affair; after all, you can dress up the whole family as a set of characters from a favorite show. What kid doesn't like dressing up as a favorite super hero? (What nerdy adult doesn't like dressing up as a favorite super hero?) I highly suggest attending if (1) you are a sad and lonely Doctor Who fan with no one to talk to about the show; (2) You have a costume of some sort that you'd like to wear out of the house; (3) You are obsessed with one of the many shows now found at such events; (4) you want to meet/get an autograph/have a photo with a favorite star; and/or, (5) You actually read and collect comic books.

No, I did not dress up...but, I did wear my Doctor Who TARDIS t-shirt and my Time Lord sweat shirt, so close enough.

I can't say I read comic books. I feel a bit badly about that. There were TONS of comic books, comic book artists, comic book vendors. I felt slightly less nerdy because I don't read comic books, which is a bad thing when you are at Comic Con. You want to feel really nerdy because that means you are doing it correctly.

This year, I found myself standing near the tattoo area. Yes, you can get a tattoo while at Comic Con, with all the world to watch you in this endeavor. I'd guess there were 15 or more tattoo artists. I'm not sure if you had to get a Comic-Con related tattoo or not, but I'm guessing that's what people were doing. (It was kind of hard to see what tattoos were in progress, due to the angle of the recipients.)

Would I get a tattoo at Comic Con? Heck yeah!

Did I? No.

I did not see any Tina Belchers in the crowd, so that was a bit disappointing. Actually, I didn't see anyone from Bob's Burgers. I did see one Bart Simpson and a few Sterling Archers, so that was entertaining. (If you've never watched "Archer," you should watch one episode. You'll most likely be mortified. I'll deny I suggested it.) I saw lots of Doctor #11. I'm guessing that is because he's the easiest Doctor to "be," with that bow tie and fez. Personally, I'd rather see more old school doctors or at least Doctor #12, as I'm a bit tired of the easy-out fez cosplay--get creative, people! I did see one Osgood, so that made me very happy.

If I'm speaking a different language, just go with it. It's not often I get to babble with anyone who knows who Osgood is. I'm still in nerd mode.

Next year, I think I'll take the wife. She won't understand most of it, she'll be freaked out by some of it, she won't appreciate the majority of it....but, everyone should experience this type of event at least once in a life time.

(I will not suggest that the wife watch "Archer" as preparation for the event, as she most definitely won't enjoy it. I'll stick to Bob's Burgers and talking about Doctor who with her, even though she has only seen 1/2 an episode of Doctor Who and has no idea what I'm babbling about.)

Speaking of the wife, Fall is upon us and the wife has indeed returned to work. She is VERY stressed out, for many a differing reason. Suffice it to say, I shall do my best to behave and to not make a mess.  I'm putting off an update to Office 10, as if things go wrong, I'll be stressed and that will make the wife be even more stressed and we cannot have the wife becoming more stressed because her being will implode, which will make a mess of which I'm trying to avoid. I'd rather watch 100 episodes of the old-school Power Rangers than have the wife implode. (Yes, implode, not explode. I'm quite sure it will be an implosion.) I'll pray to St. Vince that the Packers have a great year and that Jordy Nelson has a complete recovery from his torn ACL, which will help lower her stress level. I'll speak in terms of football, not cosplay--that should help ease her being....

...although, I think it'd be more helpful if I keep my glass on a coaster, take my shoes off every time I come in the house and not leave a trail of "stuff" as I move about the living quarters.

A girl's gotta do what a girl's gotta do.

If that doesn't help, I'll just sit quietly on the couch and turn up the volume as I watch my Doctor Who episodes on my tablet. That and I'll silently stare at the little blue wheel of death, no matter which way it spins.

Here's to Christmas break.
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Ode to A Teacher in August

Ah, Fall. The days are already getting shorter. The weather is still hot but the nights are a we bit cooler. The fire flies are fading into the distance. Traffic on the tollway is a little less hair-raising. School supplies are flying off the shelf....

.....and, teachers are freaking out, gasping as they hold on to that one last shred of summer vacation.

I determined long, long ago that it is MUCH more traumatic for teachers than students to return to school. I know I've written about this before and I know that until the wife retires from teaching, I will write about it again.....the end of summer is a tough time for the majority of teachers on this continent.

A teacher in August is nothing to mess with.

You would think that having a summer vacation would be amazing, refreshing, delightful for all teachers. I would find it a time to rejuvenate, hang out with adults, say "no" to grading papers or doing common core math. The days would be filled with opportunities for relaxation and freedom.

Non-educators tend to think that being a teacher is the best job ever because of the summer vacation.

(Side note: If you are one of those college fools who is going into teaching because you get the summer off, pick a different profession. Shame on you. I'm embarrassed by you and I'm not even a teacher.)

Those thoughts of mine are true--Summer is rejuvenating, refreshing and filled with adult conversation for those of who educate for a profession.

Yet....

I'm here to tell you, from this non-educator standpoint, that having a three month summer vacation appears amazing AND cruel at the same time, especially once July rolls around. I've watched the wife ride this roller coaster for the past three decades. From my perspective, here's what summer vacation must look like to the wife's people:

June: Ahhhhhhh! Summer Vacation! (Frolic in the gardens, skip down the sidewalk, smile in the golden summer sun.) "No grading, no prepping, no holding pee in my bladder for eight hours!" 

July 4th: OH MY GOD, OH MY GOD, OH MY GOD! SUMMER IS HALF OVER! (Begin to fret. Forget the here and now. Stop skipping, start pacing.)

Third week of July [walking through a department store]: "OH MY GOD! ARE THOSE SCHOOL SUPPLIES?" (Roll into a fetal ball.)

August 1st: Silent Panic.

August 8th: Everything has gone black. The only thing of which to look forward is a snow day.

When teachers get together once August has arrived, whether it be for a backyard barbecue or a festive gathering of friends, it is clear: the end has arrived. Summer can no longer be enjoyed. Commiseration begins. Talk of school resumes.

Although the wife loves being a teacher and loves summer vacation, she says, and said again this year, that it is REALLY hard to go back to school after such a long break. For the record, she votes for year-round school. I daresay the end of summer is torturous for her (with the end starting on July 4th).

You would think it would have gotten easier for her over the years, but I think the opposite has happened: it seems like every year it gets harder. This year has been especially painful. I don't know why, but it did. I know it will be fine once she jumps back in to the schedule. Oh, but the seconds before that leap.....torturous!

Of course, this is not true for all teachers. If one has learned to fully live in the here and now, the arrival of school supplies has little to do with one's enjoyment of summer vacation. It may stop you cold in the aisle of that department store, but once back in the car, the enjoyment of summer resumes, uninterrupted until the next school meme rolls around.

I've witnessed first hand how hard teachers work during the school year, so I do not begrudge any of them one milli-second of summer vacation. The wife is always grading papers and reading and doing whatnot on evenings and weekends. It is no wonder summer vacation is so coveted. And yet, how painful it is once that summer vacation comes grinding to a halt.

To you, dear teachers, I remind you of how it will be all right. The pre-school-year meetings will come and go before you know it and you'll be behind that desk or podium before you know it and you will once again enjoy the passion that sweeps down upon your very teacher being. You'll get back into the groove without missing a beat and you'll roll along without issue...

,....all the while waiting for a snow day.

Happy back to school, educator friends. May the days be short and the homework be light.

Letters to....

Dear Junior Centipede,
How dare you! How dare you run across my wall and then disappear before I can secure a napkin to squish you like....like...well, like a bug. How dare you come into my home, my sanctuary, my centipede-free zone. You know I hate your kind with a vengeance. You know I have nightmares about you. So, why are you here in my home, on my wall? Your kind is not welcome here. When I find you, and I WILL find you, you will know not what hit you. Stay away, billion-legged blur of yuckiness. You have been warned. The wife is not afraid of you, so be afraid. Be very afraid.With no love whatsoever, Addi
P.S. I refuse to believe your family lives here. I choose to think that you wandered in by accident. Or, that you are an orphan.

Dear Peri-menopausal Pooch,
What on earth are you doing down there? 
I am not entertained. Addi

Dearest re-added 50 friends on Book de la Face,
Welcome back to the Addiverse. I'm glad you re-upped our friendship. I'm not sure what inspired me to re-friend a herd of people on a Sunday evening, but I'm glad for your return...although I'm still a bit tentative about the flooding of posts that occurred upon your arrival. Please know that I had to detox from the 500 I dumped before I could consider whom to bring back. I foolishly thought cutting the team would help my life become more manageable. Instead, it just gave me more time to waste on Pinterest. I gained a lot of pins but missed a lot of posts. If it helps, please know you haven't missed anything on my part. I'm still all poop and no substance.
Sophomorically, Addi

Dear Persons Driving in the Left Lane,

I spit on you. Move over. Or, give me the name and phone number of the person who taught you to drive so I can slap him/her in the head. Perhaps you didn't get the memo: The left lane is for passing. I know, I know--you might have to move back to the left lane in 50 miles, so you don't want to move over. What if you can't get over in 50 miles? What then? I don't care. You are in my way. The speed limit is 70 mph. You're going 60 mph in the left lane. Isn't that against some law? If not, it is illegal in the Addiverse. I've got places to go, people to see. I'll pass you on the right.....as soon as I can get past this parade of boats, semis, U-Hauls and merging traffic. I'll be giving you the stink eye when I pass, so keep looking ahead.
Giving you a push, Addi

Dear Republican Party,
THANK YOU for the most entertaining primary in the history of our country. The entertainment value is OFF.THE.CHART. Not only are there scores of you running, you are all getting crushed by a TV personality-failed-business man who is saying so many insulting things that he has taken it to an art form. Perhaps he's a genius because he is slapping all of you around by double digits. I can't wait to see how this transpires. And I thought "She Who Must Not Be Named" was fun in 2012. This puts that to shame. As long as Scott Walker doesn't take the lead, I'll keep cheering for you. I'm hoping for something inspiring to happen because the fodder for this blog is building as you run.

Dear Monday,
I think I may be the only person on the planet who likes you. Please feel the love. You're not as bad as people say. I honor you by posting a blog on a Monday.
Let's get this party started, Addi

Addendums: Skinned Standard Standard

Okay, this is embarrassing....

Yesterday, while weeding, it suddenly came to me. I stood right up and exclaimed, "I can't believe I forgot that!" Yes, my "Standard Standard" blog was supposed to include the double standard related to those in the superstar universe. I had specifically been thinking about Madonna vs. Mick Jagger...

....but, I totally forgot that part for the blog, which is rather humorous, considering the title of said blog.

I was going to whine about how sick and tired I am hearing about Madonna "not acting her age," while Mick Jagger, who is a decade and a half older than her can prance around shirtless on the stage and everyone commends him. People don't say the Rolling Stones are too old to be on stage or to do whatever antics they please. When Madonna does things that are provocative in one capacity or another, she is told to "act her age." (Do I think it's fabulous she wears a grill? No. But, I would have thought that no matter her age.) Both Madonna and Mick Jagger are superstars beyond compare. Both changed the history of music. Yet, it is okay for the older men to do what is not okay for older woman to do.

Madonna's--and the Rolling Stones'--ability to shred the competition in putting on a concert should give them permission to do whatever they damn well please. Both have earned the right to act whatever age they want. Madonna's breaking down of barriers and smashing things previously deemed taboo demand respect of those who can do as they please BECAUSE of her. All her antics opened doors for performers of today. Respect to Mother Madge, no matter how she acts at her "advanced age."

Besides, she's a hell of a lot better looking than any of those Stones' men. 

Forget who can sing better or dance better or or put on a better concert. Comparing them is apples to oranges. I'm only noting the double standard. Hollywood, I spit on you.

I'd go on and on, but this is an addendum. So, enough said.

As for the Skinned Addendum, I am sad--or, happy--to report to "my" first group of gravity-tattered friends that "my" second group of friends look AMAZING. Gravity has nothing on these ladies. I did indeed look like a pervert as I stared at their skin. As was the case with the first group, the summer time boating attire featured much bare skin. Group Number two is definitely defying gravity. (Dear god, do you know how many accidental "hits" I'm going to get on this blog for including that descriptor? Four bazillion pre-teens are going to google defying gravity and end up reading about all these old people. Respect your elders, youngsters! Your skin is gonna get cheesy, too!) I'm telling you--group number two's legs did not feature the cheesy wiblet hell holding group one hostage. Although this made me sad--after all, I'm in the cheesy wiblet pile--I was really, really impressed with this group. So, I cannot say across the board that gravity always takes its toll by the time we are 60.

Madonna, by the way, does not sport cheesy wiblets. 

(Neither does the skin and bones Mr. Jagger. He definitely doesn't have any wiblets of any kind.)

Does this give me hope? Of course! Does this mean I'm going to change my diet or exercise or anything? Of course not! Instead, I'm going to listen to Madonna music and celebrate her continued efforts to crush those things of which need to be crushed. Like Madonna says: she was fearless like a renagade...she came, she saw, she conquered.

Standard Standard? Madonna's not worried. Veni, Vedi, Vici, bitches.

Veni, Vedi, Vici. Look it up, you who think she's too old to do what she's doing. Don't you standard standard my beloved Madge.
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I gotta go back to weeding so I can remember all the other things I forgot.  Happy Addendum-ing!
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Skinned

Bad news, Addiverse visitors...it has finally happened. I took a gander at the list of top ten pop songs and I recognized NONE of them. I've dreaded this day for years and now it has come to fruition. Truly a sign of getting old and crusty. Thankfully, a second look at the list allowed me the satisfaction of knowing (but certainly not liking) one of the songs--it had a title of which I didn't recognize but then I figured out I did indeed know (and again, did not like).

Switching gears. Gravity is a cruel, cruel master. (Told you I'm switching gears. But, not really. It all ties in.) Yes, we need gravity to stay attached to this world but it's an ugly force when one looks at her....

....five decade old skin. Specifically: five decade old female skin.

(I have no idea about guy skin. That's for a different blog. I'll have to do some research.)

The other day, we were hanging out with a bunch of female friends who just happen to be a bit older than us (from a few years older to up to a decade older). As it's summer and as it was mighty hot, not many items of coverage were being employed. Tank tops and shorts were the fashion of the day.

Before I go further, I think it best to note that over the past few months I've been kind of freaked out about my skin. Specifically, how gravity really does a job on skin, especially as one ages. I'm not talking about freckles and crow's feet or age spots (although I am not a fan of the age spots in any capacity). I'm talking about gravity-destroyed skin stuff.

Don't even get me started on those cheesy wiblets. 

No one tells you about this issue when you're younger. Oh, they say things like, "stay out of the sun" or "don't get sunburned 'cause you'll get skin cancer." But, they don't say things like, "Your skin is gonna look like orange peels and cheesy wiblets, right down to your ankles, when you get older, so go ahead and fry in the sun." No one says, "it doesn't matter if you are skinny or not--gravity is going to have say about how your skin looks, so you might as well eat that third cookie." Everyone assumes those skinny bitches are going to have to worry about cheesy anything.

Well, I beg to differ. Skinny bitches of my relative age sing the same song as everyone else. Gravity is the master in this domain.

I am a normal size and I'm in good health but my thighs are screaming YOU ARE 53! I do not know when this cheesy wiblet thing fully took over but it is here and now, and my legs now suggest my true age. Forget the little jowls or changing face. That stuff is the stuff of real lie. But, this leg thing. Sheesh.

Back to the friends. I admit that I spent more time staring at their skin than I did staring at the beauty of nature surrounding us. We all have "gravity has screwed our skin" sagging, lumpy, wrinkly look. Even the skinniest of the bunch--and, she is definitely underweight for her height--had the cheesy wiblet-marked-gravity-ruined skin-on-thighs.

I was secretly very pleased by this. Don't tell anyone. Eh, they don't read my blog so I'll say what I want. That's what they get for not reading my blog.

There was sagging skin from all sorts of places....back of arms were waving to me, sunny-in-Cleveland skin was wrinklier than an un-ironed linen shirt, throat wobblers were wobbling more than I remember from the past...and, sagging from the back of the knees! How is this even possible?!! Most of them had nice, smooth, unblemished-by-the-sun skin...but, all sported gravity-tainted skin. I had no idea this gravity-pocked-wiblet-thigh-and-moving-south thing would happen. Oh sure, I've seen the skin of those around me but I've never really paid attention to what was happening until I noticed the issue on my legs. (Yes, while sitting on the toilet. That's when I really noticed.)

I've decided that unless you are eating some raw-food diet, working out 7 hours a day, 7 days a week AND have a good surgeon, your skin is gonna look like my skin.

Or, at least something like mine. I suppose you'll have to eat a lot of sugar in order to do a fair comparison.

(Actually, I'm not even sure if eating a raw diet and running daily marathons would help. I've seen some mighty-healthy female runners wobble with the best of them.)

I thought about getting into better shape but that sounded tiring. 

I don't know if this is an American thing or a global female thing. Only middle-class, Midwestern American females were in view, so this is a very small sampling of lumpy thighs. I'll have to expand my worldly view before I can speak on that.

Later today, we are going out with a different group of friends--same kind of age group, same kind of deal (hot weather, not a lot of clothing). I'll be able to scope out what gravity has--or, has not done--to their skinned-covered beings. I'm guessing this lot is a bit healthier, but they will also represent those who spent a LOT of time in the sun, decades on end. I'll be looking at them instead of the scenery.

I hope they don't think I'm some pervert. I'm not. I'm doing scientific research.

Or, maybe I'm doing therapy. I sure did feel a whole lot better after spying that last group of friends' gravity-based skin. Cheap therapy. Self Therapy.

I feel better already. Bring on the swimsuit.

Standard Standard

Get it? Double standard!

 How've you been? I've missed you. I am sure you have been having fun and practicing safe sunning during my "absence." While you were out doing summery things, I was recovering from carrying a recycled screen door home. No, I'm kidding. Along with a purposeful silence and wasting a ridiculous amount of time pinning Doctor Who memes and tattoos, a trip to Minneapolis was squeezed in to my already entertaining schedule, with the purpose being attendance at an art therapy conference. There is nothing like hanging out with 1000 art therapists. I shall refrain from saying much about it, as I like being a professional in the field. Suffice it to say, hanging out there makes me look pretty normal. That should scare all of you.

A purposeful silence? Although I am having trouble with "training furballs" again (so much talking, so many furballs), that's not what I mean. Oh, how I don't want to get all serious and political on here, even though it's my mundane blog and I can certainly do whatever I dang well please. Perhaps it is unwise to temper my feisty naughtiness--it might lead to some body part exploding or an intense case of constipation. Good or bad, right or wrong...there is so much fodder in the world right now. From The Donald running for president to Caitlyn Jenner accepting a sports award to continued arguments about whether a cake baker should have to bake a cake for a gay wedding....fodder, fodder, fodder. (I will say that why on earth would I want a cake from someone who doesn't want to bake my cake? I mean, I'm gonna eat that cake of which they probably spit in or used Ex-Lax in the chocolate frosting. Forget it!)

That said, I can't keep my yapper shut about the continued pay inequity for women. (So much for that self-imposed silence.) How is it that in this day and age the world's champion Women's Soccer team brings home a total of TWO million dollars in prize money while the world's champions Men's soccer team brings home a THIRTY FIVE million purse? Don't blame it on viewership--the women's soccer thing had a bazillion people watching, including Americans (who don't seem to grasp the concept of soccer on a very profound basis). In Addiverse math, in the U.S. viewership, the men had 167 total viewers, while the women had 167 trillion viewers. Perhaps I'll stick to watching things like Wimbledon, where the men and women get paid the same thing.

I still remember having a conversation about such inequity with my cousin in 1989. Yes, I am sure it was 1989. During a trip to the Grand Canyon, we passed a female construction worker holding up one of those slow/stop signs at the beginning of a construction zone. I mentioned how men get paid more money to do that job....a man holding a slow/stop sign got more money to stand in the same place, doing the same thing. I thought that absurd. I was wrong. What's absurd is that it is 25 years later and the inequity continues. People! Today, women get paid an average of 78 cents to every man's one dollar. God help you if you are a woman living in Louisiana--you'll be lucky to average 66 cents to the guy's dollar. Since there are NO states where the men and women make the same pay, I feel confident about my choice to babble about it for a few minutes here. I'm done now. Carry on.

 As for Minneapolis, it was a whirl-wind of a stop so I can't say much profound about it. The hotel was 1.5 miles away from the conference, so I had time to walk downtown on my way to/from the happenings. My first impression? "Everyone in this city smokes!" It was the weirdest thing. As I was walking down the street, I was engulfed in cloud of cigarette smoke. There were so many smokers that they even had the balls to smoke right under a sign stating "no smoking withing 25 feet." (How could I NOT take a photo????) As I looked around, it seemed like everyone was (1) wearing a backpack and (2) smoking. I found this odd, as Minny seems like such a healthy city--after all, everyone is walking around wearing back packs--so, I found a local art therapist at the conference and inquired about this. At first, she seemed confused and surprised by this. After a few seconds of contemplation, the light bulb went off:

Minny-Peep: "How do you like the city so far?"

Me: "Oh, it seems very nice! I have noticed something, though--it's like everyone smokes."

Minny-peep: [puzzled look]

Me: "I walk to and from the conference. It just seems like everyone smokes--I feel like I'm walking through a cloud of smoke. It seems weird, considering everyone appears to be walking everywhere and busy being healthy."

Minny-peep: [still puzzled]

Me: [waiting....oh geez, I've insulted her home town]

Minny-peep: [see light bulb go on]: "Oh! Everyone smokes outside. There is no where inside to smoke, so smokers smoke while they are walking to and from places."

That made complete sense. No smoking inside means ya gotta smoke outside. Since everyone is always walking here and there, the smokers are walking and smoking at the same time. Mystery solved.

As there was little free time in my conference trip schedule, the only thing I really got done that wasn't conference-related was a spontaneous trip to a Twins' baseball game. I can't resist a visit to a ballpark. (PNC Park and Petco Park, be proud--you remain on the top of my list.) The Twins were playing the Detroit Tigers, so that was a bonus--I'd never seen the Tigers play. I love when stadiums are incorporated into the downtown areas--you know, with a view like this. While I love the Cubs, Wrigley doesn't have this kind of feel. It has a feel, a mystique, of course but it is not this kind of feel. Target Field is nice enough--very clean, inviting, great view, good food, expansive grounds, easily accessed by foot--it didn't make my top three parks. That's okay--it was still fabulous and it was a great compliment to an art therapy conference.

I look forward to the day I can visit Baltimore and Fenway....oh, how I want to see the Green Monster in person.

I saw my Minny-peep the next day at the conference. She asked how my stay was going. I mentioned that I went to a Twins' game the night before. She seemed perplexed by this....almost as much as she had been about my smoking question. I guess art therapists visit art museums and artsy-galas, not MLB games.  I could tell that a Twins' game was not in her realm. I didn't bother to tell her that I got my first tattoo while at an art therapy conference back in the 1990's. I figured that would really befuckle her.

Speaking of tattoos....a last thought about Minneapolis. I didn't see many tattoos. Backpacks and cigarettes: yes. Tattoos: not so much. In Pittsburgh, tattoos were everywhere. I couldn't believe the volume of tattoos I saw while walking in Steel City. Minny, not so much. Art therapists aren't exactly sporting a plethora of tattoos, either, so that was disappointing. I do love seeing a good (or bad) tattoo when wandering the nation.

Good news is that tattoos cost the same thing whether you're a man or a woman. I have no idea if women tattoo artists get paid the same as the guy tattoo artists. I feel a research project coming on.....

Storming the Door

The Fourth of July holiday weekend found us doing something that we have NEVER done before; in fact, if I hadn't been there, I wouldn't have believed it.

The back story: the wife, one of the most dedicated recyclers on the planet, is always lamenting about the people who drive around the night before garbage day, looking for little treasures on the curb. She always mutters how that is illegal and I retort how I don't understand why that is illegal--it seems like a good thing to me:

The wife: "Ugh! There's someone else going through the garbage. THAT'S ILLEGAL!"

Me: "For someone who is all about recycling, I'd think you'd like it when people took things out of the trash. That's the ultimate in recycling."

The wife: "Well, it's illegal. They shouldn't do that." [Goes about her business, muttering about the merits of recycling.]

Every.Single.Time. 

The wife worries about the pill bottle I just threw in the garbage, as I'm supposed to recycle that...yet, she frets about people taking things to re-use them. It's not like they are making a mess. They "shop" and go. It doesn't seem illegal to me but I'm sure it is (after all, the wife knows her recycling laws) and I have to believe there is some reason the law is in place. (I've never seen the law but I'll take the wife at her word.)

So, imagine this: while walking the dog on the morning of July 3rd, we came across a brand new storm door window. The item in question was propped up between two green garbage cans filled with lawn refuge. We both saw it at the same time, with both of us commenting on how weird it was that this door window was at the curb with the garbage. It was obviously waiting for a trip to the landfill. A closer look showed that it still had the original stickers on it and that it was indeed brand new. An even closer look by the wife led to the discovery that it was the exact brand and size of our existing storm door.

She looked toward the building and mentioned how the people had a new storm door. She looked toward the window between the garbage cans and then back toward the newly-installed door.

It was then I saw it--the wheels turning, the internal angst, the pros-vs.-cons....

...The wife was actually thinking about how to get this storm door home!

We were a little over a 1/4 mile from home. We're walking a 105 year old dog. It's hot out. I looked at the window and then looked at the wife. The window looked heavy.

Did I mention we were walking?

The wife decided we needed this window, illegal scavenging be damned! I offered to walk ahead and get the car but she declined, saying it won't fit in the car and that she could carry the window home. I think I mentioned the illegality of the operation of which we about to partake and I may have mentioned ten or eleven times about her stance on garbage-picking, but I think she had selective hearing and thus went over to the window. She picked it up and started home.

I couldn't let her have all the fun or bear all the load, so I grabbed part of the frame with one hand and dragged the dog along with my other hand. It really was pretty heavy, more so because it was an awkward thing to carry. Sweaty hands make it hard to hang on to a storm door window.

We marched down the street, hoping not to cross paths with some unsuspecting neighbor.

Of course, we did indeed run into a neighbor. Try explaining what's going on when carrying a glass storm door down the street. At first, she didn't seem to see the glass. At second glance, she seemed perplexed but still offered to help. We politely declined and kept on moving.

When we finally got home (like, three weeks later....or, so it seemed), the wife zipped into the garage and confirmed her victory. The window was indeed the same brand and size and it was nicer than the window we already owned.

Score one for the wife. Two thumbs up for the landfill.

Now that she's faced the thrill of victory, maybe she'll look a little more kindly at the scavengers....

After all, she's one of them now. 

Perhaps this adventure will allow her to view the weekly scavengers as magicians instead of as criminals. After all, recycling turns stuff into other stuff and that is pretty magical.

So, recycle.

Reuse.

Refuse.

Re-purpose the neighbor's door.

Personally, I recycle whenever possible in an effort to save the Earth...

We all have priorities.

Glitter and Rainbows

Well, well, well. 

I try not to be too political in my blog; after all, I'm here to babble about mindless dribble....but, I have to say something about the Supreme Court's ruling yesterday, bringing forth the legality of gay marriage (or, as I like to call it, marriage). I've easily managed to stay silent on Kaitlyn Jenner and the Confederate Flag and the Affordable Care Act. I leave that to others. This is not a place of which to speak on such things. This, though....this gay marriage ruling....of this I must speak.

To be honest, it's the day after the ruling and I STILL can't believe this ruling came down from above. I NEVER thought I'd see anything like this in my lifetime. It doesn't make sense to someone my age, from my era. My younger counterpart at work (20+ years younger) thought it was a no-brainer and didn't seem to even remotely grasp my awe, my disbelief, my stunned-into-silence reaction. He just thought it was great and didn't give it a second thought. I tried to explain to him how this is mind-boggling to someone my age and of my era but I could tell all he was thinking was "wow, she really IS a lot older than me!" Thank you, young people. You are refreshing to your elders.

Let me be clear: I respect those who disagree. After all, we as a human race can't agree on everything (or, much of anything, at times). I shall not harbor bad feelings. Besides, that would be doing what we wouldn't want want other people to be doing. No discrimination shall be set forth in this blog about the misinformed, judgmental, Bible-abusing bigots who fought long and hard (and still fight long and hard) to keep this ruling from coming to fruition.To all the "Christians" who are divorced or wear cotton blends or have tattoos and piercings and yet still throw Leviticus around.... seriously, I love you sinner, but I hate your sin.

Oh wait, that sounded a wee bit judgmental. Apologies to all my "true" Christian friends. You know, those who follow the teachings of Jesus and don't take things out of context and don't spew hate out of every orifice. You are truly a God-send and to you I say thank you.

I was at the eye doctor yesterday morning, so I was nowhere a TV or computer or any electronic device when the SCOTUS ruling was announced. I was waiting for the ophthalmologist to arrive when I received a text from the wife, asking me to call her as she had "great news." I texted back that I couldn't call her as I was at the eye doctor and asked her to text me instead of call, to give me a hint of her great news. Although my pupils had been dilated, I was still about to read her text: "It is a historic day as the Supreme Court just ruled that all states are now required to allow same-sex marriage!"

People who have always been able to get married cannot grasp how much that one-line text meant to me. It was really hard to sit in that chair, in that exam room, in that eye doctor's office after reading that text. It wasn't that I wanted to whoop and holler--I wanted to find someone my age and stand in silence and awe and disbelief with them. I wanted to say aloud how I never thought this was possible in my lifetime. I wanted to see the sources myself. I wanted to contemplate the meaning of all this. I wanted to be with the wife, the wife who will be my life no matter what state line we cross. I wanted to have a moment, a tear, something...

Instead, I was left in a room, alone with dilated eyes. 

Thankfully, texting worked just fine. That young co-worker of mine immediately texted to congratulate me, making the wife's text that much more real. It was true. Like it or not (and, there are a whole lot of folks that do not like it), it was the ruling. The eye doctor could have said, "your eyeballs are going to fall out of your head in the next 30 minutes" and I wouldn't have cared.

After reading the texts, I realized that the wife and I could now live wherever we wanted. Up until this point, we had to live in a state that recognized same-sex marriage--which meant no moving to Wisconsin. Now, the nation is ours to behold, to conquer, to reside.

(Note to the wife: do not have dreams of grandeur thinking we are moving to Wisconsin next week. I'm a flatlander and you need to respect my penny-head way of thinking. It's gonna take time to embrace anything cheese.)

This morning, twenty-four hours into this adventure, I am still in disbelief, stunned into a weird silence because I can't seem to put words on my thoughts and feelings. I can't fully wrap my mind around this whole thing. In an effort to put words on it, I used this as my FB status: "Woke up this morning, still in disbelief and awe about yesterday's ruling. My first thought: "Yup, world's still turning, sun's still shining." My second thought was, "I wonder if that ex-Pastor Rick Scarborough set himself on fire?" My third thought: "I've gotta remember to thank all the straight allies and Christians who made the difference every day." ...Let this beautiful day begin with rainbow photos and heartfelt gratitude!"

I am glad to hear that the ex-pastor guy didn't set himself on fire. That's not the way to celebrate.

I read many on-line articles this morning, from both "sides" of the fence. One was written by a pastor somewhere in the land of 10,000 lakes. "Using" Corinthians, he wrote about the sin of homosexuality, indicating that true Christians know "you're wrong" [it's wrong] AND "you're loved." (Thank god it was something other than Leviticus or other overused/misused Old Testament passage. Kudos to him for originality.) I chuckled because that is exactly how I think of this thing.....from either perspective, it is "you're wrong and you're loved." He is judging me as being wrong and I'm thinking about him as being wrong. See? We are the same creature, just standing in different places. I guess that makes us both wrong about being wrong. I'm all good with that. I'm guessing that he's not.

Side note: this whole "love the sinner, hate the sin" is getting old. Just sayin.' Seriously. You could use that saying for almost anything....the gays, the tattooed, the divorced. I hate your sin of divorce but love you as a divorcee.That's a whole lot of sinners in this great country. I'm gonna be busy loving all those sin-filled divorced friends.

Technically, today is no different than yesterday. The world IS still turning. We're still married, like we were the day before. I'm still gay. My co-worker is still straight. Freckles is still mostly blind and mostly deaf. FOX news is still on the air. (I thought it might have imploded last night, what with all this liberal nonsense going on in the nation.) The ex-pastor is still not charcoal-broiled. There are still four million Republican Candidates running for Presidency. I still wear glasses. We still live in Illinois.

But, today IS a whole lot different than yesterday. I suppose it's exciting if on one "side," terrifying if you're on the other side. The fight to repeal this decision is already under way. No surprise there. Mike Hucked-a-Bee has his undies in a bundle, as is true with many baggers of tea. Personally, I like this new era, this thing called marriage equality. On paper, it's now equal. In reality, it is not--try getting married in the south or ask Faux News what they think. (Call that non-burning preacher--bet he'd like to do the ceremony).

We as a people do not have equality of many kinds in this great nation of ours. We have a long way to go overall. But, this new marriage era brings our nation a wee bit closer to equality and for that I am profoundly grateful.

Today, let us spew glitter and shit rainbows.

Today, let us celebrate.

Today, let us not set anyone on fire.

Today. let us not have hate for anyone or anything.

Today, let's just be.

Today, let's get our happy on.

Glitter and rainbows, people. Glitter and rainbows.

Solstice Ponderings

Tomorrow is June 21st, making it the longest day of the year. Happy Summer Solstice 2015.

Although.....today might be the longest day of the year, as I had gum in my pants pocket and the pants got washed....with the wife's brand new pants....which are now sporting my gum. Long day ahead. My gum causes her great angst. I feel very badly and will certainly buy her new pants...efforts using ice, goo-gone and perhaps even some hot white vinegar or peanut butter are happening as I type. I shall stay far away and wave my credit card when approached.

Freckles Warrior Princess turned 105 years old yesterday. Well, okay--she turned 15 but she seems like 105. We celebrated the arrival of her 15th year with the consumption of a McD's hamburger (she ate it, not us). Although old and crusty, she keeps plugging along, kind of like a slower version of the Energizer Bunny.

When I pondered her 15 years on the planet, I realized that when she was born:
--9/11 had yet to happen.
--The world hadn't ended six months prior, not did the computers and electronics come to a screeching halt.
--Facebook, Myspace and Gmail didn't exist.
--The Dixie Chicks were still in the "red states" favor.
--I still had my appendix, I had 75% less tattoos and I was using a camera that required film and a pager at work. Cell phone? What cell phone? I had to go find a pay phone to return pages.
My, my, my--how much has happened in her tenure on the planet.

Freckles is a relic, a survivor, a mystery. How on earth this puppy-mill escapee is still alive--and managed outlive her younger sister--is beyond me. She must still have stuff to teach us. Thankfully, she hasn't been dropping any "marbles" lately, so that's an improvement. Unfortunately for her, it appears she may have some very serious tooth decay....and, that's gonna require attention. Her breath can curl your hair at thirty paces. We await the dog dental lady's call to learn more. The decisions will be difficult but we'll figure it out, one thing at a time.

Earlier in the week, we took a jaunt to Pittsburgh with the Gaybors. It was a deliciously wonderful time, filled with food and fun. Personally, I'm all about the food, as evidenced by gaining three pounds in one week. Let me tell you about the food. We ate what I am sure is the biggest pretzel I will ever see in my entire life; in fact, it was so big that the four of us struggled to get through this appetizer. I daresay it had enough cheese on it to constipate an entire third world country. The photo does not do it justice. The wife enjoyed perusing the food trucks and learned about haluski. We gorged ourselves at a Pirates baseball game and found time to eat at an Eat 'n Park--something of which I had never heard. I must say that my Eat n Park 1200-calorie sundae was delicious and it appeared everyone enjoyed their menu selections.

Perhaps you are not familiar with Pittsburgh. I certainly wasn't. We went there because the gaybors scored some kick-ass tickets to a Pirates game. Well, I'm here to tell you that if you have never been to this city, you should go--it is a delightful city with much to do.

If you steal this photo, please give me credit. Don't make me chase you down.

I don't know why I was surprised that Pittsburgh was such a great destination, but I was. I apologize to you, fair city. It's clean, so that's a plus. There's tons of history, 400+ bridges, pro football, pro baseball, pro hockey and three rivers. Three rivers meeting in one place! Everyone--except the one waitress we had at the Eat 'n Park-- was very nice. The scenery is very beautiful--I had no idea Pittsburgh is hilly. Such an ignorant flatlander am I.  The roads and bridges seemed very confusing, but I wasn't driving so I didn't have to sweat that. Don't get me wrong--it's not an island beach resort, so if that's what you're looking for, keep driving (and swimming, as the case may be). But, if you are looking for a place with good ethnic food, lots of sports, culture and history, this is a great place to spend a few days.

Well, all sounds quiet on the gum front, so I'm gonna take a chance and grab some breakfast..... Happy Birthday to Freckles, Happy Civil Union Anniversary to the wife, Happy Father's Day to Father John and Happy Solstice to All!

Vacation-a-go-long-ago-go

It's that time of year where folks are thinking about vacations, which got us thinking about how much vacationing has changed over the past many decades. The wife and I were very entertained when reminiscing about what used to be involved in planning/taking a vacation.

I dedicate this blog to all of those who were not alive before the advent of the Internet (for those of you born after 1985).

The wife: "Remember how we used to have to get Traveler Checks? How we had to figure out how much money to get in Traveler Checks? How we had to go and get the Traveler's Checks from the Bank or Triple A?"

Me: "Remember how we would order "Trip-tiks" from Triple A so we would have maps and travel information when driving somewhere on vacation? I loved Trip-tics!"

The wife: "There were no cell phones to call for help or assistance."

Me: "A cell phone would have come in handy when we got locked out of the rental car in California. Remember how we had to walk seven miles in our beach shoes because we couldn't call the rental car place to come help us? Three hours of walking in beach shoes. Oh, the blisters!"

The wife: "We're old."


No cell phones.
No Google Maps.
No navigational systems in the car.
No Internet.
No debit cards.
Gas stations that weren't open 24 hours a day.
Gas stations that weren't open seven days a week.
Smoking on airplanes.
Smoking anywhere you wanted.
(Raise your hand if you remember the days of people smoking at their desks.)

Deciding where to go on vacation required a trip to a travel agent, the library, Triple A ....or, was based on slide shows friends and family showed you of where they had been. (Yes, slide shows.) Travel agents had all the cool color brochures. Whether you wanted to go to Disneyland or Washington D.C., travel agents had the information, all on shiny gloss paper. If you were feeling adventurous (or didn't belong to Triple A), you could buy a road atlas and hit the road.

Once at the location of choice, you had to figure things out--the sites, the food, the events, the local attractions....no Googling about where to go or what to do.

In order to secure flight arrangements, one had to call the airlines (using the phone book to find out the number) or use a travel agent. No comparison shopping on the Internet, as there was no Internet or mobile apps. Since you couldn't "see" the prices, you had to hope for the best. Your tickets were mailed to you--hard copy on card stock, most likely with carbon copies attached. No electronic check-in.

Ditto for hotel reservations. No Internet to peruse the areas of interest. No website to comparison shop. You called the hotel chain of choice and hoped for the best.

Since there were no cell phones or email or social media, you had to tell someone where you were going....that way, if you were lost at sea or chopped into little pieces by a psycho-mass murdered, someone would have an idea of your most recent whereabouts. Once on vacation, nary a person could call or find you unless they knew your itinerary.

Imagine, pre-internet youngsters, riding in the car, hours at a time without video gaming systems or TVs in the car. No I-Pass. No satellite. No CDs or MP3 music--it was cassettes (or, 8 tracks) or AM radio. No instrument panel telling you how many miles of gas you had left. Hour after hour. State by State. Soft rock song after soft rock song.

There was no Weather Channel. You had to guesstimate. You didn't know what weather might or might not be coming to your chosen destination. Better to bring too many clothes than not enough. Once at the destination, you knew what the weather was and was going to be because you were standing in it.

Youngsters, you know what the best part about vacationing of long ago?

Being on vacation meant being on vacation. 

No virtual office.
No working on-line.
No texting.
No emailing.
No webcams.
No being bombarded by 24 hour news.
No being at everyone's beckon call.
No cell phone cameras or social media to distract you from looking at the sites. You actually looked at the sites, enjoyed them, remembered them in your head.
No electronics running out of power with no re-charging source.
No staring at a screen of one type or another.
No ignoring one and other by wearing headphones the entire trip.
No alarm on the watch.

Unless you were standing next to a pay phone or standing in a hotel room next to a land line, you were cut off from the world. What a glorious thing!

Security at airports was minimal, so there were no long lines. You didn't have to have anyone check your shoes or your three ounce shampoo bottles. You got dressed up (after all, flying was an event, not just a mode of transportation) and waited patiently at the gate.

Playing the "Alphabet Game" or finding the most state license plates or counting the numbers of various-colored cars while on the road led to many hours of family fun. Trip-tiks were the coolest things ever invented. Talking and playing board games required face-to-face interaction. A.M. radio wasn't that bad.

Being in the "vacation here and now" zone sure beats being focused on your phone, reading work emails while on the beach or updating your status.

Ah, don't get me wrong--I'm all for today's modern vacation conveniences. Credit cards, the Internet, ATM machines, satellite maps and cell phones have made travel much easier, safer and more accessible. I don't want to go back. I'm just a wee bit saddened about the loss of being able to be on vacation while on vacation.

I don't miss people smoking on airplanes and I don't miss carrying Traveler Checks.

I do miss being off the grid.  

The wife and I are destined to go on a vacation or two this summer. Perhaps I can convince her (and, convince myself) to not wear a watch and to not check our email every hour.

It's time to do less scrolling and a lot more living. 

Think I can still get a Trip-tik?