Decisions, Decisions

Planning continues for my 50th birthday, which is in February.  Part of me feels a need to not pressure myself into doing something "big" or profound, so that I won't be disappointed by a trip to Ireland (how could I be?) or a skydive (forget it).  The closest I've come to a plan is to send myself to Chicago for a few days of grown-up fun, including a walk out onto one of the glass sky decks at the Willis Tower (yikes!) on the day, plus trips to a couple of museums.  Air fare is quite reasonable, and I love Chicago, so this is Choice One.

Choice Two is to send myself on the Downeaster to Boston.  To be at the Kennedy Library on my birthday would be significant to me, and I do love Boston.  Great museums are in place there as well, and I found the city's early history quite fascinating as a kid.  Train travel is dirt cheap, allowing me to spend more on dinner, entertainment, and exploration.

What to do, what to do?  More hand-wringing to come.

Trending ... stupid

People are exhibiting signs of a disorder that is becoming more and more common and, to me, quite alarming.  I'll have to figure out a name for it, but the afflicted seem to be incapable of walking at all, anywhere, without a paper cup in their hands.  Presumably the cup is filled with coffee, because it is almost invariably paper or styrofoam, sometimes with a recognizable brown paper band around it.  The practice defies logic, because they either try to sip the hot liquid while in motion, or they carry it prominently in front of them like it is the Olympic torch or a gift for the Christ child.  Worse still, they will almost always put it into the microwave the minute they reach their destination with the quickly cooling beverage.  And of course, in the end, much of the coffee will be dumped and the paper cup tossed into the trash.  It is multilayered stupidity at its worst.  Shouldn't coffee or tea be enjoyed at a quiet moment, while seated, and from a freshly brewed batch?  When did it become something you carry simply because everyone else seems to, or worse, something you drive to a building to get?  Would you drive through for a bowl of cereal or a toothbrush?

This is the Blog Where I Scream

It's Sunday night, and I'm listening to Lady Earthquake downstairs stomping around.  Yes, she lives BELOW me, and I feel like there is someone living above me here on the top floor.  A heavy walker can be forgiven, but add to it the fact that she has to slam EVERY door in the apartment, including cabinets, her wardrobes, closet doors, bathroom door, front door.  It's been 10 months of hell in what I thought would be one of my favorite apartments.  Dear God, why can't I afford to rent both apartments and get rid of the menace?

You Guessed It

Yes, I'm going to write about JFK today, the 50th anniversary of his assassination.

I was in the womb, yet it could very well be my first memory.  The images of our house are so vivid, from Mom's retelling of that day's event.  I can see the kitchen as she brings in groceries.  I can see the color of the rooms.  I can see Dad in front of the TV, about to go to work on a later shift.  He is watching Walter Cronkite report our nation's horror.  When I found in the hall closet the front pages of the Detroit News that were saved, my first observation was how close to my birthday the date was.  The inevitable questions were asked, and thus my fascination began.

I've read a number of books and articles about JFK, and a couple of years ago I finally made it to the Kennedy Library in Boston.  The allure of this beautiful First Family leading us into the 60s continues.  Things would have been different had JFK lived, but my imagination absolutely soars when considering how different our world would be had RFK lived.  I can write about that in a few months.

Origin of the Species

Working now for five years in a sales-based company -- for the third and last time, I might add -- reinforces conclusions that I have made over the years regarding the genetic makeup of salesmen. Had I the patience and incentive to document my findings, I might have been able to cobble together a decent thesis or dissertation on the subject.

 First, they never stop talking. Ever. I'm typing this at work amid the din of continuous, relentless, inane blather from the pen in which we contain these mutants. Combine the chatter with the occasional outburst resulting from a sale and with subsequent hand-slapping, and one wonders how murder or mutilation isn't justifiable in our legal system. Bonus points for talking over people.

Second, they never say no. Ever. They might be asked if it is possible to buy our product with a built-in refrigerator and monthly masseuse service, and somehow the rest of us in the office will have to figure out how to make it work to make the sale. Worse is trying to correct a problem caused by a promise a year prior that was not mention to the administrative staff.

Third, they despise paper. We have managed to reduce to four pages -- four! -- the number of documents required to sell our product and set it up for ongoing service coverage, and yet something will be missing, be it a page or a signature or a price. Some don't even like their communications via e-mail (virtual paper), so they will step right up or dial the phone or stop me in the kitchen, knowing full well (oh, the presumptions!) that I am not able to provide information they need while I'm rooting around a cabinet looking for French Vanilla decaf. The list goes on, and I may amend this later. But I need to go downstairs now and see how the installation of our new trap door is coming along.

Urban Living

Today is a typical Saturday for me, a quick walk down to Deering Oaks park to visit what's left of the summer farmer's market and back again.  Soon we will switch to the winter farmer's market, which used to be a quick walk in the other direction down my street, but will now be a bus ride up to the East End.  Until this switch happens, I follow my farmer's market trip with a walk to the grocery store and then back home on the bus, which will dump me off a block from my apartment.  In winter, I'll do the farmer's market after the grocery store, and this will work out just as well.

Who knew that moving downtown and into this building would place me about as perfectly as possible to bus stops, my car share, food shopping, dining, and entertainment?  It's a good thing all of this came about after my move, because I chose an apartment in a building with no parking.  Now I feel spoiled, getting rides everywhere I need to go with a much, much smaller outlay of money.  Being nearly car-free has been far easier than I ever would have expected after nearly 30 years of owning, driving, and loving cars.  Who knew?

As ever, the final piece of this little portrait will be finding meaningful work within walking distance of home.  Now that will really make me feel spoiled!

Round 2

For the second time, I am here in the blogosphere, attempting to rid my cluttered mind of debris.  You, patient reader, will be there to sweep it away.

My first blog -- read by about six people -- was Eggs on Top, a name which has since been snatched away, so I was forced to think up something new.  I like Whirled View, because it is bound to be scattered and messy and at times all over the place.

This opening post will be brief, as it is me taking a moment to bitch about how much I am annoyed by technology, including the building of this blog and the eventual linking of it to Google+ and my eventual disconnecting of it from Google+ once I get annoyed, which may happen before I dismantle this whole damn thing.  Hopefully, it won't come to this.

Now that that's off my chest, I shall retire for the night, as it is late.  I will gather some thoughts to post here very soon.