Teri. Or was it Terri? I just can't quite remember. Teresa was her full name but she went by Teri. She was 18, I was 15.....which puts this story at about 1977 or so. And it puts me at illegal. In Boise, Idaho, while Teri and I were both attending Boise Valley Christian Communion....a big church of more than 1,000 that met in a warehouse on the banks of the Boise River. It was filled with the spirit, the church was. Teri was my girlfriend. Well, more of a friend who was a girl than an actual, per se, girlfriend. She scared me too much. Actually all girls scared me too much, now that I think about it. Teri and I were in the youth group together despite the fact that she was a high school senior and graduating already. She had a full-time job and a real, honest to goodness Fiat that was her very own to drive around town. She delivered Meals on Wheels each afternoon to shut-in seniors who needed food. She wore these big old giant glasses that seemed to cover half of her face...the lenses tinted in a lovely shade of purple, blue, or periwinkle. She lived with her mother who also went to our church in a single-wide trailer. Oh, I know I'm supposed to say "Mobile Home" or "Manufactured Home" or something else like that. But, honestly, in the 1970's in Idaho they were trailers. Alright? Seriously.
Teri was the first chick that I, um....ahem.....** clears throat loudly ** .....well, you fill in the blanks here. I'm just too embarrassed to say. She was the one. In the afternoons while her mother was at work. In Teri's big waterbed. In The Trailer! In the Trailer Park! Oh god, this doesn't sound good, does it? It wasn't. You see, Teri was, shall we say, aggressive. Forceful. Demanding. Of me. Remember, she was the first (and practically the only, quite frankly). I swear to god, that girl made me do things I wasn't not prepared to do. Forced my head here and there. Told me out loud and naughtily what to do, how to do it, and how not to do it. She scared the living hell out of me. And we're not talking about normal, run-of-the-mill things here. Some. But some not. I still lay awake nights sweating thinking of her telling me to do it this way or that way. Perhaps I should have been a bit more educated after sneaking peeks at The Joy of Sex while I babysat over at my cousin's house -- but I just wasn't. And so this went on. In the trailer, in the afternoons. And if that didn't work, she'd drive me around behind some school house after dark to perform The Act.
At, or near, the time Teri was graduating from high school, she decided to go into the military. The Army. And also along about that time, she called me one day and asked me to come over to The Trailer for the afternoon. Unable to say no, I drove my 1970 Plymouth Gold Duster with its black plastic seats over. I jumped out of the car and headed up the sidewalk toward her front door. The door was open, the glass screen was pulled shut, so that I could see right straight into the house....to the couch (or "Davenport" as we called it growing up for some reason) on the far wall where Teri was sitting. In her purple glasses. And with her arm draped around the manly shoulders of another woman. "I'm in love with this woman. She is my girlfriend," she tells me. "And I'm going into the Army," she continued. Oy vey.
Teri went into the Army. She ended up at Fort Riley, Kansas, for some time. And she went on to marry a man. A black man. I think they had babies. And I don't know another damned thing except for that. Well, that, plus the fact that her mom tried to get me into Amway shortly after that. I wonder where those purple glasses are now? And that damned water bed.
Tuesday, October 12, 2010
Sunday, October 10, 2010
The Art of Racing in the Rain
A driver must have faith. In his talent, his judgment, the judgment of those around him, physics. A driver must have faith in his crew, his car, his tires, his brakes, himself.
The apex sets up wrong. He is forced off his usual line. He carries too much speed. His tires have lost grip. The track has gotten greasy. And he suddenly finds himself at turn exit with no more track and too much speed.
As the gravel trap rushes at him, the driver must make decisions that will impact his race, his future. To tuck in would be devastating: wrenching the front wheels against their nature will only spin the car. To lift is equally bad, taking grip away from the rear of the car. What is to be done?
The driver must accept his fate. He must accept the fact that mistakes have been made. Misjudgments. Poor decisions. A confluence of circumstance has landed him in this position. A driver must accept it all and be willing to pay the price for it. He must go off-track.
To dump two wheels. Even four. It's an awful feeling, both as a driver and as a competitor. The gravel that kicks up against the undercarriage. The feeling of swimming in muck. While his wheels are off the track, other drivers are passing him. They are taking his spot, continuing at speed. Only he is slowing down.
At this moment, a driver feels a tremendous crisis. He must get back on the gas. He must get back on the track. Oh! The folly!
Consider the drivers who have been taken out of races by snapping their steering wheels, by overcorrecting to extremes and spinning their cars in front of their competitors. A terrible position to find oneself in.
A winner, a champion, will accept his fate. He will continue with his wheels in the dirt. He will do his best to maintain his line and gradually get himself back on the track when it is safe to do so. Yes, he loses a few places in the race. Yes, he is at a disadvantage. But he is still racing. He is still alive.
The race is long. It is better to drive within oneself and finish the race behind the others than it is to drive too hard and crash.
The apex sets up wrong. He is forced off his usual line. He carries too much speed. His tires have lost grip. The track has gotten greasy. And he suddenly finds himself at turn exit with no more track and too much speed.
As the gravel trap rushes at him, the driver must make decisions that will impact his race, his future. To tuck in would be devastating: wrenching the front wheels against their nature will only spin the car. To lift is equally bad, taking grip away from the rear of the car. What is to be done?
The driver must accept his fate. He must accept the fact that mistakes have been made. Misjudgments. Poor decisions. A confluence of circumstance has landed him in this position. A driver must accept it all and be willing to pay the price for it. He must go off-track.
To dump two wheels. Even four. It's an awful feeling, both as a driver and as a competitor. The gravel that kicks up against the undercarriage. The feeling of swimming in muck. While his wheels are off the track, other drivers are passing him. They are taking his spot, continuing at speed. Only he is slowing down.
At this moment, a driver feels a tremendous crisis. He must get back on the gas. He must get back on the track. Oh! The folly!
Consider the drivers who have been taken out of races by snapping their steering wheels, by overcorrecting to extremes and spinning their cars in front of their competitors. A terrible position to find oneself in.
A winner, a champion, will accept his fate. He will continue with his wheels in the dirt. He will do his best to maintain his line and gradually get himself back on the track when it is safe to do so. Yes, he loses a few places in the race. Yes, he is at a disadvantage. But he is still racing. He is still alive.
The race is long. It is better to drive within oneself and finish the race behind the others than it is to drive too hard and crash.
From The Art of Racing in the Rain, a novel by Garth Stein.
I've just finished this novel. The first four chapters had me hooked. Easily. The book is written from the point of Enzo, the family dog. Any pet lover will find himself locked into pet feelings, emotions, and behaviors. The tie, the bond, the connection, between a human being and a pet is powerful. But then the book takes a few bends and twists that left me less than interested. Stein is a great author -- capable of delving into theories, patterns and thoughts that only pet owners will understand. But parts of the book felt sort of high-schoolish and immature compared with the first few amazingly deep chapters. I liked parts of this book so much that I'd like to recommend it. But much of it left me feeling like I was reading a simple sort of creative writing piece in school. Nonetheless, for anyone struggling in their life, or for pet owners, or for those facing trials or troubles, you'll be able to capture more than a few ideas on how to right yourself, center yourself......on what's worthwhile in this life and what is not. And that, my friends, is exactly what I needed in this time of my life. A bit of centering, correction, help.
Friday, October 08, 2010
Tuesday, October 05, 2010
Portland Lesbian & Gay Film Festival
This week is one of my favorite weeks here in Portland. It is the different, the odd, the unusual that not only makes me like Portland but, in particular, like this week. It is the Portland Lesbian and Gay Film Festival and it runs over the course of a week including the weekends on both ends. You'd think that in a week's time we could actually get to quite a few flicks....but not so. Last night was almost our only chance to see two of them.
We Have to Stop Now -- Is a romantic dramedy that follows two lesbian therapists as they struggle to keep up the pretense of staying together when a documentary film crew invades their home after the success of their book “How To Succeed In Marriage Without Even Trying.” Lesbian therapists Kit and Dyna have it all: they’re a power couple, they each have a thriving practice, and they've published a best-selling book. But Kit and Dyna also have a problem: right before the book came out, their relationship started falling apart. Naturally, they don’t want anyone to know. They are secretly in couples counseling, and so far, it’s not going well. And life is about to get a lot more complicated: Kit’s flaky sister has parked herself on their couch for the indefinite future, and a film crew has arrived to document their “perfect” marriage.
We joined the throngs of Subaru-driving, smart and sensible-shoe wearing Portland lesbians for this film (you knew that Portland hosts one of the world's largest lesbian populations.....right???). I felt like we were an oddity in this group. It was a sort of funny film but not super great. Nice to see because it was a part of the Festival and all, and something out of the ordinary, but I wouldn't see it again. The second film was great:
The Sisters -- Since their inception in 1979 to combat HIV and AIDS, the infamous Sisters of Perpetual Indulgence have established missions all over the world, ministering to the masses with glitter, wit and charity. As German filmmakers explore the Sisterhood in Berlin, Montevideo in Uruguay and San Francisco, we find out that Sisters everywhere hand out happiness, along with a healthy dose of tongue-lashing. For anyone who has ever wondered why the Sisters wear white faces (or faces at all), this documentary lifts the veil for an inside look at the organization committed to safer sex, LGBT rights and performance art. As one original Sister says, “We’re not really anti-Catholic at all. We’re just anti-guilt, anti-hate, anti-negativity.” This exuberant documentary lives up to that commitment, sparkles and all.
And would you believe that Portland's very own Sisters were there with us! We had a great time. And there's a chance that we may be able to see The Secret Diaries of Anne Lister later this week.
Friday, October 01, 2010
Overpriced Military Suicides and Facebook
Anybody have a ton of extra money laying around to spend? Nope. I didn't think so. Here's a list of 10 items that are overpriced and carry a giant markup when you purchase them. Its funny, I think of it often -- my mind is just geared that way, I guess. From text messages to Starbucks to bottled water.......we need to think smarter and stop opening our wallets as often. We need our own money more than anybody else needs it.
And speaking of something that just isn't quite right.....I ran across this startling article including disturbing information on the number of suicides in our country's military ranks right now. Four soldiers at Fort Hood, Texas, over just last weekend alone took their lives. My buddy who returned from Iraq recently tells us quite the stories of stress and mental strain that lurk in the bodies of many of our military folks. We do a very poor job of taking care of those who have volunteered their own lives for our nation's good.
My MIL is now in her new assisted living home. Its quite nice. Meals, baths, laundry, house cleaning, cable TV, phone, electricity, medications, treatments, transportation....all provided. I'd live there! She is a woman quite easily prone to anxiety-ridden moments. So it doesn't really matter where she is or how good it is....there will always be trouble. But I must admit that it feels better to us that she is safe and watched over. They will do a 30-day assessment at the end of one month to see if they feel she is still a good fit for the property and that her needs don't exceed what they can provide. We're keeping our fingers crossed that she recognizes that she's not in Club Med.
My hiatus from Facebook has been quite nice. I haven't missed it much at all. And the free time that I now have, and the lack of self-induced pressure, have been more than welcome. I'll be back on from time to time .... but it will not be like before. My life needs some attention right now. Its not right. Something is amiss and it must be controlled soon.
And speaking of something that just isn't quite right.....I ran across this startling article including disturbing information on the number of suicides in our country's military ranks right now. Four soldiers at Fort Hood, Texas, over just last weekend alone took their lives. My buddy who returned from Iraq recently tells us quite the stories of stress and mental strain that lurk in the bodies of many of our military folks. We do a very poor job of taking care of those who have volunteered their own lives for our nation's good.
My MIL is now in her new assisted living home. Its quite nice. Meals, baths, laundry, house cleaning, cable TV, phone, electricity, medications, treatments, transportation....all provided. I'd live there! She is a woman quite easily prone to anxiety-ridden moments. So it doesn't really matter where she is or how good it is....there will always be trouble. But I must admit that it feels better to us that she is safe and watched over. They will do a 30-day assessment at the end of one month to see if they feel she is still a good fit for the property and that her needs don't exceed what they can provide. We're keeping our fingers crossed that she recognizes that she's not in Club Med.
My hiatus from Facebook has been quite nice. I haven't missed it much at all. And the free time that I now have, and the lack of self-induced pressure, have been more than welcome. I'll be back on from time to time .... but it will not be like before. My life needs some attention right now. Its not right. Something is amiss and it must be controlled soon.
Monday, September 27, 2010
Heads Down! Stay Down!
So if you think I was kidding about we air hostesses and the bit of anxiety that we encounter each year when we are required to attend our annual recurrent training, take a look at this amazing video shot from inside the cabin during a planned emergency landing over the weekend. This is what we train for. Rarely able to be captured. But amazing and sends the chills through me. Just last Tuesday, not even a week ago, we went through our annual training in Seattle when we had to shout these practice drills. You just never know when they'll come in handy.
We have just finished two extremely long and tiring days moving my MIL from her old apartment into an assisted living facility 2.5 miles from us. All by ourselves. See, we're big boys now. Its a very nice home, great food, nice people, and small enough to fill intimate....only 38 people live there. We made about ten round trips in our Kia Soul with her belongings and had to borrow a truck from a friend to haul three pieces of furniture. We spent several hundred dollars on odds and ends for her that she needed to have to function well. But she's in. She's 82, cranky, and obstinate. In spite of all of our misgivings and unpleasant interactions, I hope she sleeps well and is happy. I can't imagine having to uproot myself at 82 without ever having to do such a thing in my life. Keep your fingers crossed, kids. She is rarely happy in one spot for any length of time. But, for now, she's settling into a very nice place. And we are exhausted. (And, to think, this was the weekend that I had planned to go to Folsom Street Fair in San Francisco.....oh, silly me........)
I've been monitoring my blood pressure three times a day since my interaction with my doctor on Friday afternoon. It has stabilized but not completely. The rest of the week will be spent finishing up the myriad of odds and ends from MIL's old apartment, cleaning, getting rid of things, etc. Oh, and that's in addition to work. Work does tend to present itself at the most inopportune times, doesn't it?
We have just finished two extremely long and tiring days moving my MIL from her old apartment into an assisted living facility 2.5 miles from us. All by ourselves. See, we're big boys now. Its a very nice home, great food, nice people, and small enough to fill intimate....only 38 people live there. We made about ten round trips in our Kia Soul with her belongings and had to borrow a truck from a friend to haul three pieces of furniture. We spent several hundred dollars on odds and ends for her that she needed to have to function well. But she's in. She's 82, cranky, and obstinate. In spite of all of our misgivings and unpleasant interactions, I hope she sleeps well and is happy. I can't imagine having to uproot myself at 82 without ever having to do such a thing in my life. Keep your fingers crossed, kids. She is rarely happy in one spot for any length of time. But, for now, she's settling into a very nice place. And we are exhausted. (And, to think, this was the weekend that I had planned to go to Folsom Street Fair in San Francisco.....oh, silly me........)
I've been monitoring my blood pressure three times a day since my interaction with my doctor on Friday afternoon. It has stabilized but not completely. The rest of the week will be spent finishing up the myriad of odds and ends from MIL's old apartment, cleaning, getting rid of things, etc. Oh, and that's in addition to work. Work does tend to present itself at the most inopportune times, doesn't it?
Friday, September 24, 2010
Fattening Friday (Not So) Funnies
I left Austin, Texas, early this morning. Along the journey somewhere, I grabbed a copy of USA Today and found this delicious little tidbit -- that the USA is the fattest nation among the top 33 nations with advanced economies. Amazing. Nothing surprising, just another reminder of why we fail as a country. The article states that 72 million of us are classified as obese -- more than 30 pounds overweight. As a country we spend $147 billion dollars in weight-related medical bills in 2008. I know, I know...the numbers are very large, difficult to comprehend. I find it incomprehensible that we continue on this path -- allowing our nation's people to be fat, giant, huge! And to spend that much money each year when it most assuredly needs to be going to more necessary projects. We are in trouble as a country...that's no news to anybody. And its not political. Politics are the least of our introspective, internal worries. As a people, we are failing. We're fat. We're ignorant. We don't think. And we're in trouble.
LoverBoy and I have just returned from my doctor's office. I'm in a little trouble here. I've been having some heart sort of palpitations recently. Not really racing of the heart, pain, or pressure...nothing like that. But something isn't right. At the same time, my ears turn fiery red from time to time. I had an EKG today....it looked great. But my blood pressure was the highest ever recorded in my history....160/90. Outrageous. She took it again before I left...it was down a bit. She wants it monitored daily for a week. She also wants a salt-restricted diet, attention to what I'm eating, and exercise. If this doesn't all work soon, and if the blood pressure stays elevated, I'm headed toward blood pressure medications. And I'm really not thrilled about that. In addition, I've been under more stress than I've endured in recent times over this past year. It must be controlled. Changes must be forthcoming.
This weekend will find us moving my MIL from the nursing home she has been in since July into a permanent assisted living facility. A nice spot. A safe and comfortable spot. A very, very teeny tiny spot. With meals, transportation, attention to her medications and bathing and daily needs. Its not so far away, in a good location, and is quite perfect. On this particular issue, we're a bit more relaxed this afternoon than we have been in a very very long time. I have my fingers crossed for her future there. She is rarely happy anywhere over the long term. But it is definitely a step in the right direction. I'd like to think that this is one of many steps in a positive direction in reducing the stress in my life.
LoverBoy and I have just returned from my doctor's office. I'm in a little trouble here. I've been having some heart sort of palpitations recently. Not really racing of the heart, pain, or pressure...nothing like that. But something isn't right. At the same time, my ears turn fiery red from time to time. I had an EKG today....it looked great. But my blood pressure was the highest ever recorded in my history....160/90. Outrageous. She took it again before I left...it was down a bit. She wants it monitored daily for a week. She also wants a salt-restricted diet, attention to what I'm eating, and exercise. If this doesn't all work soon, and if the blood pressure stays elevated, I'm headed toward blood pressure medications. And I'm really not thrilled about that. In addition, I've been under more stress than I've endured in recent times over this past year. It must be controlled. Changes must be forthcoming.
This weekend will find us moving my MIL from the nursing home she has been in since July into a permanent assisted living facility. A nice spot. A safe and comfortable spot. A very, very teeny tiny spot. With meals, transportation, attention to her medications and bathing and daily needs. Its not so far away, in a good location, and is quite perfect. On this particular issue, we're a bit more relaxed this afternoon than we have been in a very very long time. I have my fingers crossed for her future there. She is rarely happy anywhere over the long term. But it is definitely a step in the right direction. I'd like to think that this is one of many steps in a positive direction in reducing the stress in my life.
Thursday, September 23, 2010
When You Got a Good Thing
Life is always interesting around our house. Lately, it has been far more pain, arguing and unpleasantness than ever before. We disagree. We fight. We endure fitful nights of sleep. We have little time for settling things up. But we continue, keep on, whatever. Because we honestly both love one another and couldn't possibly imagine either of our lives without the other one in it. What a dreary, lonely place to find one's self. Without the love and adoration of the one who has chosen to spend their life with you.
Wednesday, September 22, 2010
Colorful Language
Irvington Village Assisted Living, Portland, Oregon -- We enter via the main doors, the place is crowded with typical lunchtime hubbub. People in wheelchairs floating up and down the halls, walkers, canes, a million things going on. And the lunchroom is filled with people. Maybe 100 or so around tables for 8 or 10. Irvington Village is located along MLK in Northeast Portland -- one of Portland's more African-American neighborhoods. So, all of that to say that this place is filled with a lot of African-American people. We were there on a quick visit to check it out for my Mother in Law. (She has since decided on another place.)
I dart into the restroom, unzip, ppeeeesssstttt, and in the middle of this whole gig, I hear yelling outside somewhere in the hallway. I can't quite make it out. It is muffled And these sort of facilities are known for a wide variety of people with an equally wide variety of physical, mental and emotional issues going on. You just never know what's going to happen next. You see, this was last Friday -- the beginning of Yom Kippur. So, I'm hunkered down with my pants undone in an ethnic neighborhood at the beginning of a Jewish holiday with all sorts of nut jobs in the building and my nuts hanging out. Why was I there? Why!
I venture out into the hallway, and can see through the glass windows into the lunch room. A man is at the microphone reading something Jewish, celebratory, historical, pleasant, enjoyable. Lo and behold, from the far other side of the room, this old Black man is pushing himself up from the table. He's dressed in a blue and white robe sort of thing, with big 4" wide blue and white stripes on it. He's wearing a hat and giant sunglasses. And he's irritated. I was really quick on identifying his emotion. Yikes. And he's headed toward me......I was in the doorway. And his blessed little potty mouth was uttering some combination of the following words and phrases:
Shall I go on? He was yelling it. And headed toward me. I moved to the far side of the hallway. To a table filled with literature -- little brochures and pretty things to occupy me while he passed behind me. Shall we say that MIL is not going to be living at this property. And not because she's not Black or Jewish. It's because she's a woman of high refine -- and her ears could never take the filthy language.
I dart into the restroom, unzip, ppeeeesssstttt, and in the middle of this whole gig, I hear yelling outside somewhere in the hallway. I can't quite make it out. It is muffled And these sort of facilities are known for a wide variety of people with an equally wide variety of physical, mental and emotional issues going on. You just never know what's going to happen next. You see, this was last Friday -- the beginning of Yom Kippur. So, I'm hunkered down with my pants undone in an ethnic neighborhood at the beginning of a Jewish holiday with all sorts of nut jobs in the building and my nuts hanging out. Why was I there? Why!
I venture out into the hallway, and can see through the glass windows into the lunch room. A man is at the microphone reading something Jewish, celebratory, historical, pleasant, enjoyable. Lo and behold, from the far other side of the room, this old Black man is pushing himself up from the table. He's dressed in a blue and white robe sort of thing, with big 4" wide blue and white stripes on it. He's wearing a hat and giant sunglasses. And he's irritated. I was really quick on identifying his emotion. Yikes. And he's headed toward me......I was in the doorway. And his blessed little potty mouth was uttering some combination of the following words and phrases:
"Mother f***ing Jews, I don't give a god da*mned flying f**k what holiday it is those son of a bi**ches had better watch out. I don't have to sit here and listen to this f**king Jewish s**t...."
Shall I go on? He was yelling it. And headed toward me. I moved to the far side of the hallway. To a table filled with literature -- little brochures and pretty things to occupy me while he passed behind me. Shall we say that MIL is not going to be living at this property. And not because she's not Black or Jewish. It's because she's a woman of high refine -- and her ears could never take the filthy language.
Monday, September 20, 2010
One More Time
Tomorrow we'll be in Seattle. Again. This will mark our 12th Annual Recurrent Training. Flight attendants, and pilots, are required to do it. Required to achieve a particular score on the written test. Required to open aircraft doors and windows, shout evacuation commands, practice CPR and other first aid techniques, learn more about security and hazardous materials, check out the latest in bomb-making ideas, practice crew communication with pilots, refine our fire-fighting skills, review our water/raft procedures, etcetcetcetc..... (Did you see anything in there about pouring coffee, serving drinks, or carry-on bags??...Nope, I didn't think so...it's the least of our worries.)
Here's a horribly entertaining look at what one flight attendant had to say about her annual Recurrent. And here's a bit more technical, and boring, look at what lies underneath the pretty polyester uniforms. We are good people, we really are. Odd and strange, but good people. And you just never know what sort of strange situations you'll find yourself in from day to day.
We have a lot of fun but, honestly, sitting in a classroom all day long reminds me of exactly why I love my job -- getting out and about, no desk to sit behind, no phones to answer. I like the energy and (mostly) good times had by all. So, that's tomorrow.
Here's a horribly entertaining look at what one flight attendant had to say about her annual Recurrent. And here's a bit more technical, and boring, look at what lies underneath the pretty polyester uniforms. We are good people, we really are. Odd and strange, but good people. And you just never know what sort of strange situations you'll find yourself in from day to day.
We have a lot of fun but, honestly, sitting in a classroom all day long reminds me of exactly why I love my job -- getting out and about, no desk to sit behind, no phones to answer. I like the energy and (mostly) good times had by all. So, that's tomorrow.
Sunday, September 19, 2010
I've written in the past about my misgivings about Facebook. Oh, I know....it's the tell-all, be-all trendy deal that has taken the world by storm. I don't disagree with you there. But I'm not happy with it and haven't been for a bit. I enjoy some of the connections, some of the interaction, some of the way it has actually crafted my life...... Did you hear me? The way IT has crafted MY life. Rather than the way I have crafted my own life. It has taken over. And right now my life is feeling a bit out of control and a sort of unhappy place to be. So, I'm sending my relationship with Facebook on hiatus. Temporarily, perhaps. Permanently, probably not. But when she comes back, she must be a different girl than she was before.
I don't like having the same GINORMOUS group of friends as everyone else. In spite of the amazing group of people that I call my personal friends, I like my own people, my own friends and relationships. I don't like that every person in the world that I'm friends with have to also be friends with all of my friends. That's weird to me.
I don't like every single one of my FBF (Facebook Friends) knowing every damned thing about my entire life. I am definitely not that kind of guy. I like privacy, and quiet, and alone time.
I don't like having to say NO to family members or friends when they send me Friend Requests. I've asked. I've had to explain. I've had to put a sort of disclaimer or warning on my FB page. That I only ever wanted to have actual friends who are that....friends. I know a ton of people. That's my job. But simply because I know someone does not, in my own mind, mean I have to be their friend on FB. And that has become difficult. There are people on my FB friends list that I would never choose to spend time with or have relationships with outside of FB. I have family members on my list that have nothing in common with me. Why? I have friends on my list who are simply co-workers with me, not friends. Why? I have people who want to be my friends simply because they are my partner's friends....and vice versa. Why? Or why when someone becomes a friend of mine, they feel it is automatically necessary to send an immediate request to my partner? I have numerous people who are my friends on FB that I have "hidden" so that I don't have to read their posts or because I may owe them an explanation if I defriended them. Why? And then there are the stalkers....those who have zero interactive skills and never/rarely comment or are active. I just don't have time for that.
I also miss spending more time on my own blog than I used to. Facebook and Twitter have definitely taken their toll on the blogging world. I miss reading other's sites. And I miss having them read mine. I feel pressured and always in a hurry. I don't write much any longer, along with all of my former blogging friends. I feel pressured to put something out. And I don't like the shallowness, the cheapness, of Facebook. Its like a blip on the giant, complex sea of life.
It just doesn't all add up. It is strange. I don't want it to be a place about work, or bitching, or listening to chit chat about changing baby diapers. I know, I know....its a private, personal sort of thing and that I have complete control over who I have as friends and don't. But as easy as that is to say, it is a bit more complicated. So, for now at least, I'm sending Facebook away. For a break. You'll have to find me the old fashioned way via email, text, or voicemail if you're looking for me.
I don't like having the same GINORMOUS group of friends as everyone else. In spite of the amazing group of people that I call my personal friends, I like my own people, my own friends and relationships. I don't like that every person in the world that I'm friends with have to also be friends with all of my friends. That's weird to me.
I don't like every single one of my FBF (Facebook Friends) knowing every damned thing about my entire life. I am definitely not that kind of guy. I like privacy, and quiet, and alone time.
I don't like having to say NO to family members or friends when they send me Friend Requests. I've asked. I've had to explain. I've had to put a sort of disclaimer or warning on my FB page. That I only ever wanted to have actual friends who are that....friends. I know a ton of people. That's my job. But simply because I know someone does not, in my own mind, mean I have to be their friend on FB. And that has become difficult. There are people on my FB friends list that I would never choose to spend time with or have relationships with outside of FB. I have family members on my list that have nothing in common with me. Why? I have friends on my list who are simply co-workers with me, not friends. Why? I have people who want to be my friends simply because they are my partner's friends....and vice versa. Why? Or why when someone becomes a friend of mine, they feel it is automatically necessary to send an immediate request to my partner? I have numerous people who are my friends on FB that I have "hidden" so that I don't have to read their posts or because I may owe them an explanation if I defriended them. Why? And then there are the stalkers....those who have zero interactive skills and never/rarely comment or are active. I just don't have time for that.
I also miss spending more time on my own blog than I used to. Facebook and Twitter have definitely taken their toll on the blogging world. I miss reading other's sites. And I miss having them read mine. I feel pressured and always in a hurry. I don't write much any longer, along with all of my former blogging friends. I feel pressured to put something out. And I don't like the shallowness, the cheapness, of Facebook. Its like a blip on the giant, complex sea of life.
It just doesn't all add up. It is strange. I don't want it to be a place about work, or bitching, or listening to chit chat about changing baby diapers. I know, I know....its a private, personal sort of thing and that I have complete control over who I have as friends and don't. But as easy as that is to say, it is a bit more complicated. So, for now at least, I'm sending Facebook away. For a break. You'll have to find me the old fashioned way via email, text, or voicemail if you're looking for me.
Saturday, September 18, 2010
Flight Attendant Fantasies
My early morning banterings on Facebook have been a bit of a walk down memory lane for me and my buddy Johnny. He and I were flight attendants back at our very first airline in Boise in 1995 or so. We thought we were hot stuff, believe me. Making less than a thousand dollars a month and wearing polyester will make you feel that way.
Seattle was inundated with a particular snowstorm one winter -- between Christmas and New Year's. Nothing went anywhere for days. Finally, at the end of the third day, Johnny and I were the flight attendants on the very first flight to Seattle in three days. Yay! But you see the problem was this -- that we ended up in a million feet of snow in Seattle and couldn't get out of Seattle to come back to Boise. It was piled up to the nose of the Fokker F-28 (like the one in the picture above only with way more snow piled up to its wings and nose). We were flying with two extremely hot pilots (who Johnny and I both had the secret HOTS for....shh, don't tell anybody). Our captain called operations, dispatch, airport people, airline people, and the Pope himself in order to get us towed down to the Delta Airlines hanger at the south end of the SeaTac Airport. They towed us into this big, huge giant hanger all by ourselves......to thaw. To melt. The ice was so thick on the plane. But somewhere in the midst of this deal, we came up with the idea to use these big, giant squeegee sort of things with rubber on them to try and pull the snow and ice off of the aircraft to speed up the thaw process.
All I remember is Johnny and me....on the wings of the F-28 in our uniforms and (required) black penny loafers. Seriously, standing on the wings in the snow with these huge squeegee things.....pulling and pushing snow and ice onto the ground. It was so slick! We worked up a huge sweat along with the two (hot) pilots. We must have been at this for several hours. We would reach up from the wing up as far as we could on our tip-toes to drag the snow down from the fuselage of the airplane. At the end of this ordeal, our captain called and told operations that we were ready to be towed back for our flight back to Boise. "Oh no," they told us, "there are no flights operating tonight...you're stuck here for the night." But Young Handsome Captain Man would have nothing to do with it. He talked, he coerced, he chatted, he arranged -- for the four of us to actually work the very first flight out of Seattle back to Boise in three days. The airline had not been accepting any checked bags from passengers for days. Every passenger trudged out from the terminal in many feet of snow with their checked baggage. They stacked up a hundred or more bags by the front stairs in the snow. Somehow, we had rampers (the guys who do all of the millions of thankless chores on the ground) load those wet bags into the belly of our F-28.....and away we went. Hours and hours late and well after midnight.
Johnny and I both remarked this morning that we are pretty sure no flight attendants in history have participated in such a stunt before. Just us. In our penny loafers. With the hot pilots.
Wednesday, September 15, 2010
Hateful Revisited
On today's Oprah Show, she returned to Williamson, West Virginia...a town where she did a local show 23 years ago, in 1987. One of the town's local residents, young Mike Sisco had AIDS. Mike and his sisters went to the local swimming pool on a hot summer day and he got into the pool. The pool cleared out. People left by the droves. Remember...1987, West Virginia, AIDS.....very few people had a clue...let alone in West Virginia. So, back in 1987 Oprah went to Williamson and did a show where all of the old included clips here are recorded. And today, Oprah was back in Williamson. Visiting with members of the audience that day along with Mike's three sisters. It was one overly powerful hour on television. If you're gay, or know someone who is....if you have AIDS or have known someone who has, this one will strike at your deepest emotions.
Growing up in Idaho wasn't much different than West Virginia. People were hateful. Many continue to be. It used to be outward, unabashed hatefulness. Today, it tends to be cloaked in the careful picking of scripture and words and phrases and sentences that don't play on soundbites quite as vehemently as they used to. But the hate still exists. I have said all along, that simply because its not legal to ask African Americans to use a separate water fountain in this day and age doesn't remove the position of one's heart. Folks in Idaho, West Virginia and many other places in our country still continue to harbor a complete disdain for those different than they are. They phrase it in such pretty sentences as "I love the sinner but hate the sin." Believe me, I'm used to hearing that sort of sentence....delivered from the pulpit while sitting in the pew listening carefully. I want you to listen to Jerry Waters back in 1987 and then listen to Jerry Waters today....one of the most vehement haters in the 1987 group who said that Mike Sisco "repulsed" him. Jerry Waters is a vile man. Even today. And speaking of repulse, his semi-sort-of apology to Mike's sisters repulsed me. He is one of those small town people with a sassy animated side to him who hates gay people.
The show continues picking out audience members who spoke way back then and interviews some of them today. Starting with Mike's three sisters, one of whom is also a lesbian, it asks such questions as "Do you regret making such hateful comments 23 years ago?" And "Do you have anything you'd like to say to Mike's sisters today?" Time does, indeed, march on. Emotions change. Knowledge comes and goes. Some attitudes evolve for the better. Some are simply not as overt as they used to be. And don't miss the video clip on Steven, the guy from California....who says that he watched the show way back in 1987. And that it encouraged him to come out. To be honest about himself. I'm thinking that this final 25th season of Oprah is going to be really powerful.
Growing up in Idaho wasn't much different than West Virginia. People were hateful. Many continue to be. It used to be outward, unabashed hatefulness. Today, it tends to be cloaked in the careful picking of scripture and words and phrases and sentences that don't play on soundbites quite as vehemently as they used to. But the hate still exists. I have said all along, that simply because its not legal to ask African Americans to use a separate water fountain in this day and age doesn't remove the position of one's heart. Folks in Idaho, West Virginia and many other places in our country still continue to harbor a complete disdain for those different than they are. They phrase it in such pretty sentences as "I love the sinner but hate the sin." Believe me, I'm used to hearing that sort of sentence....delivered from the pulpit while sitting in the pew listening carefully. I want you to listen to Jerry Waters back in 1987 and then listen to Jerry Waters today....one of the most vehement haters in the 1987 group who said that Mike Sisco "repulsed" him. Jerry Waters is a vile man. Even today. And speaking of repulse, his semi-sort-of apology to Mike's sisters repulsed me. He is one of those small town people with a sassy animated side to him who hates gay people.
The show continues picking out audience members who spoke way back then and interviews some of them today. Starting with Mike's three sisters, one of whom is also a lesbian, it asks such questions as "Do you regret making such hateful comments 23 years ago?" And "Do you have anything you'd like to say to Mike's sisters today?" Time does, indeed, march on. Emotions change. Knowledge comes and goes. Some attitudes evolve for the better. Some are simply not as overt as they used to be. And don't miss the video clip on Steven, the guy from California....who says that he watched the show way back in 1987. And that it encouraged him to come out. To be honest about himself. I'm thinking that this final 25th season of Oprah is going to be really powerful.
I Want To Know What Love Is
Can't stop now, I've traveled so far .......
I love this song. A lot. The opening measures with the piano send the chills right up through me. And when the choir jumps in....oh yeah, that's very much my thing. To my LoverBoy, my Pooch and my dedicated friends......for loving me.
I love this song. A lot. The opening measures with the piano send the chills right up through me. And when the choir jumps in....oh yeah, that's very much my thing. To my LoverBoy, my Pooch and my dedicated friends......for loving me.
Monday, September 13, 2010
The Hero Is Missing
So I'm zeroed in on The Oprah Show today .... the premiere of her 25th, and final, season. She's always been a source of inspiration and encouraging others to make their lives great. The show opens up with John Travolta providing a toast to his friend Oprah which included these powerful words: "..... because you inject the spirit into our society of life. You care. Your intelligence, your inspiration, and you do it all without judging, and because you treat everyone equally important, and this makes you a great American hero. You represent the best of our country and what's possible in our country. But, more importantly, you are a citizen of the world, and you are a hero to mankind. So we are better for knowing you...." And I began to cry. Because I can think of about a small handful of people who would raise a glass to me and tell me that I've been a hero to them. And that makes me very very sad. Because that's what I would like for my life to be to others. I've been called a "drama queen" by a very close and dear friend and it hurts...and not in a teasing, humorous sort of way. And, perhaps, its true. I do tend to tear up easily....quite in opposition to the hard, crusty exterior that I often exude. I began to cry because those words are precisely, exactly, what I wish others thought of me. And, honestly and without digging for an overabundance of "You're my hero" comments, I feel so far, extreme distance, from anything closely related to those words.
I have always tried to be a positive person -- encourage others, listen, pass along helpful advice, encourage positive change in others, and such. But the past years of my life have me down. Quite far down at this particular point. For some of the very first times in my 48 years, I feel some fleeting, passing, moments of depression. I never, ever thought that I'd be so under appreciated for who I am as a person. I have been hurt and undervalued by those very, very close to me. And after years of it happening, it is clearly taking its toll on me. I have been spoken ill of by those who I try to help. I have been told that I have poor timing when all I was trying to do is help. My mind whirs with ideas and thoughts about how to make those around me happy. I am constantly in thought for those around me with illness, sick pets, surgeries, the passing of partners, job losses, and bank account losses. I try, I try, I try. But I've stopped. I feel like I'm wishing for something but ending up with far, far less. People tell me that I look tired regularly. I'm eating whatever I can find....far more than I need to be. And, no, I am not looking for sympathy or pats on the back. I'm simply telling you where I am today. Because you are my friends. Because I owe it to me, and to you.
I used to be a hero to some. And now I'm an enemy to some. And it doesn't make me happy. It is not how I choose to live my life but it is precisely what my life is today. 48 has never felt so much like 88.
I have always tried to be a positive person -- encourage others, listen, pass along helpful advice, encourage positive change in others, and such. But the past years of my life have me down. Quite far down at this particular point. For some of the very first times in my 48 years, I feel some fleeting, passing, moments of depression. I never, ever thought that I'd be so under appreciated for who I am as a person. I have been hurt and undervalued by those very, very close to me. And after years of it happening, it is clearly taking its toll on me. I have been spoken ill of by those who I try to help. I have been told that I have poor timing when all I was trying to do is help. My mind whirs with ideas and thoughts about how to make those around me happy. I am constantly in thought for those around me with illness, sick pets, surgeries, the passing of partners, job losses, and bank account losses. I try, I try, I try. But I've stopped. I feel like I'm wishing for something but ending up with far, far less. People tell me that I look tired regularly. I'm eating whatever I can find....far more than I need to be. And, no, I am not looking for sympathy or pats on the back. I'm simply telling you where I am today. Because you are my friends. Because I owe it to me, and to you.
I used to be a hero to some. And now I'm an enemy to some. And it doesn't make me happy. It is not how I choose to live my life but it is precisely what my life is today. 48 has never felt so much like 88.
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