nostalgia

In the morning I take out the trash in the freezing rain. The neighbors dog barks at me from behind a small chain link fence. If I had a way to threaten him, I would. We do not know when the garbage goes out. Some weeks I just leave the cans in the back alley so that they will be taken. This morning I watched them take away the garbage. The dog didn't even bother them.
Trash day is Wednesdays. Dogs and I don't get along.

Sometimes when I'm at work I forget what day it is. I end sentences with prepositions. I misplace commas. I begin reading short stories and then stop reading, right in the middle, because they are so good. Sometimes I lie to myself about why I stop reading short stories.

When it's cold outside I think people have a tendency to walk faster. Yesterday I saw two girls wearing skirts for no earthly reason at all. It's too damn cold to look cute. When the rain is freezing I have tendency to miss CA. I tend to miss things until I have them at hand.

Our mattress is firm and fluffy both. We both slept like rocks but not for eternity. Presumably rocks sleep for eternity. Perhaps I should throw a rock at the neighbor's dog. Perhaps I should always put an apostrophe when I'm dealing with the possessive.

The snow felt for what felt like days. A few squirrels burrowed into the blanket looking for acorns.
"We need a cat," she said.
"We'll feed him squirrels and roaches," I answered.

I can't tell the difference between Tuesday and Wednesday. They seem eerily reminiscent of one another. Sartre said some interesting things that occasionally make you want to quit work.

"Although circumstances may limit individuals (facticity), they cannot force persons as radically free beings to follow one course over another. For this reason, individuals choose in anguish: they know that they must make a choice, and that it will have consequences. For Sartre, to claim that one amongst many conscious possibilities takes undeniable precedence (for instance, "I cannot risk my life, because I must support my family") is to assume the role of an object in the world, merely at the mercy of circumstance—a being-in-itself that is only its own facticity."

"The more we use machines in our daily lives the more we come to resemble them."
"I disagree."
"You can't disagree. That's just the way it is."
"I don't have to like it."

I do not know where they take our trash in the morning. None of the men are smoking cigarettes. This shouldn't strike me as odd, but does. The dog growls from behind the chain link fence. You have nothing to fear but fear itself. I am not afraid of the dog per se. I am afraid of the dog attacking me. I am afraid of dying. Epicurus thought that this fear was at the root of all our unhappiness. Epicurus died. But did he do so unhappily?

The trash truck disappears back down the street. Our green trash can lies on its side, spilling bits of water from its concave roof onto the already muddy ground. It is time to start another day.

We bought a Christmas tree!

Undoubtedly the biggest bonus of owning a new home is finally having space to put up your very own Christmas tree. Some of my fondest memories of childhood are from Christmas tree hunts that we'd take as a family. I distinctly remember that special year when mom drove us up the snow and we hiked through the cold to cut our very own tree.

Kids: Are we there yet?
Mom: Isn't this fun?
Kids: This sucks.
Mom: We've got our very own ax.
Kids: Is this a death hike? Do these trails actually lead anywhere?
Mom: I don't know why I even bothered having kids.
Kids: What?
Mom: I said I love you.
Kids: This sucks.

Ah, Christmas trees. Other highlights include the year that my sister went dumpster diving to get our Christmas cheer as well as the numerous battles we had with the Christmas tree stand.

P: Is it straight?
P2: No. Take that one side out a little.
P: Begins to turn extremely hard piece of metal into hand causing mild to sever pain in the hands.
P: Is it good now?
P2: Close, but I actually think you may need to tighten it a bit more.
P: Mumbles under breath about the need for any damn tree at all while building calluses as they turn the metal piece.
P: Is it straight now?
P2: I think so. Try letting go.

P: Steps away and admires the tree for a moment. A feeling of accomplishment is felt throughout the room. The tree then topples over onto the ground.
P: That's it. F this, Christmas is cancelled this year.

Then when you finally battle the tree into a nice position mom takes one of your blankets and wraps it around the tree. Which fine, no problem. Except that the cats see a tree and a blanket and think of it as their personal toilet and by Christmas morning your new G.I. Joe's smell rather strongly of cat urine. (Obviously not a personal experience).

So it was with all of these positive memories of trees past that after running errands for roughly five hours or so S proposed that we buy a tree.

S: Let's get a tree.
M: Let's not.
S: We're here.
M: One of us is probably going to get murdered.
S: I hope it's not me.
M: Awkward.

Ergo; we trudged into Lowe's and bought ourselves a fine little Doug fir. I like to call it a Doug fir because it makes it sound like I know my Christmas trees. In fact, later in the evening after S had picked it out, I said, "You got a Doug Fir I see," and I could tell that she was impressed with my ability to recognize different varieties of pines. Granted I was reading the label at the time, but we all need crutches.

In our marriage, I'm right at least fifteen percent of the time. It's a low enough percentage that S has to be careful when to take my advice.

M: Let's just clean out the back of the car and hang it out the back window like we did with my surf board.

S: No, it will get pine needles all over the car.

M: The car is dirty anyway. Besides, didn't we just buy a tarp?

S: I'm an efficient person (or something to that affect).

We then commenced tying extremely loose knots to strap the key to our car. Which, thanks mom for never sending me to boy scouts because it is a creepy organization, but I don't really know how to tie a proper knot. Maybe if I was from New England...
Anyhow, we tied some shoddy knots and then blissfully drove onto the freeway while people in the parking lot pointed and laughed at our handy work. No really, I saw people laughing at us. Also, our car doesn't have any sort of roof rack, so we're up shi- creek with only these shoddy knots for paddles.

Needless to say, within a mile our tree was completely sideways on the car and falling off the back Griswold style. We managed to fit the tree into the back of our car and make the rest of the drive safely home with the windows rolled down on a beautiful thirty degree evening. And I drove home blissfully aware of how right I had been from the beginning. And I didn't even mention that I had been right, I was content to just feel the wind rushing through my hair, giving me a slight case of hypothermia. Sometimes it's enough to just know you were right.

S: You were right about the tree.
M: You're damn right I was!

I guess the real lesson in this story is that getting Christmas trees will always suck. I can't wait until the day that I take my own kids to cut down a Christmas tree of our own.

M: Put down your iPods and your phones for a minute. We've got no coverage out here.
Kids: Why are you torturing us?
M: Can you smell the pines kids?
Kids: What the hell's a pine?
M: That's Doug Fir you're smelling.
Kids: What did we ever do to you?
M: Isn't it nice to be outside for once?
Kids: Is this a death hike?
M: Sigh.

We bought a bed/38 goats is hard to pass up

Despite the fact that S has recently proclaimed on several different occasions that she'd like to stay in the guest room, we bought a bed for the master bedroom. Like most people I encounter during the course of the day, she clearly says things like, "We should just stay in this bedroom" to try and irritate me enough to drive me into an early grave, collect the insurance money, and live a happy life in Hawaii with a rich celebrity. Other annoying things like, "Can you answer this call? or Why don't you do your job? or how are you today?" are also offered up during the course of my day in an obvious attempt to drive me insane.

We had gone out to buy a bed previously and discovered that mattress stores are scary. We also met a few obnoxious salesmen in the process.

Sales: "You spend four tenths of your life sleeping? Don't be afraid to buy a quality mattress."
M: Yeah but those hours aren't exactly my most exciting.
Sales: "This bed is going to change your life."
M: Sigh.

Sales: "This mattress has individually wrapped coils."
M: "Like a present?"
Sales: Uh, yeah.
M: I love presents.

We finally went to a shop that seemed to be only minimally strange, and we found a salesmen who managed to not be entirely obnoxious. As such, we finally bought a mattress.

M: Now can we put down a glass of wine and jump around on the bed like in the commercial?
Sales: That's a different bed you're thinking of.
M: Honey, break out the merlot.

M: Does this mattress have a pillow top mattress?
Sales: Why yes.
M: Do any of these have the pillow bottom? I'm actually concerned about the way my box spring has been creaking. I'd like to give it some extra support.
Sales: Of course. We'll do anything to sell you a mattress. Do you want my kidney? I only need one

M: Does this mattress slide well down stairs? My wife and I like to hop on the mattress during the winter and ride it down the stairs like a sled.
Sales: I wouldn't use it for that.
M: Do you want to make a sale or not?
Sales: Great idea.
M: If you can throw in a copy of the claymation Rudolph movie you've got yourself a deal.

M: Would the stuffing in this mattress make good material for a nest? I love birds.

M: Would you sell this mattress to your grandmother?

M: Do you even like your grandmother?

M: What if I wanted to use this mattress to barricade the street and throw stones like in the French Revolution?
Sales: It will work like a charm.
M: Is it bullet proof?
Sales: Do I want to make a sale?

Look at how sleepy that lady is above. I love mattress ads because everyone looks so peaceful in their unitard, just sleeping the day away. I'd love it if the ads were of folks in pain or rather, drooling rather obviously on pillows, perhaps a picture of wife holding a pillow over her ears while her husband snores. Or perhaps a person making a list of things they have to do in the morning with a thought bubble that says, "Did I leave the stove on." I think the mattress buying public would appreciate the change.

Eventually we bought a mattress and soon our house will actually be a home instead of a place where someone appeared to have been storing some furniture for a while. Side Note: I also noticed that every mattress store has these really nefarious adds that claim things like "Seventy five percent off all mattresses" "Buy one get one free on all sizes" "Buy one mattress and we'll throw in a baby for free." I'm not even sure why they put in that last one.

One other thing that made me uncomfortable was how much bargaining you can do when buying a mattress. I just want the price at a set rate. I'm not the best haggler in the world.

Sales: The price is 1400.
M: I'll take it.

Sales: The price is 3800
M: I'll take it.

Sales: I'm going to need your first born
M: Okay, I guess.

Luckily S was prepared to lie about the other mattress estimates and make this poor man start sweating before we got our mattress. I mean, I genuinely felt bad for the guy. S noted that he may have been putting on a show for us, but even if he was, he did such a damn good job that I wanted to reward him by paying more.



Sales: I'll give you thirty five goats for your wife.
M: Thirty eight dammit!
S: No sale!
M: I thought I was learning to barter....

Some failed attempts at writing

A checklist of things he remembered.

1. When you’re preparing to meet her don’t panic too much.
2. Don't think about not thinking about panicking. This will only cause you to panic. 3. Don’t comb your hair over the top of your head to hide the bald spot which is so patently obvious.
4. Do not excuse yourself from dinner and then go to the bathroom and splash water on your face.
5. Wink at yourself in the bathroom mirror. It will make you feel like someone approves of you.
6. If she bends down to pick something up, and the hem of her shirt drops, look away.
7. Breathe deeply.
8. Perhaps put a handkerchief in your pocket. A white one. Women from any country find a bit of chivalry appealing.


A sort of traveler’s guide to Paris heavily abridged

The first day we disembarked from the plane and proceeded straight to the train station to purchase our tickets from the conveniently distributed electronic tellers. Though, unless you’ve arrived in Paris with some spare change from your last European vacation, you’ll find the convenient automated tellers a bit inconvenient. I pushed my way up to two different machines and stuffed in my credit card, bank card, and any other card that seemed like it might pay our passage before determining it a loss. We then went into the conveniently located train station where one person was helping roughly the population of South Dakota to purchase tickets out.

One of the first things that I learned on my trip to Paris is that it is important to sleep before seeing the sights. I remember Notre Dame as if through a fog. The day was of course sunny and bright. And to be honest, my hair had seen better days. Thus, after seeing the towering spires of Notre Dame, we traveled over to the church of Sainte Chapelle to see where the crown of thorns had been purchased for (insert) by Louis (IX)? Stopping along the way to purchase a crepe from a very brusque French lady who may have thought we were deaf and dumb. It was never clear.

The plane descended smoothly into the airport at Newark. On the sidewalks below, structures that had looked like metal brontosaurus were slowly coming back into view. And Paris, Paris was just one more thing that was now over. A place to tell other people that I had been. And we can admire it now, from the quiet of an American Starbucks, our fingers laced together to gather warmth, that city a hazy idea in our minds.


The First Line to a story that I promise was going places if only I could have written more than one sentence.

"And I assure you that he spoke so highly of you that I myself nearly fell in love with you."




The Beginning to a story that I've written poorly five separate times.

She had started thinking about it while she was at the zoo. It probably had something to do with reading that story about the tiger who jumped over the moat and mauled people. She held her hand against the railing. It was cold and felt dirty. The sun was near its zenith, and her friends were both wearing hats. She had a sinus headache. It was like she was wearing a mask on her face.

“I heard they had it coming,” her friend said, gesturing to the tiger.
“Typical male,” her other friend said, laughing a little.
“How far do you think a tiger can jump?”
“That’s why they’ve got the netting up.”
“You don’t think a tiger could cut right through the netting?”
“I know almost nothing about tigers.”
“I know they could cut right through this netting.”

That wasn’t the sort of way that she wanted to go. She’d long had an irrational fear about being eaten by a bear. Any time she wandered someplace that even remotely resembled the woods she obsessed about being eaten by a bear. It was central to who she conceived of herself being, this irrational fear of bears.

“But bear cubs are so cute,” her friend reminded her.
“I’m not scared of the gd cubs.”

None of them really knew much about tigers. Most of them worked at office jobs in the city. At night they complained about their bosses and co-workers over expensive drinks. None of them were happy. Nothing was going to change anytime soon.

They all had degrees in impractical things. They would have considered it a compliment to have called them failed artists.
In late October, even when the sun is at its peak it still didn’t feel quite warm enough to her. The tiny hairs on her arm were raised.

They got drinks at the zoo and sat for a while at a table and watched Panda bears munch contentedly on shoots of bamboo.

“That animal should be extinct,” Louis said. “If it weren’t for us humans going around babying the damn things they’d have already kicked off.” She wasn't sure if pandas counted as real bears.

Fences continued

Other options for fences include your traditional wooden fence. As it turns out wooden fences cost somewhere between 2,000 and 1 million dollars.

S: Can you go down and get the thyme? I need it for this recipe.

M: I guess I have the time to do it.

M: I am officially eighty years old.

Whenever you mention getting a nice privacy fence, people always feel that need to mention that you could do it yourself. Then a long explanation follows about laying concrete, (and I've no earthly idea how we're going to fit a cement mixer into our backyard) and just setting it up, and I glaze over and try to ask when the next football game starts. I mean, I suppose I could also build my own rocket and fly to the moon, but if I'm going to the moon, I'm going to let NASA build my rocket. Note: I think it's fair to compare building a rocket to building a fence. If I wanted to know how to build a fence I would have gone to fence building school. You build the fence, and I'll wrote a poem about it. Who is to say, which is more important?
Answer: The neighbor's dog, who is blocked out by the fence but tears through poetry like it's flesh.

Aside: I had to look up how to pronounce the word poem this evening due to a disturbing trend amongst people I know to pronounce it pome or pyme. For my money it is and always will be pronounced, poem. I guess I pronounce it that way because that's how it's spelled and always been done and always should be done. I'm willing to grant that pome or pyme might be an appropriate pronunciation if you are...no, I'm not willing to grant it. In fact, this whole pome craze started because one of our illustrious profs in the writing program, and a poet to boot, calls them pomes. To which, what the hell man? I don't know if anyone else has been wondering lately about how to pronounce poem or if they can reassure me that it's still just poem. I'd really appreciate some support here. This probably means that I'll receive a bunch of pomes in response because the world is a dark and dreary place.

(An episode in which a joke is made. And no, we're not).

S: It says here in this book that a husband shouldn't get drunk if the couple is trying to get pregnant.

M: How else is she going to get him to sleep with her?

S: I guess that was kind of an easy one.

M: I felt like letting it pass would have been a disservice to both of us.

At some point I was talking about fences. Anyhow, wooden fences cost a bit of cash, and my first novel hasn't hit the best seller list yet, so we're unsure if we can do it. The nice wooden fence is great because it gives the middle finger to the rest of your neighbors letting them know that you've got a yard that is better than the one they've got. And maybe you're nude sun bathing all day back there, it's none of their damn business! Note: S actually wants to get one of them fancy Yankee fenes that allows for breathing or something. Does wood breathe?

The downside of the wooden fence is that it rots. A wooden fence is like your basic dictatorship. At first everything looks fine and dandy, then someone peaks inside the fence and realizes that you've been handing out pamphlets about how great your fence is, and how everyone should have a fence just like it or be put to death. The upkeep on the fence turns out to be a pain in the ass and you're out another million or so.

Vinyl fences last longer. However, the down side of ownign a vinyl fene is that not everyone knows that it is a superior material for longevity. Your neighbor is going to see your vinyl fence and think to himself, "Damn, that poor bastard couldn't even afford a wood fence." And he'll leave shaking his head or perhaps offering you a dollar or something to replace the cheap plastic you've put up in place of solid chain link. Putting up a wall is all about impressing your neighbors. People in the middle ages knew this and so they erected castles with large walls knowing that their descendants would profit handsomely from tourists for the next thousand years. A lot of people will tell you some bunk about protecting from peasant revolts or marauding armies, but they are all liars. Walls were a long term investment in the future.

So now you can't put up vinyl. So what do you put up? Granted, this is only an answer in the front yard, but the answer is definitely wrought iron. Wikipedia gives you a nice update on why it's the best but it takes too damn long. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Wrought_iron. Here's my Andrewpedia definition. Wrought iron is the best because it looks simple, yet ornate. It lets your neighbors see into your yard, but it does more than that. It says to your neighbor, I could have afforded a big fence, but I didn't want to obstruct your view of how much better I am than you. It says, Oh look, in case of a peasant uprising, I could just pull one of these large stakes from the ground and smelt together some chain mail and a sword and sleigh them. It says, look at all the fancy grill work, look at how my wrought iron looks like wood only better. Wrought iron says, this fence is pretty much not functional, and I'm so much better than you that I don't even need a functional fence. I'm happy with this small, easily scaled, non-view obstructing piece of iron.

Man do I love wrought iron fences! One of the best things about owning a home is finding out about all these things that you never really knew you loved. Anyhow, I should probably get to bed as I'm planning on breaking the news to S tomorrow that our laundry room is going to be turned into a smithy. I can't wait to work the bellows! Wrought iron bit-h! Refer to picture above as referent for conversation.

Neighbor: I noticed you got a new fence there neighbor.

M: You're damn right I do! That's wrought iron.

Neighbor: Looks like those flowers are really coming in nicely.

M: Why don't you take a closer look at my wrought iron fence. Do you see what those are? Look closer. That's right. It's a human skull carved into my fence. So why don't you just save the comments about my flowers to yourself!

Neighbor: I was just trying to compliment you.

M: That's it. I'm going to the smith to smelt up a lance to impale you on.

Neighbor: This actually used to be a nice neighborhood.

M: Your skull will adorn my fence! Wrought iron!

Note: The author apologizes for his excitement over a type of fence. It is probably some sort of sign that his life has gone horribly wrong in a way that he cannot fathom.

Let's talk about fences

After you buy a house it's fun to walk around the surrounding neighborhoods and get some good ideas for your own home.

M: Oh,would you look at that. They put a green astro turf mat right over the front porch. Brilliant. You can play a game of mini-golf or just walk outside barefoot.

M: Oh, would you look at that! (The exclamation mark really denotes my excitement) They paved right over all that ugly grass and made a nice impervious surface parking lot in their backyard. That's great.

M: Check out that kiddie pool. I never would have thought to put it on the roof of the front porch like that. Awesome!

The original fence was created by Native Americans. This fence was known by the name of land. Land was pretty much free for people to use as they saw fit. Europeans saw this practice and came in and built fences. Thus, our first option in the history of fencing would be to take down our chain link and share our yard with the neighbors.
Ex:

M: Hey their neighbor. I see you're smoking some weed in the kiddie pool while your rabid dog gnaws (it took me an inordinate amount of time to spell gnaws correctly) on the entrails of our children. Do you mind if I pull up a folding chair and some lemonade. Note: This is a dramatization. None of our neighbors have kiddie pools.

Neighbor: Get the f out of my yard!

M: Wow there friend. I thought we might just share this space Stalin style.

Neighbor: Did you just say Stalin style?

M: Let's share it comrade!

Needless to say the idea of not having a fence in your backyard is communist, and neither I, nor Joseph McCarthy (bless his Irish heart and brain) will stand for it. Good fences make good neighbors. If it's good enough for Robert Frost it's good enough for me.

I see him there
Bringing a stone grasped firmly by the top
In each hand, like an old-stone savage armed.
He moves in darkness as it seems to me~
Not of woods only and the shade of trees.
He will not go behind his father's saying,
And he likes having thought of it so well
He says again, "Good fences make good neighbors."


Let's just ignore the fact that Robert is clearly against the idea of fences because it weakens my argument. I'm wondering if I can get my hands on this old stone savage to come make our fence...

The second type of fence is a chain-link one. We currently have a beautiful little piece of chain link spanning the length of our yard. The chain-link is a slight step up from the free land of the Wild West. A chain-link fence says, "Hey, look, I'd prefer if you stay off my property. And to reinforce that idea I've put this crude small fence together. Now, I'll grant that you can still see over, through, under my crude fence, but I'd rather you stayed out of my yard. This is my crappy yard. It's not your crappy yard. And no, I didn't care enough to do something better. Who do yo think I am? an old stone savage?"

Plus we all remember the chain link fences of our childhood, hopping the fence and getting stuck on the top. Or not really hopping that many fences as I was afraid of heights.

Chain-link fences are a slight step up from Communist non-fenced yards. Chain-link is a crude kind of socialism. It indicates a certain lack of status that you just don't get with any other brand of fence. It says, "I care, but not very much, in fact, maybe I don't care. Maybe I'm just leaving this rusty old piece of crap fence up because I'm too lazy to pull it out. Now stay the hell away from my dog or it will gnaw on your child's entrails."

The old stone wall that Frost describes is pretty much only for people from New England. People from New England love things like old stone walls and trees to climb through. They love to talk quietly and whisper about their childhoods romping through the forests of New England while listening to episodes of Garrison Keeler. These are the sorts of folks who might shush you during a really good political conversation just to try and identify a bird's call. People from New England are genuinely regarded as pretty obnoxious by the rest of the known world because of their proclivity for being different, and for the Patriots winning, and because even if a snowy owl is hooting away nobody likes be cut off when they are getting really wound up about the state of US health care. (accepting my brother-in-law, who though he is a New Englander through and through manages to be a pretty great guy. I suspect that he and his family are going to discover at some point in time that they are actually from the West Coast).

People from New England enjoy a good stone wall because it looks rustic and reminds them of something they saw in an L.L. Bean catalog. We don't go in for that kind of crap in the big city. If we want to see trees we'll cut them down and make a building out of them. We listen to NPR, but we do it for All Things Considered, not the funny Saturday shows. We take public transit and lament the fact that people still live off in the woods where they have to drive miles and miles to get anything done. We don't build stone fences because we're not from New England.

(I'm going to go ahead and just try and offend everyone in the known world by the end of this blog post. Thus, if you are from New England you probably are a wonderful person, who enjoys the outdoors, but in a healthy way. And sure, your friends might describe you as earthy-crunchy but they say it with a bit of delight in their voices. They love you. And if you have astro turf on your front porch it's just so you don't have to repaint the damn thing every spring. And if you have a kiddie pool, it's because kiddie pools are great. And you just can't afford to own anything more than a chain-link and maybe you like being able to call to your neighbors over the chain-link fence and show them that your dog can be loving.

But probably not...More on fencing choices tomorrow. When I'll finally let everyone know what the top of the line is for us big city folk.

Expendable?

I was so tired after work that I could not remember your name.

When I was but a child I was told that the Eskimos (and mind you, I was but a child, so we still used words like Eskimo instead of Inuit) had a practice of shoving their elderly off on a block of ice when they had outlived their usefulness. The way the story was told, (and I'm sure I could Wikipedia this story and find out the veracity of it. But that's not always the point, facts, facts, facts. Sometimes you need to listen to the damn story. The world was not made inside a computer. F facts) ((Written like a true artiste)) (((E included for emphasis))). the elderly person was a willing partner in this sacrifice. They realized that they were a burden to the community and that their time to go had come. It's a beautiful story whether Wikipedia believes it or not.

I'm sorry that we talked for so long, in the shadow of the building, without me ever remembering.

Friends, colleagues, other people. A less beautiful story took place a mere week or so ago on the AU college campus. I walked briskly to work (whistling joyously) ((those who know me best know that I am prone to fits of joyful whistling even on the darkest of days)). I often lie. And as I smiled my way into that beautiful crisp Autumn morning, the trees all shedding leaves, like red tears of long forgotten lovers, (I mean that's literally what I was thinking as I was walking underneath those trees...or not. Refer above) I noticed a line of youthful people spreading across the quad.

Perhaps it started with an R? And if it started with an R, maybe this time it will be different.

I gamboled (something I do often) my way over to the gathering of beautiful young minds and made an inquiry of them.

M: Perchance, fair ho (You'll have to forgive my poor verbiage. Understand, I've not been to Knights of the Round Table or a Renaissance fair. Quite frankly, I can barely handle the word Renaissance. I always want to spell it Renassaince. I bet Chaucer spelled it that way. That crazy bastard.) you can tell me whilst you have all been gathering?

Maybe things will be different for me because you'll be a different you.

FH: (At this point the FH explained to me that the young folks were all gathered together to receive a vaccine for the H1N1, which translated loosely in to terms that non-scientists can understand is, "Imminent doom and death for all those who don't get immunized."

M: Oh, shall I wait in line to obtain thine elixir?

FH: (FH, quite rudely I might add, pointed out the lines on my forehead and asked whether I was indeed worthy to actually get the vaccine).

That's when I realized that I was essentially an elderly person in an Eskimo village. My best years behind me. There I was, standing in line to get the vaccine, but I was too damn old. I tried to explain to the FH that I didn't want to be pushed out on the iceberg yet.
M: I haven't even written my novel yet. I've got a novel in me. (Eighty five percent of the population thinks they've got a novel in them somewhere. I'm guessing that the percentage is higher if add in memoirs). The FH was unswayed by my pleas for mercy and I walked slowly to work, alone, old, confused, trying to think of all the things I had left undone.

Maybe this time we'll introduce ourselves before we start talking. We'll say witty things while the weather gets colder.A sense of humor is what's most needed in December.