First Dance Drag-a-Thon

I can't explain my recent fascination with school dances.

In the last week, I've written twice about them. Once based on my real life experience at St. Thomas school as a sixth grader. The second time, an entirely fictional account of a date to the prom, with my silver anniversary watch in my pocket. Which is weird, because I didn't get that watch until I'd been married for years. And from my wife.

My kids are starting to go to their own dances now. Tentatively at first.

The first big dance for them as Sixth graders, was the Halloween dance. My daughter was all fired up to go, my son wasn't so sure of himself. We dropped both of them off, and had to go back about a half an hour later to pick up my son. He said it was too loud. At least he tried it out.

My own first dance recollections are fairly hazy. Filled with white pants, Izod sweaters, and penny loafers that put huge blisters on my feet. And I could never get pennies into mine! Which was super frustrating. I suspect that everyone else conned their dad into getting it in there for them. But I could be wrong.

Those early dances were filled with lots of standing around, in same sex groups. Only after a little while did any large number of people start dancing. I was always terrible at it too. They actually taught us the "box step waltz" in gym class. I learned that this was special just to get us ready for the dances. No body contact was permitted. By which I mean the boy and the girl held each other at arms length. Forget the six inch rule, or a hands-breadth, we're talking at least a foot here.

I always disliked anything other than slow dancing. It just felt like a maniacal workout to me. But then, while I did have good rhythm ( I was in band dammit!!), I definitely had no moves. Didn't want any either. See the reference to working out, above.

I think I went to most of the dances at St. Thomas, I only lived a block away from school, and my parents strongly encouraged it. I might have gotten out of a few of them, I don't remember.

I didn't go to any dances in High School. I didn't date either. I just didn't want to put forth the effort I guess. Anything that put a cramp in my preferred activities, of reading, sleeping, eating, playing video games, watching television, and movies; I didn't much want to do them. I wasn't that awesome in High School.

I wish I had done more though. I'll tell all my kids that too, if it can make any difference.

I regret not dating anyone. I regret not going to any dances (Prom!). I should have taken a more diverse group of classes.

I mean, I finally shucked off Band class for Senior year, as i was done with my fine arts graduation requirement, and I threw a hissy fit. I wanted a study hall period. Basically so I could fuck off. But my folks would have none of that. So just like with bad haircuts, sweaters, and birth control glasses, they got their way. I took "college study skills" just to shut them up.

The class was a joke. My desk mate and I, were totally disruptive. We both got kicked out of class several times. We'd take turns throwing things at the blackboard when the teacher's back was turned. Then have fun pretending we were just as baffled as anyone else.

One time, I got sent to the principal's office for screwing around. So I went down to the office, and sat in reception until the end of class. I even saw the principal several times while I was sitting there. I said hello to him, and we shot the shit for a minute, then he left. Hey, nobody told me I had to tell the office why I was there, amirite?

The tomfoolery kind of climaxed with my desk-mate showing up for class drunk as a skink one day. We both kind of blew off that class after that.

I didn't get accepted to Michigan State University that summer. I guess I showed them!

When you apply to colleges, they kind of remove your grades for gym class, and Band. And my resulting 1.8 GPA, just didn't impress them enough. Who knew??!!

Oh yeah, school dances. I should have gone. I wasn't into being very social though, as I might have mentioned. And when I did do stuff socially, I tended to overcompensate for my antisocialness, by showing zero social skills in some way. Mostly by being an over the top "look at me" mother fucker. I'm sure people could attest to that, if they gave a damn to do so.

I've lost interest in this topic. Next!

Cheers

Bubble Boy: Oppose Thyself

Twenty years ago, I was a different person.

I worked at a law firm in downtown Lansing; I associated with the people there, and it helped reinforce my largely Republican conservative views. Heck, one of the lawyers there was the chief Michigan Republican party counsel.

I still rebelled a little bit, how could I not? I wore a Ross Perot pin leading up to the 1992 presidential election. Mostly based on his super fun financial presentations. But, I was still a Republican at heart.

After I moved out of my parent's house in East Lansing, I moved to Northern Michigan, living by myself for a few years. My main influences were all the people I worked with. Mostly ex-military conservatives. My political views shifted even further that way as a result. Moving almost too far in a way. I became isolationist, and a touch homophobic and racist.

Then I got married, had kids, moved to upstate NY, right next to Vermont. My political views shifted once again in response to all these changes.

I find myself now sitting very liberally. I eschew all formal political parties. Though I still am a registered Republican. My wife is a registered Democrat. We do this, in order to exert at least a little influence on politics. As the only two parties that hold general primary elections, and the only two parties who seem to ever win office for the most part: This is simply another way to participate in choosing the winner. For, while I almost never vote Elephant, or Donkey in the main election, I can at least put down a vote for which Republican bastard will win. And my wife, vice versa.

I can honestly say that I voted McCain in the 2000 Republican Primaries. I still think he was the right Republican for that job, especially as viewed in the hindsight of 9/11. But that's just speculation of course.

Nowadays, I find myself in even more of a bubble. I've "cut the cord". I don't subscribe to cable or satellite television. I do have an internet service, and that is how our family gets all of our entertainment and news. In the car, I listen to either music or podcasts of my choosing.

If you look at that, you can see that as a consequence of choosing mostly what I see and hear; my world view is much the way that I want it to be.

I took a step outside myself this morning. This was in response to a friend putting some comments on a link I posted to the Facebook. It was about the Occupy movement, and what I viewed as the exclusively heavy handed response that the authorities have had to it.

All that I see, are reports and videos that are negative to the law enforcement response. I have no balanced viewpoint. I still recoil from major media viewpoints, as I am suspect of their agenda. Which might be paranoid, but at least I can admit it.

So I've made a project for myself. As I'm laid up with a bum knee, I have a lot of sitting down time on my hands. I'm going to spend a few days doing things I don't normally do.

I'm going to check out lots of opposing viewpoints. I'm going to seek out all the examples of "Protesters Behaving Badly" that I can find. Even before looking, I can safely bet there is going to be a lot. People being what they are, there will always be some acting badly on both sides. I suppose it's an example of my naïveté that I'm not just as suspect of my primarily liberal news sources as I am of, say, Fox News.

So for the next two days, don't expect me to be sympathetic to much of anything. I'm playing devil's advocate. Against myself.

Cheers, to opposing views.

Silly Worries Really

Well, here's where I'm at:

Stuck at home mostly, with a broken left kneecap.  Not released back to work yet, for at least another week or so, even potentially. 

There is still a nagging little spectre of a knee operation hanging in the air, although at the ten day mark after the breakage, the bones are still in enough alignment that I'm not in a full leg cast, and no surgery is warranted.  However, if something happens to move the bones too far apart, or the mending process doesn't take place for some reason; they'll have to cut me open there, and do some combination of pinning and wiring to make sure the bones knit properly.  And then in a few months after that, take all the metal back out.

I have a huge problem with that.  Not because of getting cut on.  No, that's not really an issue.  I laid out in the back room of the local doctor's office almost eight months ago, and had a large lump removed from my head.  I just had local anesthesia for that, and just kind of stared at the ceiling, while I could feel the doc tugging vaguely at my scalp, and making jokes to try and calm me.  I didn't need it, in my head, I treated it no different than getting a cavity filled.  A little stressed, but calm and contained during the procedure.  Gotta lay still for that kind of stuff!

The part about the knee surgery that bothers me the most, if it happens, is the anesthesia.  I do not want to go out under general anesthesia.  To me, that seems too much like death.

I know!  It doesn't make the greatest sense.  But I hold my singular life a little precious, so humor me. 

A certain number of people do die under general every year.  I've never had it before, so it is totally unknown how I'll handle it.  Maybe I'm even one of those poor bastards who are fully awake, but paralyzed within their own body while under.  Able to hear everything, and feel everything, but unable to tell anyone.

Oh god, that would be a certain circle of hell. 

I had a friend that had knee surgery when he was young, about twenty years ago or so.  He was awake during, and even watching somehow.  He was going into medicine, and has done so very successfully! and knew the surgeon.  So he was allowed to do this. 

If it comes down to it, I hope they let me stay awake as well.  I don't want to never wake back up.

I have things left undone, not to mention what it would do to my family.  I don't have much life insurance, no savings, no retirement fund.  I understand that survivor benefits aren't very much either from the government. 

I haven't finished my poetry project.  I'm fifteen shy of my 365 total.  Yes, I'm a little ahead thanks to this time off from work. 

There is still ideas for a book or two up in my head.  The Frying Pan Solution, and Wrenched; are still waiting to hit the paper in any formal way. 

With all that in my head, I'm going to work harder on writing more than one poem a day until I hit that magic number.  Heck, I can always write more and do substitutions based on quality.  But I want to be done. 

This is all pretty silly.  But, for once, it's a genuine worry.  Falling squarely under the original intent/idea of this blog. 

Cheers, to real Warthog Worries for a change.

Frosty = Bad Touch!

Back in the 1970's, I saw the animated Frosty the Snowman for the first time. After looking it up, I see that it is another fantastic Rankin Bass production, originally put together in 1969. Seeing that, I can't peg the year that I first would have seen it Let's call it the mid seventies.

This all started something, that was to stick with me for the rest of my life. Not in the way of something stuck in my head, but stuck in other people's heads.

Frosty the Snowman touched me inappropriately.

Seriously. When I watched the scene in which Frosty is starting to melt, and there is a thermometer, which goes higher and higher, and Frosty melts more and more, until he's just a puddle I think.

I am told that I was very upset by this scene. And as a result, I developed a huge fear of thermometers. When I saw a thermometer, and it was looking like it might be getting warmer, I was deathly afraid that it was going to kill me. That I was going to 'melt'.

I don't know how long I kept this deathly fear, I actually don't really remember having the fear at all. Sounds like me though.

It actually sounds sad to me. A four or five year old with a phobia like that, all brought on by a television show.

My family thinks it's hilarious though. Just yesterday I was reminded of it once again.

For years and years, I've been getting Frosty the Snowman themed gifts every christmas, often for my birthday, or just whenever someone wants a good laugh. Usually my mother. Who also delights in telling the story of her poor traumatized child of the seventies, crying, and shrinking away in fear at the sight of a thermometer.

You just have to love family, don't you?

Yesterday's gift, was a christmas/winter patterned pillowcase. My mom makes this kind of stuff. She also quilts. If it didn't take like a month to make a quilt, she'd probably make me a gag Frosty quilt as well.

I know I can probably expect a gag gift for christmas as well, likely a snowman something or another. Followed by some reminiscing about my old phobia.

I shouldn't be putting this here. I'm probably setting myself up to receive a snowman somewhere, from someone new.

Oh well, I am what I am. I'm sure the thermometer traumatization has played some part iin shaping who I am, like it or not.

Cheers, to bizarre fears and constant reminders.

Death

I recognize that I have death on the mind often.

I also have life on my mind. I have birth on my mind.

Death grabs a little bigger part of the pie though, it follows my personality down a darker road I suppose.

Today, I discovered someone else who shares my liking of the Speaker for the Dead concept. I've written of it before, feel free to Google and Wiki the term, you'll find what you need.

Regina Holliday is the person I found. While she doesn't pronounce herself as a Speaker, I read that she was inspired by the concept and stories.

I read some of her blog posts. Something she mentions nags at me.

I don't have a will. Nor any of the other things you are supposed to have set up for end of life, or close to end of life times for yourself.

I think I'll share my thoughts here on that. Obviously, I need to put it down on an official document to have full effect. Call it a rough draft if you will.

To start off, I'd like to tattoo 'DNR' on my chest. Stands for Do Not Resuscitate, but I need to put an asterisk next to it. The asterisk represents my qualifiers for that statement. I understand the human brain can survive a certain amount of time without oxygen, but it's not very long. Cold temperatures can extend this, and age. I would rely on scientific facts, common sense, and experienced opinion to assist in this asterisk item.

I do not wish to be resuscitated from a state where either I have had no oxygen, or heartbeat, if it has been past a certain amount of time. After that time, severe brain damage is guaranteed. I would never want to be severely mentally disabled, or in a vegetative state.

Let's call it two minutes. I can hold my breath for over a minute. I suspect I'd pass out before the two minute mark, and be forced to start breathing again by the good old brain.

Longer than two minutes, let me go. Shorter? Try everything.

If I do end up in a vegetative state, I want to be put down. Not right away, though. Have the family come say goodbye, hold my hands while they are still warm if they wish. But then I want all the useable organs to be harvested, then unplug me.

Once I am good and dead, I do not want a religious funeral. Or anything fancy at all.

I want one of those cheap cardboard caskets you can buy on the internet, I do not want to be embalmed. I don't want any viewing of the body. Cremate me as soon as that cardboard box has arrived. Put my ashes in whatever you want.

If there is enough interest, have a dinner at the VFW hall, or a bar. Show pictures, tell funny stories about me. Most of all, be honest. I wasn't perfect, perfect stories about me would be lies.

The final disposition of my ashes is of no concern to me. Keep them, throw them away, spread them as fertilizer on a farmer's field. As desired.

My one wish after my passing, that is truly selfish, is that I be spoken for. It can be spoken aloud, if any have the interest to do so. Or written down. I do request a Speaker for the Dead for myself.

That's about it.

I salute that monkey that is on all our backs. Death, riding us like we are one trick ponies, from the day we are born.

Cheers, to living every second until we turn to greet it.

Work Dreams

When I was laid off for the extended period. I dreamt of work alot. There is serious psychology there, but I don't care to know what it is.

I dreamt of most of the jobs that have had throughout the years in one way or another. Usually in strange alternate reality type ways.

A good example, is the all singing, all dancing, musical dream I had about my aircraft work in Oscoda. I dreamt that we were all working in the hangar, and after some sort of nonsensical segue, we all broke into a stirring, rousing rendition of the B52s Rock Lobster. And man, if it didn't go on forever too.

Once I went back to work, I stopped dreaming about work so much. For which I'm grateful.

A huge thing happened though, aside from the dreams, while I was laid off. I learned that I really like my work. I love being an inspector of the airplanes. I enjoy reading the tech data, I like looking at things with a critical eye, and either giving it the thumbs up or thumbs down. I love that I get a certain amount of leeway to exercise my judgement on things. I'm happy that most of the time I'm making the right choices. It feels rewarding.

It's probably why, except for the one day I was high on pain meds and passing a kidney stone, I haven't called in sick. For almost a year and a half. Which, if you know me, is something special. In the past, I've had bang in days, where me and a friend would take off and watch soap operas with a case of beer. I went through a period a few years ago, where I liked to call in sick every other Wednesday. I found it broke up the week.

But with the revelation that I actually love my job, in a deep down and satisfying way, came a feeling of commitment to it as well. It's fun to look back at your life and career, and see different stages you've gone through.

Now that it looks as if I will have a month off of work, give or take whatever the doctor will let me do, I am filled with a sense of loss. I don't want to be not at work, especially since I've found a good way of looking at it.

I dreamed of work again last night. First time in a year and a half. Dreamt of an average day, in the alternate universe of Oscoda aircraft maintenance. Things are skewed, as only the lens of dreams can do sometimes. Everything recognizable, yet very different too.

Just a work day. Went in, did work things, came home. A whole dream of it.

It's just a dream. But it expresses longing. For the normalcy of the workday. Not this waking alternate reality of a broken knee, and a sore ass from sitting too much every day.

Cheers, to the mending of bones and dreams.

Third Wheel Ramblings

I got myself a new laptop.

Well, sort of. I actually got a nifty bluetooth keyboard to connect to my iPhone So as to better use the actually decent word processor that I found in the form of the Apple Pages app.

I'm two poems ahead of the curve again. Smugly sitting here on the couch, with my bum leg up on a chair, knee chilling under a cold pack. All is right with the world. Jimmy Fallon's late show running on Hulu across the room from me, warm little pig puppy snuggled against my thigh. Plenty of distractions to amuse my ADHD.

The keyboard is billed as the HP Touchpad companion piece. But it works real good with my iPhone. It seems to be very similar in size and shape to the Apple keyboard they sell as a mate to the iPad. Costs half as much though. God I'm so cheap. It's a miracle I ever buy anything decent.

I kid, but there's a grain of truth to that. Can't be a cheap bastard about everything, the low dollar stuff will make you regret it half the time.

Take my latest obsession for example.

For many years now, I've wanted a sidecar motorcycle rig. When my wife and I were newly wed, and living simply in our little log cabin in Greenbush, I had a Harley Sportster. I dumped way too much money into it. A futile half hearted attempt to give it more performance I think. Coming off using nothing but Japanese made middle weight motorcycles, the 1974 Sportster was, to be blunt, a piece of shit.

I started with a 1975 Honda CB360, graduated to a 1986 Yamaha Radian 600, and briefly switched to my father's 1983 Honda Nighthawk 550 while my Yami was down for repairs one summer. Not great bikes, for sure not on the cutting edge of things, like the latest sport bike would have been. But good bikes, very very good bikes.

The old Sportster was like stepping back in time. The engine was weak for some reason, whole thing probably needed to be rebuilt most likely. It's performance feel somewhere between my CB360 and my dad's Nighthawk 550. This from a 1000cc power plant. It had a habit of hanging up one of the valves when it got hot, making it an instant barely running 500cc single until it cooled down again. Transmission hung up on shifts, brakes that were more of a suggestion to stop than anything else. A suspension that wallowed uncontrollably, while strangely giving about as much cushion as a hardtail.

God I loved that thing.

Anyways, my wife and I got that idea that a sidecar would be great fun. I looked seriously at two models. The venerable Velorex 562, about the most inexpensive entry level sidecar available. I still like them actually. The other was one made by Liberty Sidecars from out Seattle way. They made, for a little while, a sidecar aimed at the Harley Sportster specifically. I don't know that they sold many of them. They aren't offered on the website anymore. Although, from the vibe I get from them, they may be more than happy to pull the mold and jigs out of the back room and make one again if someone ponied up the money.

The point being: We wanted to try it, so as to enjoy riding together, and we should have just gotten one. Huge mistake. It definitely would have been fun.

Well, I've got the bug again. I've been looking off and on for the last three years. Now I have my trusty old 1983 Honda Magna 750 as a steed. I have used it for commuting to work, mostly in the late summer of 2010. But the 38 mile commute feels like too much. I am not sure why. I think it might be the ride home at midnight. Just really long and dark, with lots of animals running around. Even hitting something as small as a possum would probably wipe me out pretty good. I see lots of possums, raccoons, deer, fox, even some coyote. I did actually hit a raccoon with my Geo Metro.

Partly for those reasons, I don't really like to drive the motorcycle to work anymore, plus the Metro gets better mileage believe it or not.

I don't ride it around much for anything else. I don't get much enjoyment out of riding alone, especially when I have the wife and kids at home.

So I thought a sidecar might be fun for us. That way I could take at least one, maybe two kids with me for rides around town, or a little ways in the country for pleasure. The wife could finally get her sidecar ride as well.

Me being a cheap bastard, I look at used stuff now. Whatever ebay has to offer, or craigslist. I haven't found the right one yet. The perfect one would be free. An acceptable one would be $500 dollars or less. Any more than that, and I start considering making one myself, which seems like both a great and awful idea. Depending on the day.

Another option I like to look at, is the BMW clone group. There are wonderful motorcycles out there, called Ural, Dnepr, Chang Jaing. They are all WW2 era copies of the German BMW R71/72 models. Most are complete with vintage sidecar. Urals are pretty cool, and can be bought new nowadays, with modern electrics and internal updates. Not super cheap though, up over 10 grand for new stuff. A more economical option is either used ones, or refurbished military models from China.

They are quite lovely things, especially the older flathead models. In addition to the sidecar, they can be had with a saddle style buddy seat on the rear fender, with it's own "oh Shit" handle. The sidecars come in single seat with trunk, single seat with rumble seat, or even stretched two seat models. I really like those.

It would be an absolute scream to drive the whole family around on one of these 24 horsepower beasts. And be a rolling vintage motorcycle show to boot. They can be had for around 4 grand.

I don't have 4 grand, but It's still awesome to look.

If I remain obsessed, I'll probably end up finding a cheap used sidecar for sale, and mount it up on my Honda. That should be lots of fun. Maybe I can have one found and installed by springtime. It could be the high point of 2012 for us.

Wish me luck with my silly obsessions.

Cheers to sidehacks, both great and small.