Unemployment Benefits
So, I lost my job a couple of weeks ago, and I’ve yet to fully comprehend all of the documentation I’ve received from the Unemployment Compensation program, Cobra, and the 401(k) people, but tonight I’m taking a moment to celebrate the following benefits:
1. Winter clothes in storage. Yes, it’s mid-August and I’ll start switching back in a month or so anyway, but what the heck, it feels good.
2. Alterations on misfit clothing begun. The key benefit represented here being that this means I figured out how to run a bobbin all by myself.
3. House is tidy.
4. I’ve been eating homemade meals. (And there aren’t any dirty dishes in the sink or on the counter or in the oven.)
5. Files from my first home computer, which hasn’t been plugged in since 2004, have been transferred to my current computer.
6. My purse has no extra lint, receipts, expired coupons, or 10-pound lump of pennies.
7. My garden looks as if I know what I’m doing.
8. Xenosaga III completed.
9. My home laptop now has the latest version of itunes loaded, my music is in The Cloud, and I have synced my iPod shuffle that I got for Christmas 2 years ago.
10. Caught up on laundry, email, facebook, and sleep.
11. It’s Sunday night. And I have no nasty black-pit feeling in my stomach.
12. Last but not least, my favorite benefit: Time to write.
Golf, Friendship, Life
It’s official. My favorite day of the year is a Friday in August, the one day of the year that I golf.
Those of you who know me are shaking your heads in disbelief because you know, when it comes to golf, I don’t know my ass from a hole in the ground that is a gazillion yards away and to the right or maybe the left, who the heck knows?
But, this past Friday I was golfing in memory of the inimitable Damon Garde, If you knew him, you’re a lucky soul. (If you didn’t, just believe me when I tell you that, even if you are a hopeless mess on the golf course, you would show up to golf in his honor.)
So, today, some thoughts on golf, friendship, and life:
- We cannot get where we’re going in this world alone. Especially during a golf scramble when your tee shot barely makes it out of the box on a par 5.
- The “cool people” are not those who go to trendy places, wear branded clothes, or drive expensive cars. The cool people are those who will look you straight in the eye and call it a practice swing.
- Life is too short to chase after every lost ball.
- Don’t avoid a fun time with friends because you’re afraid they will discover that you’re a clumsy, uncoordinated twit. Please, believe me: They already know you’re a clumsy, uncoordinated twit.
- Fear is crippling. And quite boring. Buck up. Show up. And keep your head up. (Or, in some cases, keep your head down and your knees bent and your forearms straight, you stupid freaking idiot.)
- Take the mulligan.
- Winning is fun. But–little known fact–losing is fun, too, if you do it with the right people.
- There is always more than one way to earn a trophy. (Right, Lisa?)
- At least once a year, put on your crazy pants.
- There are all kinds of people in the world. You’re, uh, going to want to let a lot of them play through.
- It’s a relatively short game. Seek out those who ease your soul, heal your heart, and make you laugh from your belly. Throw your arms around them, keep them close, and celebrate every blessed moment you have with them.
So, yes, I spoke the truth. My favorite day of the year began on a golf course.
It ended with beer and burgers and card games and late-night hyjinx, like this year’s impromptu Putting Wrong-handed in the Dark contest, which a clumsy, uncoordinated twit, barefoot and tipsy but in the company of friends, just happened to win.
Thank you Ed and Cheri for making it happen. God bless ya, my teammates. Hugs to all my golfing Life Preservers. And cheers to you, Damon. Always missed. Never forgotten.
Another Creepy Facebook Ad
Saw this ad on my facebook page today.
1. I am not signed up for truelove2013.com. Although I must admit I’m curious: What happens in 2014?
2. I find the wording hilarious, especially given the photo of this man in a vehicle. Um, should I be checking the rearview mirror while running errands today?
3. btw, this isn’t (according to facebook) the only handsome, eligible guy in my vicinity who is aware of me and wants to date me. Yeahhhhh, that sounds about right. Boys lining up. Always makes it so hard to back the car out of the garage.
4. So, is facebook doing this with my photo? Are there strange men across the world (or “nearby”!) who are seeing my photo and being told I want to date them? If so, how do they select the photo? Imagine if they pulled this one from my facebook profile:
So, dear facebook (and other) friends, a request: If you see one of these fellows following me around, please alert me and protect me.
But, you know, don’t scare him off.
Charmin’ Ad
As part of my ongoing fascination with how truly bizarre, borderline gross, and 7th-grade funny Charmin’s marketing is, here is an ad that appeared in the margin of facebook today.
At least they’re not asking customers to share photos. Yet.
Dish Washer
Recently, I noticed a certain deterioration in the performance of the dishwasher. One by one, the buttons stopped working. “Pots and pans” died. “Heavy wash” died. “Normal wash” died. I was down to “Light wash.”
I had a repairman take a look. Prognosis: A new electronic pad unit thingamabob, $200 for the part, yada-yada, and I decided—with a surge of energetic, disciplined vim that I, whose ancestors crossed the ocean on a boat . . . that I, who have camped in the wilderness and washed my mess kit in a stream . . . that I, who generally only have dishes for one—could certainly live without a dishwasher for a while.
And so, my friends, I washed dishes by hand. And, you know what? It was soothing. It was a sort of Zen thing. It made me wax philosophical about this rush-rush-rush world we live in.
The next day, I decided that the “Light wash” cycle was, you know, probably fine really, and, while loading up the dishwasher, I noticed this plastic rectangular bit (inside the door, opposite the not-working buttons) that looked as if it would pop right out. And it would. And I did.
Journey to Stupidville. Step 1.
Then, I noticed the screws around the edge of the inside door. I’d turn back if I were you!
With the door taken apart, I came upon this bit of bulky black plastic (with electrocution warnings) that also looked as if it would pop right off. And it would. And I did.
(Yes, I turned the power off first.)
And then, as I realized, sigh and rats, that I couldn’t access the buttons anyway, I decided to put it all back together again. And that was when the entire top third of the inner door fell out of the doorframe.
Ah. Yes. Hmmmm.
I attempted to put it back together for quite some time while staving off a wave of fear, panic, and completely unjustified astonishment. No go.
I did indeed consider picking up the phone to call the repairman or my Dad. But, the Unsinkable Molly Brown Maniac in my head suggested I try again.
After another hour or so of fumbling, straining, cussing, and wishing for a third hand to reach the screwdriver . . . it was, suddenly, somehow, some it-can’t-be-right way back together. I tightened the screws. I pushed the “Pots and pans” button. (Nothing.) “Heavy wash.” (Nothing.) “Normal wash.” (Nothing.) “Light wash.” (Ah, the little green light comes on, water begins to run.) I stood watch, truly fascinated at the lack of leaks and/or explosions. I shook my head at my wasted efforts but breathed a sigh, saluted the Gods of Dumb Luck (who prefer offerings of icy cold beer), and promised myself to call the repairman very soon.
So.
Last night, I loaded up the dishwasher, and pushed a button—in the way I have been doing since it started to stop working, pressing each button in a row until I get to one that works. I hit the “Pots and pans” button, and, as I slid my finger to the “Heavy wash” button, um, Hel-lo. The little green light under “Pots and pans” is on?! and the water is running?! The dishwasher had started up! On “Pots and pans”! It also started on “Heavy wash” and “Normal wash.” Every. Single. Button. Is. Working. Now.
Awesome! Amazing! Freakin’ sweet! Mwa-ha-ha! Mwa-ha-ha, in your face dishwasher. I won! I won! I won! Mwa-ha-ha-ha-ha! I WON!
Hooray!
{On the other hand, I can’t help thinking this is positive reinforcement of the very worst kind.}
One Side of a Telephone Conversation
Hello? Spring?
Yeah. What’s going on? Where are you? You said you’d be back. We had plans.
Really? Well, I saw a robin yesterday. It tried to alight on a tree limb—which was covered in snow—and then it tried to alight on the ground beneath the tree—which was covered in snow—and then it sort of skittered onto the parking lot, bewilderedly chirping.
Well, I don’t speak bird, but I’m pretty sure it was “WTF.”
Yeah. The robins are here. Yes, they are.
Seriously? You’ve had 9 months’ vacation. Guess what, the rest of humanity gets 2-3 weeks. So spare me.
The time change? The time change! Don’t make me laugh. We’re all a little messed up from the time change, but it’s been over a week now. And you’re in Hawaii, where there is no time change.
You think I’m dumb?
Excuse me? Chill out, my furry butt! We’re all CHILL. Oh we’re very chill all right.
Do I? Do I sound stressed? Yeah? Yeah, well, the fear of imminent death is a tad stressful.
Dramatic? Have you checked facebook lately? Do you have any idea what I’m going through here? Well, maybe it’s time you think about someone else besides yourself. Maybe it’s time you think about me, your cousin Phil, the good ol’ ground hog who’s back here trying to cover for you.
Yeah. You said you’d be back early. Yeah, I told everybody.
They want to kill me.
I look like an ass.
Yeah, well, either you put down the mai tai, say good-bye to your cabana boy, and get your butt back on a plane to Pennsylvania. Or. I’ll tell Mother.
You wanna bet on that? Try to remember what she’s been like over the past year.
Okay, this weekend? You promise? You better.
Bye.
Keep An Eye Out for Amys
Sometimes a life preserver moment comes from seeing another person that you care about do something that makes you happy. Fantabulous mini-moments when you know to your toes that the World really is an okay place. They can catch you by surprise and change your day. It’s espresso for the soul.
Today, I’m sharing a vlog from a girl named Amy. An amazing sweetheart who I’ve known pretty much since she was born. One of those kids who makes you believe that the next generation will do just fine.
She had a dream to go to Disney World and work there as part of a college program.
Note: Disney is a spot that is near and dear to my own heart. When I was 10 years old, my aunt and uncle took me, my brother, and my sister there. 
When I turned 30, I went again with some friends and cousins. At the time, I joked that I would just have to go back to Disney every 20 years. (Hard to believe it’s time again.) (Yes, I’m going.) But, enough about me.
This week, after lots of preparation, much hard work, timely follow-through, oodles of creativity, a bushel of enthusiasm, and support from her awesome parents I’m sure, my young friend Amy made her dream come true and arrived in Disney. She posted this
I clicked through that video to discover her vlog, which led me to this gem
It’s a bit of reality that feels like, well, a Disney movie. Yes, I teared up watching it. (Hell, I’m tearing up writing about watching it.) But they’re happy tears, and that’s life-preserving stuff.
So, have a good day. Find optimism. Seek joy. Keep an eye out for Amys.
The 40-day Resolution
Over the past couple of days, I’ve been thinking about what my resolution should be for 2013. There is a long list of potentials.
I want to lose weight, eat healthy, exercise more. I could commit to changing bad habits, to being kinder, to swearing less while driving. I could make a firm commitment to clean the litter box every day or to never leave dirty dishes in the sink or to stop leaving clothes in the dryer until they’re so wrinkled I have to re-wash them. I could promise to talk to a tree guy about the once-weeds-soon-to-be-trees growing under my porch. I could return the busted comcast console that’s been boxed up and sitting in my basement for over a year. I could vow to write to my out-of-town nephews more often. I could say I’m going to wash my car once a week and clean out the papers, scarves, shoes, litter, water bottles, and who-knows-what-else on a more frequent basis so that there doesn’t appear to be a homeless person wintering in my back seat. I could start that novel. Or, at least, try to find a way to get all of the poems and short stories I’ve written off of two broken laptops, the old tower, and the stack of floppy disks. I should get my inbox back to zero (or, at least, lower than 1400 unread). I really should play the piano more often, and I want to learn to play my grandfather’s accordion. I could make a resolution to do more pro bono freelance jobs or hands-on volunteer work. I’d like to find a job that helps make the world a better place but still pays the bills. I could promise myself to be less shy, more hopeful, and at least make some attempt to assist the universe in bringing true love into my life. I could promise myself to cook a real dinner more often. I could stop cutting my own bangs. I could get organized. I really need to paint (walls, not canvases). I could promise to start doing one of those brain games that helps you improve your memory, so then I could promise not to forget stuff so much. I could resolve to get new glasses or go to the dentist. I could commit to cleaning out the garage and basement and sorting through the junk and making an overdue trip to Goodwill.
Yep. There are a lot of things I could focus on that would make for an acceptable, sensible resolution. Things to help make me a happier person or a more valuable member of society. A better friend, a better daughter, a better sibling, a better neighbor.
But, as things go quiet, with the hub-bubious distractions of the holiday season behind me, the goal has become obvious. Like a deer facing headlights on a dark and stormy night, like a track-tied damsel spotting the oncoming train, I see it clearly. I have 40 days. And there is but one resolution I can make.
I hereby resolve to do everything in my power to avoid a complete and utter, bug-eyed, jaw-dropped, screaming banshee, Don-Knottian, Daffy-Duckian, Thelma-and-Louisian, all-out-batshit-freakout when I turn 50.
Stop Watching
Recent events have magnified my existing opinion that watching news programs (like CNN and Fox News) should be avoided. It’s voyeuristic. It’s rude. It’s wrong.
These entertainment-conglomerate-owned programs barely meet the requirements of journalism on a normal day. They are no longer staffed by journalists. They don’t appear to be at all concerned with being factual or unbiased. They spin; they manipulate; they squawk. They seek attention like a two-year-old in a very dirty diaper.
As bad as they are on a regular day, when a tragedy occurs, they are worse. So much worse.
I’m not preaching at anyone here. I have done it myself–been unable to look away, watched a situation for hours or even days. But I’m not going to do that anymore; this is a change I am making. This is a vow.
When faced with tragedy, human beings help. They reach out. They pitch in. They can–when a depth of understanding exists, when someone has been a friend for many many years–soften grief with a look, a touch, or the special language of intimates.
It’s one of the really beautiful things about humans, and I still believe it is true of the vast majority.
The problem is, when there is nothing you can do, when there is no action you can take, when you are not connected to those in pain, it is easy to get sucked into the news program. It may provide a false sense of relief (something that almost feels like grieving). Or it may seem disrespectful to not pay attention. Or, it can also be hypnotic; it can be hard to look away.
But what if we did? What if we all stopped watching shows like CNN and Fox News?
What if we all picked up the remote and pushed a button and said, “No.”
What if we said No to a paparazzi approach to the world? What if we said No to the frenzy and the falseness? What if we said No to the lack of depth, the lack of common sense, the over-dramatic narcissism? What if we said No to pretending that hundreds of total strangers with microphones and cameras descend on a community because they care? What if we said No to this expanding and disturbing intrusiveness that seeks to make all of us part of something quite creepy?
Do any of us need to know what happened in Newtown–at the level it is being reported–to be able to be respectful or to be able to say a prayer for those concerned?
No.
Do we need a total stranger to tell us how to feel about this? Does some talking head on TV know your family better than you do?
No.
In this world of more than 7 billion humans, do we need to focus on those who do evil? (or the spoiled, stupid, drunken celebrity? or the sex lives of politicians?)
No.
Do I want to be even one tiny part of the reason a reporter feels justified in knocking on the door of a grief-stricken parent?
No.
I’m not suggesting we all put our heads in the sand. We do need to be aware of the world around us. We need to be informed of dangers. We need to notice when someone else needs help. But in this mass-media world, we need to be careful about what we let into our brains, what we let into our hearts, what’s seeping into the collective psyche.
Read the paper. Get involved in your own community. Watch a legitimate news program (if there are any out there anymore) for a short while if you must. But let’s put an end to the 24/7, workin’-for-sound-bytes, cranking-out-designer-death-graphics, glorifying evil, microscopic but depthless, superfluous, horrible news shows.
I believe we are better than this. But we have to make choices and take actions that will ensure that we continue to be better than this. If we don’t watch, it will cease to be a lucrative media buy for advertisers. If we say No, it will go away.
Never Tailgate is a gift book with car photos and tips for new drivers. Dare to be Happy is a gift book with advice about life (and doodles). Both are available on amazon.
Life Preservers 
Be Nice.
Today’s epiphany is: I like Garbage Men. They’re like Santa in reverse.
Make a list of the things you really don’t want. Old stuff, ripped stuff, smooshed stuff. The stinky, the rotten, the gross. The used, the broken, the empty. Check your waste baskets, check them twice, and gather up everything, naughty or nice, and then, by dark of night, place it all at the curb. And go quietly, serenely to bed.
When you awake, you can run down the stairs, throw back the shutters, and press your nose against the glass to see if it’s true. Yes! Yes! They came! They were here! It has all disappeared. The banana peels and apple cores; the can and jar labels; the evidence that you ate an entire box of cookies and a pizza; the moldy bread, shrimp tails, bits of lunchmeat; the shredded junk mail, discarded envelopes, and snipped circulars; the soggy paper towels, cigarette butts, earwaxed Q-Tips, and boogered tissues; even the clumps of cat poo. It has all gone away. Like magic.
Almost.
I was driving down my street this morning and had to stop behind the garbage truck to wait for a chance to pass as men picked up their sacks. And I saw it happen. An overstuffed wimpy-wimpy-wimpy bag fell to pieces. And I heard the garbage man yell. It was an involuntary roar. It was a cinematic No! It was a resonating moment of human angst, as real as any of us feels when a rotten, stinking workday goes from bad to worse.
Were he anything like me, he probably would have considered going up on the rooftop to drop garbage in this person’s chimney. But he didn’t. He went to the truck and grabbed a shovel to scoop it all up.
As he made it to the back of the truck with a third shovel full, I saw my chance to pass and pulled away, noticing, as I drove through the neighborhood, how many more garbage bags there were to be picked up. I couldn’t help but think about what it must be like to do his job every day, picking up stinking bags in the middle of August or hanging onto the side of a steel truck in early February.
Starting next garbage night, I am going to double-bag the messy stuff and triple bag the used kitty litter. I’m not going to try to fit quite so much into each bag. And I’ll be more aware of the awkward and the heavy. I don’t suppose it would be sanitary to leave them a glass of milk and a plate of cookies, but these good elves will be getting a better tip from my house come Christmas.
P.S. I would like to acknowledge, for perhaps the first time ever, how very nice it is to work indoors at a computer.
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August 19, 2013 at 6:29 pm Leave a comment