The World Keeps on Spinning (if only I could get off for a while. I’m dizzy)

I really enjoy looking at The History Channel’s website for “This Day in History”. There’s so much that happened before we got here and selfishly started hogging all time and resources. I also can’t help that I’m something of a history buff and I am constantly amazed at what our ancestors were able to do without some of the modern conveniences we take for granted.

For instance, in 1890 the U.S. Army Calvary massacred nearly 150 Native Americans at the “Battle” of Wounded Knee. It was a shameful moment in American history but important to remember as it was practically the last battle between the Americans and the Natives. It set the course for the next hundred years of American and Native American relations.  I know it was 120 years ago and it seems like ancient history, but it’s just amazing to consider the growing pains this nation endured and the people that suffered along the way.

On this day during the Civil War 1862, General William T. Sherman was trying to capture Vicksburg, Mississippi against the heavily dug in Rebels. He was unsuccessful in his attempt even though he had numerical superiority. He could not get passed the Chickasaw Bluffs. The lessons he learned from that loss later allowed him to re-strategize and ultimately lead far more successful campaigns and suffer far less casualties.  

Even earlier that that, on this day in the year 1170 (can you imagine the year 1170?) Archbishop Thomas Becket was murdered in Canterbury Cathedral by four knights of King Henry II of England.  The significance of this event set up some of the power structure between the Church and the Royals of Great Britain for centuries to come. It also shows that corruption in government is certainly nothing new. We’ve just cleaned it up a bit.

It also appears that Ted Danson was born today in 1947. Happy Birthday Ted. We love you on Bored To Death on HBO.  And for some reason, History Channel decided to include Christian Slater’s drunk driving arrest from 1989.

My point is, there’s a vast history behind us and we should do our best to remember that while our work days are hard and maybe life doesn’t seem to have given us a fair shake; at least we’re not Sioux Indians at Wounded Knee, Union Soldiers, the Archbishop of Canterbury, or Christian Slater for that matter.

Mythbusters, Bugs and Belgium

It’s a nice thing to go to bed at a reasonable hour and have some crazy dreams. I had several dreams last night that were epic in scale yet mild in scope. It would seem that most of my dreams are clearly influenced by television. That would explain the Mythbusters appearance. (No, sadly it was not Kari) As you should know, Mythbusters is a great television show on The Discovery Channel.

Like most dreams I have no idea where to start in explaining what was going on. There was a lot of activity, experiments and running, discussions and watching, even a cameo from an ex-girlfriend for a short car ride. I can’t recall where we were going but I must say that she looked very nice.  It was all so hyperkinetic and all over the place all at once yet there were definite slow spots and plot movement. The thing I remember when I woke was, “Mythbusters, Bugs and Belgium”.

I am assuming this because, as I mentioned, there were some experiments going on with Adam and Jamie from Mythbusters. I don’t remember what we were experimenting with or why but it seemed very important at the time. I know that at some point it had something to do with bugs. And I hate bugs. All bugs, every bug on earth I find horribly disgusting, all wearing their skeletons on the outside, scavenging in the dirt and refuse of our lives, drinking our blood and all kinds of horrors. Yuck, I hate bugs. So I was surprised they made it into my dreams. I try not to think about them most of the time. (Oh god there’s one on me now isn’t there?)

I also know we were in Belgium. I’ve never been to Belgium. The phrase I most recall from the dream was, “Never trust a Belgian”. I’ve never even met a Belgian that I’m aware of and why would they be untrustworthy?  I am attributing this thought to something I probably watched on The History Channel about World War II.  (Although I am stumped by the reference. I apologize to any Belgian readers. I’m huge in Belgium.)

Dreams are so fantastic and when I woke up this morning I felt as if I had lived a thousand lives and each of those thousand lives had the adventure of a lifetime. No wonder I am so tired already. 

Very Little Time for This...

I took a few days off around the Holidays; just a little time to get my head back squarely on my shoulders. It was lovely to relax and unwind after all the stress and hectic head banging that goes on most work days. I slept without much stressful tossing and turning and felt better than I had in a while.

All that came screeching to a violent halt this morning. What is it with you people? Can’t you sustain verticality for a couple of lousy days?  Doesn’t it make sense when you 80 years old to stay inside during an ice storm? Did I miss something? If the weather is bad, please stay in and if you must go outside for any reason, be careful. Not every lot will be plowed and not every store floor will be dry. Pay attention to your surroundings and stop being a burden to society.

It’s more than just this incredibly ridiculous workload so shortly after a holiday. Some of the corporate higher ups caved to the client’s insane demands and we are now even further crippled to do our jobs effectively.  I don’t understand being hired to do a job but then not allowed to do it. That’s just dumb to me. The majority of the people I work with are college educated or have been in this industry for 30 years or so. It’s amazing that the client thinks we’re all stupid and need to be hand-held for everything we do. That’s also infuriating. I actually have some clue as to what I am doing.

So I have to keep this particular complain-orama brief as I really have a lot of actual work to do. Ah, to get paid to write for a living, now that’s the dream. I hope everyone is having as pleasant a Monday as I.  Let’s try to keep our chins up, so when the mule kicks he won’t break our noses.

Christmas Star

Before I get too into today’s thought I want to go back and write a word about yesterday’s blog title, “Mysterious Cuts”. I just want to say that I think that would be a pretty cool band name; or maybe, “Michael and the Mysterious Cuts”.

The Christmas Star. I was reminded of it this morning as I was driving the snowy roads into work. I don’t mean the literal biblical Christmas star that shined above the little baby Jesus’ manger. I mean the star Christmas tree topper my family used for years. It was a groovy looking thing, plastic and quite thin. It had a stained glass quality but was the furthest thing from actual glass. I have no idea where my parents bought it but it drove my sister and me nuts as children.

Every year we had to alternate whose turn it was to place the star on the tree. My mother, I believe, came up with the ingenious solution to sharing the star by placing one of our names in the star’s base; meaning that was the child whose turn it was to put the star on the tree that year.  As children, trying to remember whose turn it was after a whole year was incredibly difficult. So every time the name was pulled out it was either met with complete joy or something a little less than joy.

I was thinking about that exuberance as I drove in this morning. It was the high point of decorating the Christmas tree to be the one to top it off with that cheesy star. Of course the star wasn’t cheesy to us then. It was quite possibly the most precious object known to our little minds. I certainly had no idea what the value of the star was, but I knew what it meant to be the lucky one to place that star on the tree.  There was something important about it, a significance I can no longer comprehend because I’ve gotten too old to remember. I probably won’t remember it until I have children of my own and I see the anticipation on their little faces.

I think at that moment I’ll be transported back to six or seven years old and understand again the magic that is Christmas. I’ll be reminded that it’s more than just gifts or getting people things they want. (Although it’s nice to get people things they like or need). I think I’ll be reminded that putting a star on a tree makes you part of the holiday at a time when you didn’t have your own money or bank statements to worry about.  That cheap plastic star, or angel or Warner Brother’s character that adorns the top of the tree is made of the Christmas spirit and there’s no gift or toy or sweater that will ever take that magic away.

Merry Christmas everybody!

Mystery Cut

Saturday night, while at my Cousin’s delightful Christmas party, I mysteriously cut my right index finger. I didn’t even notice until I had reached into my pocket to put out my pack of cigarettes. It’s a very small cut right across the very tip of the finger and it hurt like the Dickens.  I’ve always found that so mysterious. How a small cut, a paper cut, could hurt so bloody much. I’ve had instances where I’ve scratched the entire length of my arm and days have gone by before I go, “Wait a tick, how did I do that?”

I know that the tip of the finger is a pretty sensitive area so that’s likely why it hurt so badly. I’m not an idiot. But it did get me thinking about some of my other “ailments”, like smoking. I wondered if it was a coincidence that I just happened to notice my finger was cut while reaching for my cigarettes. Which got me thinking about my smoking. I’ve been a pretty consistent smoker since 1991. That’s almost 20 years of smoking and I think that might be enough. One little cut hurt so much, imagine what 20 years of smoking looks like, or feels like for that matter.

So I’ve decided to quit smoking in 2011. I quit for three weeks several years ago but started up again pretty quickly. Hopefully this time it’ll stick. It’s not only the health benefits that I’m looking forward to it’s the smell. I can no longer stand the smell in my apartment. It just smells so stale in there and I can’t imagine that being very attractive to anyone, other than other smokers. 

Plus, it’s cold as hell out and I’m really tired of having to go outside to smoke and freezing my fingers off for a short lived nicotine buzz, which hardly lasts more than a few seconds anyway.  I quit smoking at work several years ago and I’ve managed to stick to that, so the next step is at home. Home will be tough because I mostly smoke due to boredom. I’m hoping that quitting smoking will help motivate me to get off my lazy butt and start doing more.

Smoking has always slowed me down and sucked away at any motivation I’ve had. It’s made me late for things and likely has prevented me from getting that high powered executive job. But it’s something that will be very difficult to give up, it’s been the longest love affair in my life (and of course it’s been trying to kill me).   

So come the new year I will stop smoking. I’m not going to say “quit”, because that is defeatist. I will say stop smoking and hopefully I’ll accomplish this goal. I’m also hoping for a new job and new car and a house, but I guess starting small is better.  Unless I will the lottery tonight, then the cigarettes are on me. (All this from a little cut on my finger. Amazing)

Jingle Bells

Today is my company’s holiday party; or as we used to call it, The Christmas Party. Apparently we can’t call it that anymore. That’s just inappropriate. I’m not sure to whom though because everyone is Catholic. I take that back, we have one non-practicing Jewish woman in the office. Other than that, we all apparently believe in Christmas and its religious significance.  And yet, we still have to call it the holiday party.  

Holiday parties have always been the stuff of legend in this company. Several years ago a colleague got so drunk in the first hour he spent the rest of the evening sleeping in his car in the parking lot. Another former employee had an incredible time pretending she was a Bond girl and stood on nearly every table she could find. Another young lady couldn’t stop pulling a hooded sweatshirt over another guy’s face; this provided several hours of entertainment.  And yet, I’ve gone home alone every year. That’s probably a good thing, I’m sure.  (cough).

The reality of the Christmas party is something else though. It’s time that could be better spent away from the people you are forced to spend the majority of your day with.   I spend more time with these people than with my own family. I think that’s true for a lot of people. I don’t love these people. I wouldn’t go to their house and spend any time with them. I wouldn’t expect them to come to mine.  It’s such a strange situation. 

Sadly, this year the company has finally decided to limit our alcohol intake. We may or may not have set several records for libations bought on previous occasions. We like our drink for sure. This year we get two drink tickets and then we’re on our own. I think this will lead to a very early end to the Christmas party. Which is okay I suppose. It’s just more time for me to get home, and then go to the corner bar.  Merry Holiday Party to all.  

Ow bmy Tongueb.

I bite my tongue an awful lot. Not in the literal sense of course (although I’ve been doing that a lot too) but in the sense that I rarely say everything on my mind. I wonder what it would be like to actually blurt out the things that are on my mind. I mean, when I see a very pretty woman, I think, “Wow, what a very pretty woman”, but I don’t say that. I say, “….…….”.  Which is usually not enough to start a rousing conversation.

I have a very severe sense of propriety. I can’t stand rudeness or outright stupidity. But my sense of propriety prevents me from actually saying anything about said rudeness or stupidity.  It’s a vicious circle I suppose. But I wonder what would happen if I did escape this wall of pretentions and just said, “Shut your ignorant hole you rude S.O.B.”? Would I be shunned, beat up or cursed out? Is that the price of speaking one’s mind?

What if I’m wrong too? (I know that rarely happens.) What if I do open my trap and I spew out the first things that come to mind and turn into that rude and stupid cretin I so despise? That would drive me crazy. So many societal rules to follow, ugh!

There are all kinds out there, the ones that are gregarious and quick to light up a room with a charming anecdote and those that drag rain clouds in and rain hate on everything and everybody. It all depends on how much control they have over what comes pouring out of their mouths.  I hope I fall somewhere in the middle. Maybe Upper middle class.

I try to be honest with people though, although sometimes people just want a reflection of their position, some support or encouragement. I ‘m happy to provide that. I feel good doing that. But I wonder, how would they react if I told them, as I am listening, I’m really thinking about how great their legs and butt look in those jeggings and not about their position regarding North Korea?  (Sorry, I just had to use the word Jeggings.) Would I get slapped? I think I would. Especially if I said that to a guy, well, the wrong guy; and maybe not slapped.

I don’t think I tell people I love them enough, or tell them that I think they are fantastic.  I don’t pat people on the back enough or conversely, tell them when they’re pissing me off. I capitulate and cave or stonewall and mule it up.  It’s something I guess I’ll have to work on. In fact, I think it’s something we should all try to work on. Maybe for the New Year I’ll resolve to tell those I love that I do and tell the one’s I don’t to go jump in the lake. (but I’ll at least throw them a life preserver).

I suppose there’s a balance that one should maintain. There are times when speaking out and saying what is in the forefront of the mind is totally appropriate and times when it’s far more prudent to shut your yap.  I guess knowing when those times are defines who we are and our personalities.