It's 55 degrees here in the Northeast today - a week after the official start of winter. If global warming continues at this pace, we will not need to plan a retirement in the South, since scientists say we will have the same climate in Boston that is currently enjoyed in Atlanta within a few more years.
It would really annoy me if we had taken a post Christmas vacation to escape the winter blues - and then to read in the morning paper that my $200 a day resort hotel room was only a few degrees warmer than my humble New England abode. Half the fun of a winter vacation is hoping that your friends and neighbors back home are envious that you are enjoying unfettered sunshine while they are freezing their collective butts off back home. I received an e-mail from a friend who was complaining about being bored after only 2 days on a 4 day cruise ship near the Florida keys. She says, "I can't see the difference between a cruise ship and being locked up in the New York Hilton for 4 days sitting at the same table, with the same people at the same time for dinner every night." Poor thing. Her real problem is that she is not food oriented. How can you justify a cruise ship if you aren't interested in eating five times a day! No sympathy from me. Cave-in and hit the midnight buffet!
Anyhow, after several weeks of snow/ice blocked sidewalks, one can now venture forth for an invigorating walk. I need the exercise, lord knows. The continued positive economic news probably means that there will be a lot of opportunities opening up as 2004 rolls out. I have a new suit, I got new socks for Christmas, I'm positive and ... hungry. What's for lunch?
12/29/2003
12/25/2003
12/16/2003
Christmas Time is Nigh
This saturday is "guys shopping day". Another traditional annual event where I and 3 of my closest buddies get together early to go shopping for our wives and loved ones. I usually drive, since I am the only one with a car big enough to hold us that is not despoiled by dog hairs on the seats. Four of us (George, Bill, the other Dennis and Me) have been doing this every saturday-before-Christmas for about ten years. We get to the Chestnut Hill Mall (or sometimes the Atrium) before the parking lot becomes too crowded. Then we spend 2 hours trolling the mall with our gift lists.
None of us are typical shoppers - we are dressed like middleaged straight guys - Dockers, Sweatshirt, Baseball Cap, work boots - and so our questions to the perfume counter clerks ("Got anything that doesn't smell like a fart?" or to the sales person at Victoria Secrets "What have you got in a triple X Teddie?") are often met with fear and distrust.
Then, it's over to Newton at our favorite Irish pub for Bloody Mary's. They open at 11 and we are usually their first customers. Sometimes, after a quaff or two we will then stroll across the street to check out the Antique Mall at Echo Bridge. (This is mainly George's influence, he likes to surprise his wife with some antique treasure such as used irish silver fish forks or jewelry that was old when grandma was a girl. I never buy anything, but I am amused and entertained by the sheer variety of old china, crystal and other junk that some people will pay real money to possess. I am firmly a here-and-now person, and I don't think old hunks of junk have any monetary value. I like stainless steel and teflon and battery powered clocks and modern refrigeration. )
Anyhow, we spend an hour or so, looking at the discarded legacy of the ancient world. Then we trundle back to the Pub for beer and burgers. Actually, I am the only one who still drinks more than one beer nowadays - I think the others are on medications that do not agree with alcohol. (George says he is on the Atkins Diet and recently eschews the ambient sugar in alcoholic drinks. He has lost weight. In fact, with his bushy moustache, he looks a lot like a Saddam Hussein.)
After lunch we each go home with our bags of presents, which we hide in the closet until xmas (we get them wrapped at the Mall), and nap on the couch while pretending to watch the NFL game. Somebody noted that since none of us have jobs this year, we don't really need to do it on a saturday. But traditions are traditions, dammit.
None of us are typical shoppers - we are dressed like middleaged straight guys - Dockers, Sweatshirt, Baseball Cap, work boots - and so our questions to the perfume counter clerks ("Got anything that doesn't smell like a fart?" or to the sales person at Victoria Secrets "What have you got in a triple X Teddie?") are often met with fear and distrust.
Then, it's over to Newton at our favorite Irish pub for Bloody Mary's. They open at 11 and we are usually their first customers. Sometimes, after a quaff or two we will then stroll across the street to check out the Antique Mall at Echo Bridge. (This is mainly George's influence, he likes to surprise his wife with some antique treasure such as used irish silver fish forks or jewelry that was old when grandma was a girl. I never buy anything, but I am amused and entertained by the sheer variety of old china, crystal and other junk that some people will pay real money to possess. I am firmly a here-and-now person, and I don't think old hunks of junk have any monetary value. I like stainless steel and teflon and battery powered clocks and modern refrigeration. )
Anyhow, we spend an hour or so, looking at the discarded legacy of the ancient world. Then we trundle back to the Pub for beer and burgers. Actually, I am the only one who still drinks more than one beer nowadays - I think the others are on medications that do not agree with alcohol. (George says he is on the Atkins Diet and recently eschews the ambient sugar in alcoholic drinks. He has lost weight. In fact, with his bushy moustache, he looks a lot like a Saddam Hussein.)
After lunch we each go home with our bags of presents, which we hide in the closet until xmas (we get them wrapped at the Mall), and nap on the couch while pretending to watch the NFL game. Somebody noted that since none of us have jobs this year, we don't really need to do it on a saturday. But traditions are traditions, dammit.
12/03/2003
A Cold Day in the Hellhole
Man it is freezing here in the shadows of commerce. I'm thankful that technology has actually improved the process of getting unemployment benefits. It would be terrible to be standing out there in breadlines on frigid days like these.
The life of an unemployed job-seeker during a jobless economic recovery is not so bad, but sometimes it gets monotonous. (I am certainly undisturbed by employers answering my inquiries.) Some weeks, I only shave every other day. When I go out, to do chores, such as shopping for groceries, my typical uniform consists of an old gray baseball cap, sweatshirt, kahki dockers and tennis shoes. Everything is clean but a bit wrinkled, including me.
I have noticed that as I have gotten older, female strangers do not look at me the same way they used to. Age has mellowed me both in appearance and attitude. Young girls ignore me like I didn't exist; women in their twenties regard me warily, like I am probably either homeless or a pervert (maybe both); healthy looking thirtysomethings with kids in tow usually smile at me, (apparently thinking I look a lot like grandpa); middle-aged divorcees dressed in work-out togs look at the contents of my cart in the supermarket line, looking for signs of bachelorhood - weighing my paunch against their lonliness. I pretend they do not exist. I am untempted by the scent of desparation.
Today is a typical shopping day. The elderly cashier, seeing that I have a credit card that doesn't get rejected, and that my order does not contain any incontinence items, begins to flirt shamelessly ("You do not look like the plastic type to me. Let us bag your groceries in high quality recyclable paper.") She smiles sweetly at me, and then barks something in Portuguese to the bag boy.
I look at him. He is my age. He concentrates on getting the items in the bags. He looks a lot like a guy I once worked with. He was a COBOL programmer. Hoping for a sign of recognition, I look him in the eye as he hands me the bags, but he just he smiles vapidly. "Have a nice day," he says mechanically. I sit in the van for a full 3 minutes shivering, and not from the cold.
The life of an unemployed job-seeker during a jobless economic recovery is not so bad, but sometimes it gets monotonous. (I am certainly undisturbed by employers answering my inquiries.) Some weeks, I only shave every other day. When I go out, to do chores, such as shopping for groceries, my typical uniform consists of an old gray baseball cap, sweatshirt, kahki dockers and tennis shoes. Everything is clean but a bit wrinkled, including me.
I have noticed that as I have gotten older, female strangers do not look at me the same way they used to. Age has mellowed me both in appearance and attitude. Young girls ignore me like I didn't exist; women in their twenties regard me warily, like I am probably either homeless or a pervert (maybe both); healthy looking thirtysomethings with kids in tow usually smile at me, (apparently thinking I look a lot like grandpa); middle-aged divorcees dressed in work-out togs look at the contents of my cart in the supermarket line, looking for signs of bachelorhood - weighing my paunch against their lonliness. I pretend they do not exist. I am untempted by the scent of desparation.
Today is a typical shopping day. The elderly cashier, seeing that I have a credit card that doesn't get rejected, and that my order does not contain any incontinence items, begins to flirt shamelessly ("You do not look like the plastic type to me. Let us bag your groceries in high quality recyclable paper.") She smiles sweetly at me, and then barks something in Portuguese to the bag boy.
I look at him. He is my age. He concentrates on getting the items in the bags. He looks a lot like a guy I once worked with. He was a COBOL programmer. Hoping for a sign of recognition, I look him in the eye as he hands me the bags, but he just he smiles vapidly. "Have a nice day," he says mechanically. I sit in the van for a full 3 minutes shivering, and not from the cold.
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