I'm afraid of Americans. And the Internets.

I'm always scared when I look at my blog's "stats" page, because it shows you where traffic came from. There are always some really RANDOM links in there. And I get scared because I think, "Omg... why did this site link to me? Who came here because of that?" Is it because they thought I was laughable? Because I was a pathetic loser?

In my life, I have this pervasive belief that people are always out to get me. For no reason except that I'm alive. I'm sure it originated from being ruthlessly teased as a kid, for no reason apparent to me, since I was just going about my business being a kid.

I really don't know why I was teased and bullied so much. I think it just started with one mean kid and kind of snowballed; since I had no idea how to handle myself in response to being teased, it just got worse.

Because when I look back, I know I was a smart kid. I always aced everything even though I missed the maximum amount of days possible every year, just because I could. I just wouldn't get up some days, and my mom would ask me if I was going to school, and I would say "Naw", and she'd call me in sick. Since I got good grades, she didn't care if I missed days. So I wasn't being teased for being stupid.

I was only into horseback riding, not other sports, but I was fit and skinny as a rail. I did great in gym and such. So I wasn't teased for being fat.

I vividly recall some kids shouting at me that I was ugly, and I grew up thinking that, but looking back at my school pictures, I can tell I wasn't ugly at all.

The things I *can* see myself being teased for:

- Being smart/nerdy. For being a teacher's pet.

- For being a goody two-shoes. I never got in trouble for anything. Why would I?

- For being different. I liked weird stuff like horses (nobody else in school rode horses). I wasn't interested in New Kids On The Block or any of that other shit that was big in the 90's.

- For being passive. I didn't know how to handle kids teasing me, and I never stood up for myself.

- For not having the right clothes. I was a lot more interested in buying some new horse stuff than the latest fad clothing or shoes or snappy-bracelets.

- For being OK with being alone. I didn't mind being ostracized. I didn't desperately try to make friends with anyone just to have an ally. I'd sit alone at lunch and happily read a book. I didn't mind being alone at all (even though I have a sister, she's ten years older than me, and left the house early. I think I had more of an only-child experience, and I was used to having to amuse myself.) I didn't mind being alone; but I hated being teased.

I wasn't always bullied. It kind of happened overnight. I was doing fine and dandy until... in 5th grade, the most popular boy in school decided we were boyfriend and girlfriend. It didn't involve dates or even kissing or hand holding. It basically meant that you declared yourselves to be "going out". The most exciting thing you might do was awkwardly slow-dancing at the semi-annual middle school dance. Maybe passing a note in class.

I'm not sure what I did or didn't do, but he decided one day that he was "dumping" me and we were no longer boyfriend and girlfriend. OK, fine by me. But that seemed to initiate a cascade of ostracism by other classmates. I didn't really care. As I said, I didn't mind being alone. But apparently that was weird, and I should have prostrated myself for acceptance at the mercy of my ruthless little classmates. Near as I can figure, it was my inappropriate response to being shunned by a boy that snowballed into gangs of children rounding me up to be harassed. I think for the first time in my life, it had become apparent that I was an "easy target." I didn't talk back. I didn't fight back. I just kind of stood there like a doofus, unsure of what to do when kids hurled insults at me.

From that point in 5th grade until early in 8th grade, I was quite the outsider. Previous "best friends" shunned me completely. Like I said, I didn't care about being alone, and I had my own all-encompassing activities outside of school (like being thrown on the ground daily by an evil pony, until I finally learned how to bribe him into submission), but it wasn't the isolation that bothered me. It was the fact that these kids went out of their way to taunt me, insult me, corner me, bully me. They called me on my home phone after work to tease me.

Thank God there was no internet or Facebook back then, or I'm sure I would have killed myself. There was a daily escape, an "off" button; and it was the day's final school bell. How kids do it these days, I have no idea, and honestly it doesn't surprise me that young kids are committing suicide from bullying. With constant connectivity, you can't get away. I had asked my mother to transfer schools somehow, but that was impossible in our small community. Unless we actually moved out of town, which was financially impossible, I was stuck there.

Interestingly, the teachers must have noticed something was not right, because I remember being sent to the guidance counselor a few times, who asked me how I was doing, blah blah blah. She commented on the number of days I missed school. I didn't really get it. *I* was fine. It was the other kids who had the problem. THEY were causing the problem. My mother knew there was a problem with the other kids, since I talked to her about wanting to go to a different school, and missed school as much as legally possible. If they ever talked to her, I don't know about it.

To this day, I have no idea why they sent ME to counseling when I was just trying to mind my own business. Why didn't they sent the other kids to counseling, or punish them, for bullying me? I think today it would be different. There's some awareness of bullying now, thanks to the kids who killed themselves over it. But when I was a kid, the teachers and counselors and adults were in the same line of thinking as the kids. They wondered what was wrong with me and focused on me for not being able to make friends. They should have asked what was wrong with these other kids, for being compelled to gang up on one helpless child.

There was an incident, once, where I did fight back. When it got physical, I ceased to be passive. I'm not sure why I suddenly became so bold. Maybe it's because I was into horseback riding and understood something about body language and having to react when stuff is going down. I don't know, but I was glad for it. It started when a former "friend" of mine called me one night.

I think it was fall, or maybe early winter. She lived two streets over from me. She asked me to come hang out in the field behind our houses. Being naive, I thought that sounded great. It was after dark, but back then, kids could roam around their neighborhood at any hour and parents didn't care. We met on a hillside overlooking the field. The moon was bright and lit everything up with a cold glow.

Unfortunately my "friend" showed up with her brother, who proceeded to push me down onto the ground. When I tried to get up, he pushed me back down again.

I grabbed a stray branch laying near me and when I tried to get up again, and he came towards me, I lashed his shins with the branch. It was thin and flexible, and made a perfect whip. (And in my dealings with the evilest of ponies, I knew how to wield a whip.) He yelped and continued towards me, so I whipped his legs again, harder. I don't remember how many times I lashed his legs, but all I remember is that I did it several times, as hard as I could. His sister, my "friend", was screaming in panic, and yelled at me for hurting him. I thought that was awfully ironic and I just remember laughing in triumph. (I'm quite sure that was my first evil laugh.) My feelings were hurt, for sure, that they had gone to such lengths to set this twilight trap for me, but I had won.

In early 8th grade, I met a new classmate who also seemed smart but sort of awkward, and we banded together to scare the other kids into leaving us alone. We started dressing in black, and metal-band t-shirts, and random cheap jewelry. Like the single snake-wrapped-around-a-cross earring I favored. We bestowed confidence in each other's bad-assery and while we never broke rules or did anything bad, we did talk about hanging out with boys after dark, going to concerts, drinking and shoplifting. We never actually did any of that stuff (well, not most of it), but it seemed to convince the other students that we were dark rebels and they promptly left us alone. I don't think those tricks would work today; the kids would probably just be bullied even harder for being goth or emo. But it worked, for that short time it worked, and it felt good and powerful.

I left to go to a small private high school on scholarship, which was the most wonderful 4 years of my life, filled with amazing friendships and support and happy experiences. But I faltered as I entered adulthood. The specter of low self-esteem and fearfulness of strangers often paralyzed me. A string of loser boyfriends and stupid jobs left me feeling hopeless.

In my poorly paid jobs, I encountered so many angry people. People who were probably angry about things out of my control, angry at the company, but who took out their frustrations on me. It felt, and still feels, as though it's personal. I can feel my hands start to shake and my blood begin to boil when I get into an uncomfortable conversation with an unhappy customer. I am not the kind of person who has a thick skin, or who can just leave all their worries at the workplace when they walk out at 5 pm. I end up taking it all in. I've tried my best to convert this feeling that I'm being personally attacked into a belief that people are just stupid and uncivilized, and I try to just laugh it off. But it sticks.

It permeates everything in my life. This belief that people are mean, and they will suddenly be mean to you for no good reason. Even when you're just going about your business.

Although most of my life has been blessed, I spent several of my formative years being ostracized, bullied and harassed. It left a lasting psychological mark. It cut deep, and it seems as though no amount of ointment can ever heal those scars. I tend to focus on the negative. I remember vividly every negative remark, every insult, every slight.

I remember the day I moved to NYC. I was 18 or 19. I was wearing a black outfit which included a close-fitting jacket, and my hair was short and black with a red streak in it. I thought I looked pretty sharp. I decided to go out and walk to the grocery store to get some supplies for my empty apartment. On my way out, my gay RA told me I should try an eyelash curler. Three minutes later as I walking down the street, somebody in a car drove by and yelled "FREAK!" out the window. I didn't stay long in NYC. I don't remember much besides that initial day and the insults. That's how my memory works. It does overtime on filing and backing up the bad memories, and essentially forgets all compliments and other positive experiences.

It doesn't matter how many times my fiance tells me I am beautiful. It doesn't matter how many times I'm hit on by strangers. It really doesn't seem to matter how much validation I receive from anyone or any source. I still FEEL, deep down, as though I am ugly.

Thanks, kids.

In reality, I do OK. I have friends, and I can manage to be surprisingly charming with strangers if I have some booze to help me along. But the dark passenger lingers (Dexter joke). I often interpret innocent encounters in an excessively negative way. I will presume that someone is insulting me, but if my fiance was there to witness it, he interprets the situation completely differently and makes it clear to me that the person in question was not slighting me in the least. This has both comforted me (ok, they weren't talking down to me) and confounded me (why do I keep interpreting things like that???)

The internet doesn't help, oddly enough. The internet is supposed to be this faceless place where you can make friends with other misfits. But places like Youtube comments continues to bolster my belief in random hatefulness. (Like when people thumbs-down a vaguely complimentary comment, or reply things like "UR GAY" for no discernible reason.)

And so that is why I fear the internet. Why I feel compelled to post my most personal thoughts and experiences for everyone to read.... well, I really don't know why.

Everyone wonders, from time to time, what their purpose in life is. I'm about there right now.

Some days it feels like my purpose in life is nothing more than to push some papers around and be a punching bag for angry customers. I was not hired for my brains, exactly, just a minimal level of competence. I am not expected to think. I am not expected to contribute ideas or improvements. I am like a cog in a machine, which may occasionally be tweaked, or asked for input in a "Print Report" kind of way.

I wonder why we expect all children to go through so much intensive schooling in reading, writing, mathematics, history, etc. if most of us, even the supposedly "smart" ones, are in reality going to end up in mediocre, dead-end jobs. Of course, some will excel and go on to do important things. But I wonder, if adults know that life is so soul-crushing and you will not need calculus in your cashiering job, why do they insist that all children go through grammar school, high school, and college? A college degree is like a high school diploma was 25 years ago. You can't do much without one.

Why force all this over-education on everyone? Isn't that... counterproductive? If only a few will make it, why not just select the few that are above-average and put the rest to work at say, 16? Wouldn't that be more fair than expecting all kids to go into debt for college, when so many will end up with low-paying jobs anyways? Is it fair to string along the kids who will never be a major success in the workforce game, letting them think they have a shot at the big time if they can muddle their way through college?

Let's be realistic. Colleges are graduating students who can barely read or write. They can't fill out a simple form about themselves. Mommy and Daddy have to do everything for them.

WHY BOTHER?

I'm not saying people can't be successful in life if they aren't great students. They can. There are countless examples of rich, famous CEOs who started their own businesses who never graduated college.

What I'm saying is, why force education on those who aren't suited for it? Why delay entry into the real world for so long? Isn't it unfair to people to keep them sheltered for so long that they can't function once they encounter life?

If you have a specific goal, a specific need for training, then college is absolutely imperative. But there are so many bullshit college degrees. The colleges themselves are running scams. They offer degrees which they know are useless. They accept students they know aren't excellent, but they want their money. Don't even get me started on the textbook scam. The college shouldn't ask you to take piles of electives. Wasn't high school for general learning about a variety of subjects? Why in the world would I need to take college-level biology if I'm going to school to learn writing?

College should be way more specialized. Either you spend the 4 years becoming an expert in the ONE thing that you're there to learn, OR.... still focus full time on your major and get out of college in 2 years. Because an undergrad degree is STILL not specialized enough for success in your field. Oh, no. You have to go to GRAD school for that. Let's see... you spend the equivalent of 2 years in college focusing on your major subject. Then you spend 2 years in grad school focusing further on your major subject. Uh, why not just throw away all the bullshit classes and get students graduated in FOUR YEARS who are experts in what they've chosen to study???

Stories from the Great Power Outage of 2011

OK, I'm not normally a believer in the doomsday shit. People have been predicting the end of the world for a long time, and it's never happened. Thus far. But,

Just because the apocalypse hasn't happened YET, doesn't mean it never will.

So, we've got that going for us. Plus, what qualifies as apocalyptic? I mean, if you lived on the coast of Japan, the giant eartquake + tsunami + nuclear disaster that happened earlier this year would appear to qualify. If it's apocalyptic to YOU, does it count? Is it not apocalyptic because it didn't happen to the entire PLANET?

Thanks to the global media we "enjoy" these days, we know that really terrible shit happens on a fairly regular basis around the world. A disaster can strike anywhere. So, should we not be worried about "the end of the world" just because it sounds crazy?

People who stockpile supplies and take other preparedness measures often look like nutters to others... and maybe they are, because they're anticipating a zombie outbreak or other such mayhem. But they're the ones who are prepared when the more commonplace disasters strike...like what happened to the Northeast this past weekend.

It certainly wasn't really a "disaster" as far as disasters go, in my opinion... it was more like the Great Inconvenience of 2011. But it was pretty damn impressive, as far as inconveniencing goes. I live in Western Massachusetts, and the storm we had was unprecedented. First of all, it happened BEFORE HALLOWEEN. Holy shit. I mean, I've lived here my whole life and we've maybe had a run-in with some pre-halloween snow once or twice before... but it was more along the lines of flurries, or maybe a coating.

The storm we had last weekend dumped approximately eight inches of snow in my town, and up to 20 inches in the higher elevations. Are you joking, weather? WTF?

This weird early storm arrived amidst a few factors that made it particularly bad:

1. Due to an unusually warm fall, the leaves started turning very late, and a lot hadn't dropped from the trees. So the branches were unseasonably heavy.

2. The snow was really wet and heavy, weighing down the branches even more.

3. The ground was not yet frozen, so the soil was still soft. Due to an unusually wet spring, summer and fall, the ground was SUPER soft. So trees toppled easily.

This meant a LOT of branches snapped off, and a lot of trees uprooted completely.

So a crapload of power lines got taken down. EVERYWHERE. This knocked out power to a really huge region, for a very long time. I've lived in this town my whole life, basically, and have never lost power for more than a few hours. This time, we were out for a few DAYS, and there are still lots of people waiting for the electricity to come back on.

No electricity means no heat for most people (even oil furnaces need electricity to start up), and no running water for lots (those who have wells have pumps that run on electricity.) For many, it meant no phones, either because their phone now run essentially over the internet ( like if you have a cable TV bundle), or because like our office, the phones are landlines but the interoffice phone exchange system needs electricity to route calls.

No electricity meant the banks closed, and the ATMS didn't work. Some stores were open but of course credit/debit didn't work, so stores could accept cash only. So, everyone needed cash but couldn't get it.

Basically, everyone was just shit out of luck. It's been interesting.

So, without further ado: a few snippets of stories from the Great Power Outage of 2011.

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Caulk Adventures

It was Saturday afternoon. It had only just begun snowing. I didn't think it was a big deal and figured it would be a long time until it got nasty on the roads, so I decided to make a trip to Walmart to buy some weatherizing supplies, like caulk. I love caulk. I also love saying "I love caulk." The jokes are never-ending!

I'm really good at handling caulk. In our last house, you wouldn't believe what I achieved with caulk. I filled many holes large and small. In one spot I basically fashioned a fake piece of missing decorative moulding with it. I'm a fricken caulk artist.

While I was shopping for caulk, I got a text from my fiance. "Please be careful." I honestly didn't know what that meant. Perhaps I might attract the unwanted attention of men who are turned on by ladies buying caulk? Or because there were snow flurries?? I wondered if he was being facetious, because I often call or text him about bad weather and end up looking like an overbearing crazy person. I texted back, "? What makes you say that?" When I finished my caulk purchase and walked out of the store, I realized what he meant. There were already inches of wet snow on the ground! As if a Walmart parking lot isn't chaotic enough, people were running around like the sky was falling. And since people seem to forget how to drive in snow every year, it probably WAS dangerous on the roads. Great. Now MY text would look like the facetious one.

Anyways, I got home all excited to play with my new caulk. But it's been a long time since I worked with caulk. When I loaded it into the gun, I couldn't remember how to get it started. I fiddled with it for a while, with no results. When my fiance got home, I turned to him for help.

"I couldn't get anything to come out of the caulk tube. I got it ready, and I squeezed and squeezed as hard as I could, but nothing came out!" *sad face* "I feel like such a failure!"

"It's ok, honey. It can happen to anyone." He reminded me I had to punch a hole with something long like a nail. ( OK, that part doesn't really flow with the innuendo.) He asked why I had gone OUT for caulk, when I had plenty of it at home. (Indeed, I did have some in a drawer.) "I know, but I was worried I might run out. I wanted to have plenty of backup caulk. You know how I can get when I'm playing with caulk." He nodded knowingly.

Turned out my timing wasn't great, because the power went out at 8 pm. I needed light so I could see what I was doing with the caulk. I like to do things right.

The power didn't come back on for three days. It got crazy cold in the house. I had never gotten a chance to plug all my holes with caulk. If only I had gotten the caulk out earlier, we would have both been more comfortable and happy in the ensuing crisis. It drove me crazy. I hate getting caulk-blocked.

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Is this what the zombie apocalypse will be like?

OK, so we got some snow. Big deal. Power is out. Allright, don't like that much, but it's okay. Sure, it's friggen pitch black, but candles are romantic. Let's pretend we're in the 1800's and like, read a book or something.

The thing that bothered me was the SOUNDS. First of all, in a power outage you're bathed in an uncomfortable, unfamiliar silence. No TV is blaring anywhere in the house. No music. Not even the familiar background sounds of your computer or refrigerator running. Just dead silence.

I'm used to hearing the house creak. It's old. I'm also used to hearing things like snow sliding off the roof in the winter.

But during this storm, there were really odd sounds going on. I went outside to let the dogs out, and it was fucking freaky out there. All the trees were bending under the weight of the heavy, wet snow. The absolute silence was punctuated frequently with ominous groans and moans of the trees flexing. Then there would be an eerie CCCCCRRRACK somewhere off the distance as a branch was breaking, and sometimes a SNAP! as something broke off.

Adding to this was the fact that everything was unusually dark outside, of course. No streetlights, no faint glow from other houses. I looked up and could see more stars than I ever had. The outages were so widespread there was no light pollution from nearby cities. The moon was cold and brilliant.

It was too creepy outside so I went back in. I could still hear these sounds from in the house, but there were even scarier sounds to be heard from inside. Smaller branches were snapping off and hitting the roof or sides of the house, creating unsettling THUMPS. The thumps were indistinct; was that one a branch, or was it a burglar? A monster? A zombie? Sometimes there was no audible thump, but the house would rattle or vibrate. With no internet and no TV, how was I to know what was really going on out there in the big bad world? There COULD have been a lot of things happening: widespread breakdown of society, terrorist attack, or a zombie outbreak....and I was just sitting there like an idiot, trying to stay calm and read a book, hoping those weird sounds were just... natural. Somehow I think that WOULD be how things go down for me in a real life apocalyptic situation. There will be some huge terrifying problem raging out there, and I'll just be sitting around in the house reading The Oatmeal until it's too late. I never seem to be in the loop.

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My god, people are dumb

Apparently, there are lot of people who don't realize that having no power means that your debit card won't work. Can't work. Won't possibly work.

I'm not an expert in technology, or in banking systems, but I have a rudimentary understanding of how a debit/credit transaction goes down. And I understand that it requires electricity to happen.

Even in the midst of the widespread power outages, there were some stores that chose to open regardless. The clerks worked in dark conditions, with handheld calculators. I thought this was nice, but my warm fuzzy feelings were repeatedly crushed by the reality of the alarmingly high percentage of customers who were genuinely surprised and confused upon learning that the store was taking cash only.

One such exchange I witnessed was at a little package store . (Hey, we weren't going to have anything better to do that night, right?)

It was SO OBVIOUS that the store didn't have power. None of its myriad neon beer logo lights were on. The door was wide open to let in a little light, but still, it was pretty dark in there. I was squinting to read wine bottle labels. There was no hum of the refrigeration units.

I got in line, and the guy in front of me acted genuinely surprised when he learned he couldn't use his debit card.

Guy: "Oh, really?! Cash only??"

Clerk: "Um, yeah. No power, dude."

Guy: "Oh, boy. Huh.... oh, wait! Hold on, hold on a second, let's see here..." He started rummaging through his pants and wallet. I thought he was remembering that he did indeed have some cash.

Guy: "Here we go! Will this work?"

HE WAS HOLDING OUT HIS DRIVER'S LICENSE. Which was half chewed through, by a dog I'm guessing.

Umm.... yeah. Cause you know, I pay for things all the time with my driver's license. ?!? Seriously? What is this guy thinking?

Clerk: "........" He didn't really know what to make of it. He muttered something along the lines of "no, that won't work either." I imagine he was stifling snarky snickers.

Guy: "Oh, well then.... can I owe you?"

Really? Do you really need that case of Coors Light that badly? You couldn't ask a buddy to buy it? Or *gasp* write a check? You remember checks, they're those pieces of paper you write that promise you have money, just not on you at the moment. Those are generally an acceptable form of IOU. Have you just crawled out from underneath a rock and have no clue that the ENTIRE REGION has had no electricity for almost 24 hours and is not forecasted to get it back for several more days? HOW DO YOU THINK DEBIT WORKS? Black magic? How does your license "work" as a form of payment? Not all pieces of wallet-sized plastic cards are created equally, buddy.

I was embarrassed for the guy. I couldn't imagine walking into a package store and asking if I can pay with an IOU. I would rather wear a shirt that says "I'm a Deadbeat Alcoholic. But I'll totally pay you back, bro, I swear."

To my amazement, the clerk DID agree that he could "owe him"! He got out a piece of paper, wrote down the guy's info from his license and let him walk out with his precious crappy beer.

If the guy was dumb enough that he didn't realize debit won't work in a power outage and then thinks his license would "work" as a form of payment, I personally wouldn't trust him to be capable of remembering to come back to pay. But that's just me. I could be wrong. Maybe he went back already and settled up and is a super nice guy. Maybe he's my goddamn long lost brother, or even my soulmate! Maybe I have a toxic paradigm and assume the worst in people. Maybe I'm... oh, nevermind.

I was silently weeping for our society's intellectual decline, and simultaneously heartwarmed by the gracious act of small-town trust.

Then I noticed the guy get into the giant shiny SUV that was parked next to my tiny toaster-on-wheels, and wondered if he was not in fact stupid, but a thieving asshole. Or perhaps he was neither, but he just doesn't expend his mental energy thinking about things like "how stuff works" or "why should I care." I encounter people all the time who seem to just float through life expecting stuff to be handed to them simply because they are alive, and surprisingly, they often get what exactly what they expect.

It makes me suspect that I'm going about things all wrong.

Nothing says Good Times like a talking disembodied doll head

THE GAME IS WATCHING YOU

So I'm watching this documentary about pinball machines, and it reminded me of my one and only pinball love affair: Funhouse.

About 8-9 years ago, I was managing a hip neighborhood coffeeshop. Down the street there was "arcade guy", who warehoused a lot of antique games in a little sad looking storefront which was only open by appointment or chance. He offered to put a pinball machine in the coffeeshop and he'd split the revenue with the shop. Sure, why not.

The game he rolled down the street into my coffeeshop was Funhouse. It features a creepy talking doll head, "Rudy", and it yells at you throughout the game. The point of the game is to advance the clock to midnight, at which point Rudy would fall asleep, and leave his mouth hanging open. If you could get the ball in his mouth, he would wake up, spit it back out, and then the game would go absolutely batshit and spit out like 7 balls at once and every light would be flashing. Rudy said odd things, like "You big sausage!" and creepy things like "I'm watching you." When he wasn't being played, sometimes he would randomly say something over in the corner, which was a bit unnerving when you're working alone. He had several phrase that he would say over and over, of course, but I swear, once in a great while, he would blurt out something that I had never ever heard before, which was also freaky.

I had never really played pinball before, so I wasn't that great at it, but I became obsessed with Funhouse. I would pick all the quarters out of my tip jar and play whenever the shop was slow, and when my shifts ended, and when the coffeeshop closed. I didn't have the key to the quarter slot so I couldn't just recycle quarters, I was actually spending my own money to play. Given that I was really, really poor at that time, spending two dollars a day, or five dollars a day, or more, on a pinball game wasn't really very responsible, but it had a hold over me.

Sometimes some of my employees or friends would stick around at closing time, and we'd turn off all the lights in the place for maximum effect, and play Funhouse. I got better at it, and I could get to midnight consistently. When that happened, I might as well have been skydiving, or having sex. It was THAT exciting.

The game required maintenance. "Arcade Guy" had to come over regularly to open it up and work on it. This first-hand experience is what made me realize that even if I ever was lucky enough to have the money to buy a pinball machine of my own, you'd better have an "arcade guy" of your own to call upon.

This documentary keeps mentioning how pinball is becoming a lost art, how there's only one pinball manufacturer left standing, how "kids today" don't get it. I don't buy that. I didn't grow up with pinball and I immediately "got it".

Earlier this year, I visited Canobie Lake Park for the first time, and was thrilled to see an arcade FULL of pinball machines.

I'm no natural. It took me a lot of time and a lot of precious quarters to master Funhouse. But I totally get it. You're never going to get anything like that from an iPad or Xbox game. It has that great taste of nostalgia, that whiff of seedy carnival atmosphere. The tactical feedback, the shaking and the vibrations, the clunks and clacks, the pull of the spring handle: those things can't be successfully digitized.

When I was a kid for some reason one of my dreams for future-adult-me was that I would have a treehouse with an espresso machine inside (I had a cool fort, but never a treehouse; I'm not sure where I got the espresso craving since I'd never had one). Now, a treehouse with an espresso machine and a Funhouse pinball would be the ultimate. If I ever make it rich....

See Rudy from Funhouse in action here.

I just don't care. It might be the cashews.

I read somewhere that a handful of cashews delivers about the same dose of serotonin as a Prozac.

Of course, I had to try this.

Last week I snacked on cashews every day at work, and strangely, I did have a surprisingly sunny outlook on things. I did not have cashews at home, and I was feeling pretty depressed over the weekend.

Coincidence?

Could the secret to happiness be... cashews? If it is, it figures it would be something as stupidly simple as nuts. I really don't like cashews, either. To me, they leave an aftertaste that is somewhat like stale vomit from the night before.

So far my attitude towards everything at work this week has been "I don't care." When my coworkers told me my boss was poking through my desk while I was on break, I just shrugged. When people have tried to give me a hard time on the phone, my lackluster tone of voice seems to have clearly sent the message "This person doesn't give a fuck, I'm not going to get anywhere with this automaton" and they give up trying to be a jerk.

It's totally working. I feel much less stressed. I've been able to focus on things that are important to me, instead of worrying about every little nuanced detail of my existence.

For a person whose main difficulty in life is anxiety, adopting an "I don't care" attitude is surprisingly liberating. I mean, you can't take it too far. You have to still care that your bills are paid and your pets are fed, stuff like that. But in dealing with others, or thinking about abstract life issues, or screwing up the courage to try something new, going in thinking "I just don't give a shit" is super helpful. It alleviates a lot of worry. It's sort of like "Just Do It" for perfectionists.

Expectations vs. Reality

I just looked through some old posts and found one from early June in which I outlined all the goals I had for this summer. I'm going to take a moment and measure how I did:

1. Ride (the horse I am leasing)

Yeah pretty much did that, although he tried to kill me a couple of times. Realized I am too old to be riding crazy horses, cause if they throw me, I'm not gonna bounce like I used to.

2. Get really fit (running every day) and lose 15 lbs.

Um, not quite. Turns out, running is hard on your joints and I kinda gave up on that. But I have been doing better with exercising lately, and have lost the 5 lbs I gained earlier this year.

3. Make money and actually save it (by being frugal and selling junk, of which I have a lot)

Again, not quite. I did sell a couple things on Ebay and bought a wireless printer with the proceeds.

4. Finish my writing project

HAHAHAHAHAHA!

5. Do some fun stuff, like visiting some new amusements parks, hiking trails, maybe even start a band with the girls

Visit new amusement park? Check. Hiking trails? Well I've been to the same old dog park a lot, and finally visited the Summit House in South Hadley, MA. Start a band? Yeah... no. That one was just... wildly optimistic.

Part of the problem is just how fast time goes by. I feel like summer just started, and suddenly it's fall. I think I need to change my future-perception of time. A month sounds like a long time to me... I need to start realizing a month is nothing, and if I give myself a deadline, it's going to be upon me very soon so I'd better not procrastinate.

Just One Day

*picture of brain exploding here, if I wasn't too lazy to go find one*

Just a few things that stuck out at me today at work. Our office manages apartment rentals as well as self-storage units. Note that this is a very SLOW day, hence my ability to take the time to record some of our encounters. A normal day is like this, except times ten:

1. Guy calls. Wants to pay us electronically. He wants us to walk him through his bank’s website. If you need assistance with your banking, shouldn’t you call YOUR BANK?

2. Guy calls and says he used to live in our apartments and moved out four years ago. He asks “Do you have my cat?” He says that way back when he used to live here, at some point his cat ran away. He wants to know if anyone has since “returned” it to us. Why, yes, sir, in fact we have had a cat living in our lost-and-found box for the last five years... oh wait, sorry, that cat doesn’t meet your description. Not yours. Bummer.

3. Woman is in to sign her new apartment lease and is sneering at me the whole time, pointing at every sentence and huffing about every little thing. “Well this is a weird one!”, she exclaims, pointing to the line that says ‘No Public Drinking of Alcohol’. Is that going to be a problem for you, ma’am?

4. Person calls and asks a million questions about our apartments. Ten minutes into the conversation, she says “Do you allow dogs?” Absolutely not. She’s very disappointed: “Aw. It’s SOOO hard to find rentals around here that allow dogs!” Very true. So shouldn’t that be the FIRST thing you ask?

5. Person calls looking for directions. Our office is in one place, and the storage unit are down the street. She insists this is not true, that the office and storage units are at the same location. She argues this up and down. “There MUST be some storage units where you are! It says so on the website!” No, that is our OFFICE address you see on the website. The place you need to go before you can get into the storage units. She states “No, you’re wrong. You don’t know what you’re talking about.” I’m pretty sure I am more familiar with my workplace than you are, random stranger who has never been here before.

6. Same person calls back like 10 times an hour. Apparently she is 68, and will somehow be bringing her things to storage by bus every day. !?! We explain that the bus stop is like a mile away. She asks, “Will it be safe if I’m walking down there at night?” Um, we can’t guarantee your safety if you choose to walk down a dark street at night. This did not sound like a practical idea, so I ended up telling her we had just rented our last storage unit to get her to buzz off.

7. A crazy-eyed young storage tenant comes in to give notice she’s moving out. She fills out the vacating notice, and says matter-of-factly, “I corrected a grammatical error on your form.” Okay then. When she leaves, I examine it. I cannot find any error, nor did she make any kind of correction.

8. A trashy looking woman with orange hair and drawn-on eyebrows came in to rent a storage unit. When my coworker tells her the price, the customer says “God, you’re a rip-off artist!” And then mutters to herself, “White bastards”. (Note that she herself is white.)

Just because

You're WELCOME

So, you say I don't have an eye for detail, eh???

Here's a little story about a recent trip a friend an I took to a local bar. Us "librarians" struck again. (That's what they used to call us at another local bar we frequented. For the record, we are not actual librarians. Although we may look like librarians, we prefer to think of ourselves as the "hot librarians" that could toss aside our spectacles and let down our hair at any second.)

So my friend and I decided to go to this local bar, the World War II Club in Northampton, MA. It is well known, but we had never been there ourselves. It was a Sunday night and we were restless.

The place seems to have no windows, and therefore hard to tell from the outside if it's open. We walk up to the door and take a look at the posted hours:

It was currently about 10:05 when we arrived. According to the door, they're closing. But then we noticed the faint sound of music from inside. So we decided to be bold and try going in, meanwhile bracing ourselves in case someone shouts at us "WE'RE CLOSED, CAN'T YOU READ THE SIGN?"

As we enter timidly, no one shouts at us. There's live music going on, and people sitting and drinking. Looks open enough, but perhaps we'd missed last call. We walk up to the bar and my friend asks the bartender "are you closing soon?"

He seems confused.

Bartender: No... we're open until 1 am.

Friend: Oh, good! We thought you were closing soon. The door says 10 pm.

Bartender: WHAT? What are you talking about? It's always been 1 am. WHERE does it say that?

Friend: On the door! *I'm nodding to concur*

Bartender: WHAT?!?!

*Bartender runs away at light speed for the front door. We giggle. Bartender comes back.

Bartender: It doesn't say 10 pm on the door. It says 1 am. Gosh, you had me scared for a moment there, I thought we were turning away business!

My friend and I look at each other, confused. Could it be possible that we BOTH read it wrong?

I went outside to look at the door. Yup, my eyes aren't lying, it says 10 pm. I take out my camera to take a picture to prove to the bartender what we're talking about. At that point he comes out, my friend in tow.

We are ALL looking at the door at this point. And he says, "See? It says 1 am" as he's pointing at the piece of paper that says "no entry after 1 am".

I point at the lettering painted onto the door. RIGHT HERE. It clearly says

Sunday: 1 - 10 pm

He finally sees it. "OH MY GOD! I have worked here for THREE YEARS and have never noticed that! NO ONE has ever noticed that before! I wonder how much business I've lost on Sunday nights because of that!"

So we all got a good laugh. The bartender decides to fix the problem by scraping off the zero in the "ten" so that it now says 1:

He was happy that it was resolved and went back inside to tend to his customers. We didn't have the heart to tell him at the time that it now appeared that the bar was not open at all on Sundays, or appeared to be open for perhaps a nanosecond before closing again. 1-1pm doesn't make a whole lot of sense, either.

So we took matters into our own hands and scraped off the "PM":

Still not perfect, but definitely a step closer to accuracy.

I know from experience at my job that 99.9% of people DO NOT EVER look at the business hours posted in front of their face as they walk into an establishment, they just try the door and if it opens, they're in business. But still. Seriously, NO ONE ever noticed that?

I can only wonder how many people with "an eye for detail" the bar has turned away over the years. Probably not many. You're welcome anyway.

Can you understand the words that are coming out of my mouth?

I'm not a meanie. I'm just MISUNDERSTOOD.

So yesterday I vented about this email "misunderstanding" I had.

I explained the exchange to my fiance, and he totally sided with the Other Guy.

WHHHAAAAATTTT?????

Shit.

My argument fell apart. I trust him, and I trust his logic. My fiance gets along great with EVERYBODY. Everyone loves him. Frankly, it's kind of annoying. If someone doesn't like him or trust him, it's a pretty clear sign that they have some pretty serious personal issues. So I trust his opinion completely when it comes to interpersonal exchanges, and therefore I had to simply accept the fact that *I* was in the wrong. !!!

My fiance says to me, "Not everyone thinks like you. That's a good thing. You're unique."

I said, "Well, no, it's not a good thing, apparently. Because it causes a lot of misunderstandings, strife, trauma, anger, and lost opportunities."

I am a special and unique snowflake. Oh goody.

I explained the whole thing to my female coworker, and she was very surprised also. She had completely understood my frustration with the email exchange. She concluded "it must be a guy thing." Well, yeah, it was a guy I was emailing. Perhaps that's true. Women and men certainly do seem to look at things differently sometimes, in surprising ways.

It made me step back and wonder how other people perceive me. But at the same time... I can't help who I am, or how I think. Obsessing over it is not going to help whatsoever. I guess I just have to try to remember that people are different, they think differently, and try to be more tolerant of others - ? Ugh that sounds so touchy-feeling. No thanks, warm fuzzies.

I know I have a bit of an..... anger issue. I personally think my anger problem is funny, and endearing in its own way. But other people just seem to think it's scary. Huh.

Reading Comprehension Much?

Today I'm experiencing Email Rage.

Essentially I was asked to respond via email with some information. I did so. Some of the responses were intentionally vague given the nature of the situation being discussed, and I explained in the very same email the reason for the lack of detail in some of the bulletpoints. I explained that I would need clarification on certain points before providing more details.

I was most surprised, then, when I received a curt email reply in which I was accused of lacking "eye for detail". And he didn't say which part or parts he found insufficient.

Um... dude.. I just... I just freaking explained to you why... GAAAHHHHH *HEAD EXPLODES*

I can't respond to this email without sounding incredibly snarky. I mean, what do I say? Here are some of my knee-jerk thoughts...

"In other words..." (then repeat what I already said.)

"You need to re-read my response".

Talk to the person like they are a four year old and spell it out.

"Excuse me, but you didn't detail where I was missing detail."

"I apologize for not explicitly explaining the incredibly obvious reason for omitting certain details. I had assumed you were more savvy than that, and that you would understand this thing I call "tact".

In an ideal, literate world:

If this person had read my email carefully, or perhaps, THOUGHT about what he was reading, he would have completely understood why I left out certain details, and would have provided the information necessary for me to reply again with the details he so desperately craved.

In the real world, what I really want to reply is:

What you have dismissed as my lack of "EYE FOR DETAIL", I perceive as your lack of "READING COMPREHENSION".

Joe Calderone stands in for Lady Gaga at the VMAs

I'm feeling pretty smug, since a week ago I wondered when Joe Calderone was going to make his first live appearance. I wasn't disappointed.

Joe explains his appearance at the VMAS:




I liked that Joe stayed in character for the whole show. But what I liked BEST was just how uncomfortable it seemed to make a lot of people. Some of the dumbstruck stares in the audience were simply priceless. Lady Gaga is often dismissed as a shock artist, but I'm not sure why that's such a bad thing, really.

"In fashion, you know you have succeeded when there is an element of upset." - Coco Chanel

If she is a shock artist, so be it. She's good at it. (I would prefer to call it "pushing the envelope", but call it what you will.) And underneath it all, she is truly a good musician. How many other pop superstars write their own music? I don't think you can dismiss her styles and antics as supports for weak music. She knows how to churn out pop hits. And as for the extras... what's so wrong with being entertained? It's not a band-aid for the music, it's an embellishment. It's all part of a performance, which I think Joe proved perfectly last night.

"I'm not real. I'm theater." - Gaga, quoted by Joe

I'm so gay for Lady Gaga

I've had a girl crush on Lady Gaga for a long time, but now that she's gone and transformed into Joe Calderone, I'm even more...what's the word... titillated?

*robot voice* Feelings are confusing. Does not compute. Sensory overload... system shutdown imminent!



(Note to Gaga superfans: yes, I know she came up with the Joe persona a while ago, but it was for an overseas publication and she never came out and said it was definitely her.)

The cover for You and I, and the video, is the first time she's rolled out Joe in the US and quite frankly I'm very surprised it's not making more of a splash. I mean, she makes out with Joe (er, herself?) in the video. If I was the kind of person who is genuinely shocked by Gaga, I would have been super shocked by that. Maybe everyone is just so used to her doing outlandish stuff that they're not paying attention anymore?

I'm so far down the Gaga rabbit hole that it really doesn't matter to me what she does, I'll pretty much perceive everything as absolutely awesome and brilliant. So I freely admit I've lost all objectivity.

Oh well.

Nostalgia strikes again

If I have such bad nostalgia now, in my early 30's, I can only imagine how bad it's going to get when I'm older.

I snapped this picture of a beat up old Ford truck I was following the other day, because I noticed something special about it.



HELLO, that is a Mountain Park bumper sticker! The park closed in, what, 1988? I wanted to high-five the driver.

I'm sure no one outside of Western Mass has any idea of what Mountain Park was, so just know that it was an awesome old-fashioned amusement park. It burned down when I was a kid, but not before it burned a lot of memories and images onto my brain. It was happy and cheery by day, but at night it took on kind of a creepy vibe... just the way amusement parks ought to, in my opinion.

The most frustrating thing in the world

Sometimes I get frustrated with life. With the world. With people.

But sometimes I have to take a breather and remember that everything will be OK. Everything can be fixed. There are LOTS of worse situations I could be in.

For instance... pretty much the most infuriating, frustrating thing I can imagine is being on death row, and you've come to accept your fate and are ready to meet your maker, and then..... you get a crappy last meal.

Like if you wanted steak, and it came overcooked. Or ice cream, and they didn't get you right flavor. Or cookies, and they got you the wrong brand, or they were stale, or they forgot the milk.

I can't imagine being more frustrated/sad/angry/filled with despair. So, comparatively, I am having a GREAT day today!

The gift of dreams

Someone at work brought in peaches from their backyard, and that made the memory of the dreams I was having last night flash back in great detail.

I dreamed I was riding a large, strong gray horse. He was galloping fast over fields and then we were surging uphill, towards the foothills of a great mountain. When we slowed down to stop, we were surrounded by peach trees. The peaches were golden and dewy and shimmering, practically glowing. I spun around looking at all the beautiful trees and their fruit and the sun was glinting in that special way that it does on a late summer day.

I was so overwhelmed with a feeling of joy and wonder that I lifted right off the ground. And in that moment, I felt amazed that I was levitating but there was also the click of memories falling into place. Oh right! I can fly! I had completely forgotten! Thank goodness I remembered!

This happens to me so much in my dreams. I suddenly remember something amazing or wonderful, and I feel so silly for having forgotten about magic, for having forgotten that I can do magical things. Silly me, I forgot I could fly! I think it's a metaphor for depression. I wallow around in it for years and then have an epiphany: oh right, life can be much different than this pit. I forgot.

In my dreams, I usually can levitate, but not fly. This dream was different. At first I was having trouble getting very far off the ground, but then I saw other people floating around the peach grove, so I knew I could do it too. I shifted around and started getting my balance. Oh right, I remember now: lean forward to go up, lean back to do down. Arms out for steering. It was a great feeling.

I'm so glad that dreams exist and that I occassionally get nice ones. What a great gift, really. Perhaps there is a little magic left in the world after all. I am so glad the office peaches jogged my memory. I feel happy now.

Drinking is stupid, but necessary

For my life, anyways.

I don't know how much longer I can hold out at my soul sucking job.

Today wasn't even that terrible for me, but it was terrible for my coworker, and she really doesn't deserve it. Some awful woman called her a bitch repeatedly because the customer paid her bill late and got a late fee. She even admitted that she had received a phonecall reminder, but she was "on vacation" so she couldn't do anything about it.

Oh, you were on vacation? Well then, let me just refer to the clause in the contract that states that customers shall be exempt from late fees if they're on vacation.... oh wait! I forgot. There is no such clause.

You'll just have to do what the rest of us do, lady. I pay my bills BEFORE I go on vacation. I don't go on vacation a lot, since I don't have a lot of money, and since I don't have a lot of money, I am pretty careful to pay my bills on time to avoid late fees.

That phrase "the customer is always right" is a horrible catchphrase that has caught on with American consumers and over the last few decades, seems to have made people think that they can act however they want in any setting. They think that because they are a customer they have the right to scream obscenities at staff people? To belittle them, to threaten "I'll have you job over this" when the person is only DOING their job?

It's ridiculous and it's out of control. Sure, there is lots of justifiable rage directed at unfeeling corporations. I get that. I've been there. But when something is your own fucking fault? Own up to it. Asking politely for a fee to be waived is one thing. Calling the staffperson a fucking bitch and asking "How do you get through life being such a bitch?" is another thing entirely.

You catch more flies with honey, Honey.

I thought behaviour was bad in restaurants and foodservice establishments. Where the customers think that the employees are little better than scumsucking dirt. I thought that going to work in a nice, modern, professional office, people might behave a little better. Wow, was I wrong!

People can't do math. People don't listen to reason. People don't care about logical arguments. People act like selfish bratty children in public and have no shame.

I don't like drinking, it's not good for me, but for god's sakes... I don't know how I would get through life without a cold one at the end of a long day in which I am not getting paid nearly enough to have my soul shredded to pieces every day by these idiots.

Learning is for life.

(cue "The More You Know" music)

It's so true: you learn something new every day. What did you learn today?

I learned that there are rave-ready wheelchairs. I saw a woman traveling down the sidewalk tonight walking her dog. Her motorized wheelchair had these awesome colorful flashing lights on the wheels. It was surely for safety in the dark, but wow, it was the most rad wheelchair I'd ever seen.

WE ARE SAVED! (I think?)

The whole "debt ceiling" thing really aggravated me. To be honest, I didn't even read that much about it. I know enough to know that we are deep in debt and pretty much screwed and I just can't bring myself to care.

I think as I get older and more jaded, I am becoming more and more likely to get on a bandwagon with conspiracy theorists, because I think the whole thing was basically a big marketing ploy by the government to get people scared, and trick them into thinking that we are so lucky that we are still governed. Remember not that long ago, the government was threatening to shut down entirely because they couldn't agree on a budget? Does ANYONE remember that? And here we are again... Round 2: Debt Version.

Here's how I see it:

Citizens: Everything sucks! The economy sucks! The rich are getting richer, and us poor are getting poorer! The government is messing up bad! We're angry, we should, like, revolt or something!!!

Government: Yes, that's nice, feel free to write us a letter, or.... wait, what's this? Oh no! There is a big crisis! Like, wicked big! This debt ceiling thing is really bad!

Citizens: Um, what? Debt ceiling? What's wrong, is it leaking?

Government: It's super complicated! Only we can fix this. But it's a very difficult problem, so we are going to need to fight about it for a long time. We are going to yell a bunch about how we're trying to protect our constituents and keep the country from going bankrupt. It could happen, you know!

Citizens: Bankrupt? Yeah, I know things aren't good, but... tell me again, how does this debt roof thingy affect me?

Government: If us lawmakers, the leaders of the free world, don't come up with a BRILLIANT plan soon, everything is going to hell! The US will be bankrupt! The dollar will fall against other currencies and we won't be able to keep borrowing to fund everything. The government and economy will collapse! No more Social Security or disability or unemployment checks will go out because we'll be BROKE!

Citizens: Oh crap! Really?

Government: Yes, really.

Citizens: *panics* omg you mean I won't get my check? I need my check, man!

Government: We told you this was bad! We weren't kidding you, dude!

Citizens: OMFG. You gotta fix this! The government won't just abandon me... will it? Oh god, I was such a fool for joining that anarchy group! Government is really important! How are you guys going to fix this? FIX IT, PLEASE! Pretty pretty please!

Government: We'll try our best, kid. We're gonna shout at each really dramatically until our throats are hoarse. We're gonna burn the midnight oil. We're gonna step up to the plate and be the LEADERS you elected.

Citizens: Well golly gee, I sure hope so! I don't understand anything about this MAJOR CRISIS but I sure am scared!!

Government: *wiping sweat off brow* GREAT NEWS! We pulled it off. By god, we pulled it off, by the skin of our teeth. It's not perfect, of course, nothing ever is, right? But we saved the country from certain doom. AGAIN. You're welcome.

Citizens: Yay!!!!

Women's Lib: It Seemed Like a Good Idea At The Time

I am not a feminist. I am not not-a-feminist. I can't say I'm really one way or the other. In fact in most things I am not really that opinionated, or if I am, my opinion changes quickly and easily when presented with a good idea or argument.

I'm fickle and I'm a hypocrite.

I like to think that I'm open-minded, and try to remember that I don't know everything about everything. So my opinion about some things is available for swaying (not all things; there is no negotiating with me about animal abuse, for example).

When it comes to feminism and women's lib, I'm kind of "meh" about the whole thing.

Not because I think women are weak or stupid or born to be mommies or any of the usual stereotypical bullshit. I just think that perhaps women's lib backfired in some ways.

In college (which of course I attended because of the women's rights movements, yes, I appreciate that), I really enjoyed economics classes. I learned how almost everything can be boiled down to economics. Sometimes I wonder if, economically, women's lib was more of a lateral transfer than a step up the rung.

For example, I'm trapped in an office cubicle all day. I can't leave my job, because of the need for money. It sucks, day in and day out. People are unbelievably rude, pretentious, arrogant, selfish and bratty to me all day long. No one, certainly not the men, spare me any detail or censor their mouths because I'm a women. No one gives me any breaks because I'm a woman; in fact, it seems the opposite: they seem to think I can do 10 things at once. I hate it and it's sucking my soul away little bit by little bit, every day. Thanks, great-grandmas, for this gift of "freedom" I have in the labor market. This is just so awesome. It's not at all like another form of slavery and economic disenfranchisement! (excuse me while I wipe the sarcasm dripping from my mouth.)

If I were trapped in a marriage and raising kids barefoot in the kitchen, at least there would be a few advantages:

1. I'd be barefoot. Sweet. No uncomfortable heels.

2. I wouldn't be getting screamed at by strangers. (Just my own little monsters).

3. I would be spending a lot of quality time with my children. (These are hypothetical children I'm speaking of, by the way, I do not actually have any kids with two legs.) I would get to enjoy watching them grow up, helping them learn (or maybe even homeschooling) and making sure they spend lots of time playing outside so they don't become obese.

4. My household would not require two vehicles, and subsequently, two tanks to fill, double the car insurance, two repair bills, double the amount of fossil fuels burned, etc etc!

5. I would have the time to prepare a lot more home-cooked meals, which are fresher, more nutritious and healthy, less processed, less expensive, and when making your own, it's easier to source locally grown foods. Hell, I'd have my own garden and chickens and goats if I were at home all day.

Housing is another conundrum. I earn what is the median income for my area, approximately $32k annually. The median home price in my area is $200k. I would not be able to purchase a median home with my median income. The numbers don't work. I could only purchase a home with another person.... like one of those husband things you hear about.

The same goes for apartments. A good portion of the people who rent are lower income. They are waitresses and retail workers and so forth. They often cannot qualify for an apartment on their own. So they co-habitat with a friend or a...wait for it.....boyfriend.

Why has housing become so expensive? Housing prices exploded since the 1970's.

According to the US Census, the median home price in the US in 1950 was $7354. The minimum wage was $.75 per hour. A person earning minimum wage at a full time 40-hour work week grossed $1560 per year. That's about 4.71 times earnings. ($1560 x 4.714 = $7353.84).

Today, the minimum wage is set by state. So let's take just one state, Massachusetts. MA is known for having a high cost of living anyways. The minimum wage in 2011 is $8/hour. The median home price in MA as of May 2011 (after already suffering a 20% drop due to the recession) is over $300,000. A minimum wage worker in Mass earns $16,640 per year. The median home price is 18 times annual minimum wages.

This is a rough economic comparison, to be sure, but this is how I see it.

If the ratio of minimum wage compared to median home prices were the same today as they were in 1950, then the scenario would look like one of these two:

Minimum wage $16640/year (as it is). Median home price 4.71 times that = $78,374.

OR

Median home price $300,000 (as it is), wages should be $63694 (about $30/hour.)

Isn't something awfully wrong here?

There is just NO WAY that a person earning minimum wage today could buy a home of "median" value. How is that even possible? Keep in mind that "median" price is very different than "average" price. Aren't there a lot more poor people in the world than rich people? Aren't there a lot more people earning minimum wage than $30/hour?

Essentially housing prices are just WAY out of the ballpark than they were decades ago. And why is this? Why the long, rambling, discombobulated rant on housing prices?

Chicks, man.

In the 1940's and 1950's, the vast majority of households were single-income households. Dear husband worked, mom stayed home. The laws of economics kept home prices low. Houses had to affordable on one income, because that's who was buying: single-income households. When women entered the workforce with regularity, suddenly more households were two-income households. The two-income households could afford MUCH more house. The laws of supply and demand are always in play, and housing prices rose. And rose, and rose.

Today, housing prices practically demand a two-income household. And you say women are more independent today?

Of course, there ARE many women who are high-earners, and this will continue, since more women than men are earning college degrees these days. And there are modest, reasonably priced condos that an average Jane can afford on her own.

But for most ladies, if they want a nice "average" home and lifestyle, not fancy, just "median", with the yard and maybe a pool and a garage... you need to shack up with someone, baby, or even better, get him to put a ring on it. Not only that, but you STILL need to go to work every day to afford the cost of living!

Essentially the point of my argument is: women earning money caused housing prices to skyrocket. Many women are still enslaved in their marriages due to economic factors, and have to go to work every day on top of it, while managing children and household chores and generally being even more stressed out than ever.

I'm not saying it shouldn't have happened. I like having, you know, choices in my life. I'm glad there are laws against discrimination, and I especially enjoy not being fondled at work. I admire the hell out of the ladies who had the balls to stand up for their rights.

It's just, you know, a lot of times things don't work out exactly the way you planned. The moral of the story: be careful what you wish for.

As I have conquered donuts, I shall vanquish mornings

At my high school, there was a mid-morning snack time between classes. The dining room was open for coffee, crackers, fruit, etc. However, on Wednesdays, in addition to the usual snacks, there were DONUTS. (Or "doughnuts", I imagine is probably the proper spelling, the former being proliferated into common usage by Dunkin Donuts.)

Donut Day was a BIG DEAL. Everyone looked forward to Donut Day. Being on a Wednesday, it also coincided with "hump day", which is a not-well-thought-out phrase.

In fact, the phrase Donut Day sometimes even replaced the word Wednesday itself. If you said to a classmate, "I forget, when is that geometry test?" she might reply, "Next Donut Day."

And when donut time rolled around, the cafeteria staff had to keep the dining rooms doors closed until the official start of snack time, because people crowded around in antsy droves, jostling for position so that they would have their pick of the best donuts. When the doors were opened, the crowd would spill into the dining room and start snatching. (Boston Cremes went fast, the plain brown ones were always left last.)

Now, my best friend in high school and I were always cheering each other on in self-improvement endeavours. We were just as enthusiastic about Donut Day as everyone else, but we decided that donuts weren't very healthy and we shouldn't gorge on them every Wednesday.

The problem was, how did we persuade ourselves NOT to partake in the weekly joy of Donut Day? How could we possibly resist the sugary goodness? How would we stick to this seemingly impossible goal?

We decided to use the POWER OF WORDS. *Insert picture of swords vs. dictionaries here*

First of all, we decided to change the name "Donut Day" to "Excellence Day!" So while everyone else was tantalizing their brains by using the word "donut" constantly, we were reprogramming ourselves to think of it as a day of success.

Secondly, whenever we felt weakness, whenever we saw everyone else rush off in pursuit of the treats, we would start talking about how much we disliked donuts. "Donuts are just too sugary - I can feel the stuff getting stuck between my teeth", "donuts make my stomach hurt", "I feel tired and nauseated after eating even one bite of a donut". On and on we'd go until we'd thoroughly grossed ourselves out by the thought of eating donuts.

This actually really worked and we refrained from participating in the mad dash of Donut Day for pretty much the rest of high school.

What's funny is that many years later I got back in touch with my good friend and somehow "Excellence Day" came up. And she said, "You know what? I STILL don't eat donuts!"

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My whole life, I have had great difficulty waking up. And by "great", I mean that I will sleep for 12-16 hours straight if nobody wakes me up. I can sleep through blaring televisions, screeching alarms, and chainsaws outside my window.

I'm not really in a deep sleep, however. I seem to sleep deeply for about 6 hours and then I enter a sort of twilight between waking and sleeping. I am vaguely aware of the outside world but it doesn't bother me, I am still dreaming, and if I drift further back towards consciousness, I can re-enter dreams at will.

It takes me a long time to transition from sleep, to half-asleep, to mostly awake. When I finally pull myself out of bed, it's gut-wrenching because I am still mostly asleep and my body wants NOTHING to do with re-entering the real world. My limbs feel like bricks and having to leave my pleasant, slumbering state feels like the most cruel punishment ever devised.

Then I sit around the couch for a while, trying to shake off the drowsiness and fight the urge to just lay back down.

This brain-fog lasts for hours. I feel depressed about my state of affairs and my station in life.

But what if this is all a result of my deeply held *belief* that I am an oversleeper and hate mornings? What if I rose out of bed each morning and threw my arms wide and exlaimed "I LOVE MORNINGS! IT FEELS GREAT TO BE ALIVE! AAAAHHHHH YEEEEEAAAHHH!"

Would my attitude change? Could it be possible that I could actually start to wake up easier?

So, this idea occurred to me yesterday, and I didn't really do anything different - I just thought about it, and thought about the possibility that it's WITHIN MY POWER to change this aspect of myself. I started thinking some positive thoughts about mornings - like, wouldn't it be great if I woke up early enough that I could take my dogs for an invigorating walk. Or do some writing. Or go visit a new coffeeshop.

And this morning - I actually did wake up easier. I woke up around 6 am, and I felt pretty refreshed. I did fall asleep again though. But even after Round 2, when I did get up, I felt more energized and less like a miserable lump. It could be a coincidence, but I haven't had such an easy morning in a long time.

So I will continue to experiment with this and see how it goes. I will continue to affirm to myself "Hey, I actually LOVE MORNINGS! How bout that!"

For the record, I don't want to STOP being a night owl. I just don't want to sleep away my life, 16 hours at a time.

Overheardisms

Are cows mammals?

Uh, yeah,of course cows are mammals.

Are you sure?

Yes, absolutely sure.

How do you know? What makes them mammals?

What else would they be?

I don’t know. You tell me. What makes something a mammal?

Well, a mammal is warmblooded, it usually has hair or fur, and makes milk. It does not make an egg. Well, except for the platypus. The platypus is mammal but it makes an egg. But that’s an anomaly.

How do you know all this?

Um, PBS? School? General knowledge?

Dreams installment

Stephen Fry and I discovered a portal to Hell in my bedroom closet. (If you don't know who he is... he's a British actor that's been in a lot of stuff, you'd recognize him.) I had some kind of psychic flashback to the past where an eccentric scientist (that looked suspiciously like Gene Wilder in Young Frankenstein) put together some kind of concoction and poured it down a drain. The concoction was so corrosive it burned a big hole where the drain used to be. And it just kept on burning the hole bigger and deeper, until it reached Hell.

Eventually the portal was attempted to be closed off, covered up, and the laboratory turned into a small bedroom and the house sold like nothing ever happened. Except that I had been experiencing some suspicious paranormal activity and enlisted the help of Stephen Fry (who, in my dream is a apparently a paranormal investigator) and he traced the activity to the closet and found a fake wall and behind that fake wall was the seal on the the portal and when we ripped it off, we reopened this drainpipe to the netherworld. And a huge dark blue/black energy beam shot out of it, blasting through the ceilings and up into space (kind of like that plasma drill in the latest Star Trek movie, but in reverse. And evil.)

We realized at this point that things were beyond the scope of our expertise and we decided that the best course of action was to get the hell out of there.

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It was thundering last night. My mother told me when I really little that thunder was "the angels bowling", which even at age 3 or 4 I recognized as total bullshit.

In my half-waking dream, the thunder sounded odd,and it was because it really was the angels bowling. They were in some kind of league competition and they were really into it. When they did poorly they couldn't curse but they did a lot of "arrghs" and "doh!s"

Eventually I got tired of the noise because it wasn't getting quieter like a normal thunderstorm would, and it wasn't just the 'thunderous' sounds but also their cheering that was annoying me. I tried leaning out the window to shout up at them but they couldn't hear me. Or pretended not to hear me.

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The other night I woke up crying, because I had a bad dream that my fiance was joking around with me about my, er, sexual past. He was insisting that I answer "How many times, since you became a Lady, have you lain with a man?" Like it was the year 200 or something. Then he insinuated that he was going to cut off one of my fingers for each partner. The joking around seemed to have taken a dark turn and I started crying and told him he was scaring me.

Whenever I tell him about dreams like that, he says "God, why I am such an asshole in your dreams?" I try to reassure him that it's not him, it's just that my brain believes deep down that everyone is out to get me.

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There is a pond near the center of town that is fairly scenic. Years ago we had an eccentric neighbor who was a photographer. Specifically a boudoir photographer. Which we strongly suspected he "specialized" in simply because he was voyeuristic. He had no photography training,he simply bought a pretty good camera, took a gazillion pics, picked out the best ones and then applied a few Photoshop filters. He was kind of odd but also kind of wise. We deemed him harmless and liked hanging out with him. We called him "our friendly neighborhood pornographer." (All this stuff is true, not a dream.) The pond by the center of town is a manmade pond, in the industrial age they dammed up a creek, which in turn created the pond and the dam provided some power for the factories they built next to it. As you walk along the street by the pond, you can peer over a rail and see the little dam, and water rushes over it and the flows under the street and then past the old factory buildings. I guess that part of the street is technically a bridge, kinda.

Our friendly neighborhood pornographer liked hanging out there, looking over the rail down at the dam and watching the water rushing beneath him. He always said "God lives under the bridge." He didn't seem like a particularly religious person, and it seemed like a strange place for God to hang out, but he insisted.

In my dream, there was a church right in the center of the pond. It was old and beautiful. It looked a bit more like a theater house than a church building. There was a little ferry boat that shuttled people back and forth. One night I was walking by the pond and it was just turning from dusk to night, and the church's windows were lit up and I could see people standing around in front of it, and the ferry was doing its thing, and it was really beautiful. In my dream, it had been there all my life but I had never visited it. (Just like how a lot of people have never visited the tourist attractions in their own backyards. Or least I haven't, anyways.)

(The dream imagery reminded me of the time I was in Venice. The vaporetti boats (which are the equivalent of the public bus) run 24 hours a day, and will go to any stop you like even in the middle of the night. My friend and I asked to be taken across the water to a beautiful church, and we hung out on its steps good part of the night. It was pretty magical to be alone in Venice on this beautiful, isolated spot. I remember wondering if the boat would ever come back or if we'd be stuck there till morning.)

So in my dream, as I was standing there looking at the church on the pond, I looked down to where the dam was supposed to be. At night, in a different light, I could see something new. In addition to the dam, there was an opening. It was a shaft, and it went very deep. I went "omg he was right" because somehow I could tell it was a magical or holy shaft, and even though it was going downwards, it didn't lead to hell... it didn't exactly lead to heaven, but to something reverent.

I was too afraid to try to explore it because I didn't know if I was worthy of entering a sacred space. And that's why I had never visited the church, either. Deep down, I wasn't sure I would be welcome.

Some of my dreams seem to have a consistent theme that I discover, or realize, or remember, that deep down I am evil or sinful, and cannot tread in holy places where good people go.

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(Not a dream): last night I saw my grandmother. She can never remember where I work or if I go to school or not. She always thinks I work in a store. Last night she asked me, "Do you still work in that store, the holy store with the rosary beads and things?" Um, no, grandma, I have never worked in a store like that. "You never worked there?" She didn't seem to buy it. "But you used to, right? The holy store, with the crosses and things?" No, never. She didn't seem convinced. I think if I were old and forgetful, I would become suspicious that people were always fucking with me, too, because how would you know?