Waiting on Cheap Suits

Cheap Suits is an unsigned band, and I can't image why other than possible lack of exposure. The band rocks some serious ska. Love their last album Canadian Idles.

The band has released a new album One Giant Leap. I ordered the CD about two weeks ago from a Canadian Music site, Maple Music. I am trying to wait patiently for it, but every day when I check the mailbox - no CD.

The scenario I imagine is this:

• Maple Music sends an email to Cheap Suits or their manager and tells them an order has come in.
• The band grabs the master DAT (do they have DATs anymore?) or CD off a shelf and burns my CD.
• The band then heads to Kinkos and makes a copy of the CD art cover.
• Once everything is pieced together, the CD is sent to Maple Music for delivery.

Am I being a thoroughly impatient American? Am I too used to Amazon.com or ordering from my local music store? Maybe this is the perils of ordering music from an unsigned artist?

Canadian Idles I ordered last year in December and figured the holiday season slowed down the three week delivery, but this order seems to be taking just as long.

I love this band. Truly I do. I want my CD!!!!!!

Someone send me some cheese with my whine.

Summer of 1993

I met Aditya on a Saturday night in the summer of 1993. He and Jack showed up at Maria's house. Aditya's first words to me, other than 'Hi', were that he had "graduated from Harvard." Aditya, of course, was joking, but when he showed me his real graduation diploma from Alabama, I didn't believe him.

During that summer after we met, five to ten of us would get together every Saturday night. It was our poker night. We bet pennies, played poker, listened to Danny and Andy playing guitar, and at least once during the night, we all would endure listening to Aditya enacting the song "Grease".

We created a bond that summer: Maria, Aditya, Danny, Aileen, Troy, Tomie and I. Some of us were friends before hand but at that time we became a group. All of us would get up in the morning and get breakfast, go to the park, etc.

That summer symbolized the pinnacle of our youth. That was also the summer our friend Julie got married. It was the first sign that we were adults, and it was time to move forward into our lives.

After that summer, we were a group no more, but the bonds forged then are still here now. Each of us has had tribulations and triumphs since then. We started to follow our dreams. We have grown up. Five have gotten married. Five have children. Three of us moved away. Five of us got grown up jobs. One of us has died.

There was only one of us that kept after the dream. The one that starts: "What do you want to be when you grow up?" That was Aditya. He kept after his dream. Some of us never seriously tried. Why? It would be too devastating to fail at that kind of attempt to reach the clouds.

Aditya, though, had the conviction to make his dream work. He never gave up on it even though many would have. His dream, to make movies, called to him over and over again. Aditya left once to New York and came back again after 6 months and a completed movie. Then he left again.

New York is not the kind of place to let you forget what you are there for. Aditya and New York were made for each other. This was the place where Aditya could go after the dream and improve his life.

You would think that Aditya's greatest triumph was living his dream. Maybe it was, but Aditya's greatest trial was learning to live sober. He achieved this dream even when some of us could not be with him through the lowest time. Aditya's commitment to recovery, however, drew his friends and family to lend him support when he needed it. Aditya would have done the same or more for us. His support to us was never faltering.

Sometimes when I am down and can't see the light, I remember Aditya calling me to say he was proud of me. I think that means more now than it did then. Those words and his faith in me, when I have lost faith, give me the strength to endure anything. I miss him.

Being a Teenager

I think I've forgotten what it is like. Teenagerness I mean.

My friend Jenn is part of the Big Sister program. Her little sister C is a smart, funny, awesome thriteen year old. C is the combination of toughness and exuberent childhood.

The toughness is what I have forgotten. In the adult world of passive aggressiveness and veneer politeness, C will remind you how to stand up for yourself. Not a bad reminder I think.

She is at the point of finding her idenity and owning it. Watching her do so is facinating. I learn something from C. She reminds me that I too have my own space and not to yeild it so easily to others.

I think that giving into all what C wants would be easy because she is young. However, doing so would be a mistake. Being a teenager is also about learning others' boundries as well as your own.

On Thursday night I, C, Jenn, her husband Gino, and Jenn's mom Joan were gathered at Jenn's house for dinner. C, Joan, Gino and I were in the kitchen. Gino was perparing the chicken while the rest of us talked.

C: This music sucks. Let's put on something different.
Joan: Gino is listening to this right now.
C: But I hate it.
Joan: But he enjoys it and we are going to listen to it now.
C looks at me: This music sucks. I hate this music.
Me: Learn tolerance girl.
C pouts and leaves the room to find Jenn.

Not ten minutes later C and Jenn were back in the kitchen. C was bouncing up and down about how much she wanted to see Ice Age 2. Music forgotten.

Jenn is a great big sister. She delights in C's company and is good at gently guiding her through the rough waters of teenagedom.

Roses are Red

I finally made the journey to see my mom in Brunswick this past weekend. The blizzard the weekend before prohibited me from going as originally planned.

Brunswick hosts an annual event in February called Longfellow Days. Brunswick celebrates the poet by hosting poetry readings around town and in the schools. Mom and I attended one such reading on Saturday.

I found it hard to sit through the poets' reading. Their words sort of drifted pass me. I find when listening to the written word, I am a better reader. Maybe that's why I enjoy reading blogs so much.

I write my experiences in this blog. This blog contains my thoughts about the world as it whirls around me, but if you want to see into my heart read my poetry.

Yes, that is an unabashed invitation. Prose can bring out a person's soul, but generally not my prose. I don't claim to be a great poet or even a great writer. I like writing and poetry is therapy.

My poetry contains my heart or my heart at a place in time. Because I write my emotions in verse, I generally won't post poems until some time has gone by and perspective has set in.

Shouldn't the essence of the heart be felt in music, lyrics, poetry, stories, photographs, paintings, and sculpture? Shouldn't a poet be showing his essence in his poetry?

Flat Stanley

I waited for a phone call from a boy for the first time since high school. And I was stood up.

Normally, a boy would be immediately forgotten. I would be challenged to remember his name or recall his face. However, this boy is forgiven.

What makes him so special? He's eight and my godson.

My godson is doing a project for school and I have been enlisted to help him. I was supposed to hear all the details last week, but I suppose homework, baseball, or something else got in the way. Ah well...

Flat Stanley arrived in the mail a few days later.

Flat Stanley is a kid that got squashed flat as a pancake. He's normal in all other aspects. Now that Stanley can fit into an envelope and be mailed, he has a penchant for traveling

My godson has colored up Stan the Man in readiness for a tour of the places that surround me. Stanley and I went to Maine over the weekend. (The picture is of Stanley at Land's End. )

Stanley and I are heading into Boston next.

When I nod my head and smile

I attended a charity dinner on an invitation from the host. The host is an extremely warm hearted lady who started a scholarship fund when her husband died of emphysema. I was glad to attend this event for her.

I arrived at the hall about thirty minutes before dinner was served. The host seated me at a table occupied by members of the same family. The family was affable and included me in their conversations. I enjoyed meeting them.

The matriarch, the word does fit her, of the family sat across from me. The grand dame told stories the night through. Her gaze wandered the table as not to exclude anyone from her words. She would asked for opinions and then cajole agreement with her smile.

I smiled.

I laughed.

I nodded my head and smiled some more.

The matriarch commanded attention and conversation, but her voice was low. I could not understand one word in three. I do not read lips and asking her to repeat herself would not have worked. So..

I faked my way through the evening.

At the end of the evening, I garnered a hug from the matriarch. She said I was excellent company.

Flat Ass Tired

No brain cells are functioning (see last post); so I leave you with this (jealousy on my part).
Good weekend.

What Your Sleeping Position Says

You are calm and rational. You are also giving and kind - a great friend. You are easy going and trusting. However, you are too sensible to fall for mind games.

What Does Your Sleeping Position Say About You?

Insomnia

I am beginning the insomniac cycle again. I don't know why. Just am. Got up at one a.m. and read a bunch of blogs, made some tea, snuggled down on the couch and watched the Winter Olympics repeat coverage. Finally I crashed out at four this morning.

A friend told me that I am not exhausting myself enough during the day and she's probably right. What kills me is that despite the insomnia, I wake up earlier than normal. The rest of the day.... CRANKY!

What distresses me in the daytime about my insomnia is I am normally a sound sleeper. I have slept through tornadoes, gunshots, and speakers blaring with music thrown up against my ears. I do not wake up for anyone or anything. Insomnia is counter to my sleeping nature.

Even though I sleep better in bed, when I have insomnia the couch is where I end up staying the remainder of the night. What puts me to sleep nine times out of ten is the TV. I think my insomnia proves the TV really is the idiot box. I am not thinking when I am watching TV therefore I fall asleep.

Shows that have routinely put me to sleep in the past are on the Boomerang network. Something comforting about watching the Super Friends, Quickdraw McGraw, or Scooby Doo puts me right to sleep.

Exploring Dora

I am so flattered. Or I was.

I received an email with the title Intrested in You. (I can ignore the spelling mistakes, sort of.)

Intrested in you,My name is Miss Dora,i saw your profile today at (http://waiterrant.net/?p=267) and became intrested in you,i will also like to know you the more,and i want you to send an email to my email address so i can give you my picture for you to know whom i am.Here is my email address (dora*******@*****.com) i believe we can move from here.I am waiting for your mail to my email address above.Miss Dora(Remeber the distance or colour does not matter but love matters alot in life
Yours Love Miss Dora

Love does matter a lot in life, but aren't we jumping the gun a little?

The Miss in Miss Dora had me thinking maybe this was a guy, my preferred romantic interest gender. Maybe he had read my post on the Transexpistols and thought I could handle a transexual. That could be an explanation for this love note.

Something about the email was a little off, other than the fact someone was seeking 'love' based on a comment I left on another blog site. Other than that!

I needed help to word my flattered refusal. I called in Aileen.

Aileen, the super investigator, Googled Miss Dora and I went back to the email. We both came up with the same result. Sorta.

Aileen found that Miss Dora is a spammer. She's known for it.

I, upon reexamining the email header, To: Anon@mous.com, decided that Dora is slut.


Date: Fri, 10 Feb 2006 14:50:47 -0800 (PST)
From: "dora ***"
Subject: Intrested in you,
To: Anon@mous.com

It's Tuesday!

After many years of eschewing the 14th of Feb, I am going to celebrate this Valentine's Day in this way:

It is my belief that love never dies. The people you love, you always love. Sometimes that love is encapsulated in a moment in time and circumstance. For today and all that follow, I send my love, whether past or present, to those that have shown me friendship, kindness, inspiration and love.

Mom, Mema, Pepa, Jean, Omer, Ed, Karin, Maria, Lewis, Austin, Sloane, Aileen, Danny, Ian, Iris, Maria, Jose, Nena, Gloria, Maria, Eddie, Little Eddie, Shannon, Jennifer, Gino, Troy, Patty, Erica, Kyle, Sean, Bethany, Vic, Alexis, Julie, Matt, Kaylie, Sarah, Kelly, Peter, Aditya, Mukta, Aalok, Mr. and Mrs. Chandora, Marnie, Todd, Anya, Cindy, Bob, Tomie, Mike, Skip, Linda, Dot, Robin, Brian, Kathy, Brad, Kris, Benu, Ted, Nancy, Kim, Jo, Denise, Dave, Erick, Patti, Barbara, Katie, Mr. and Mrs. Dyer, Walter, Rahul, Silva, Diane, Ron, Ruth, Bill, Glenda, Robert, Mason, Todd, Brian, David...

Happy Valentine's Day!

Digging Out

Realizations from a Blizzard

1. Maybe watching the Olympics is a good idea.
2. Spandex-clad joggers jog through snow, sleet, wind and rain. Coincidence same is said of postal workers? I think not.


3. Your house is your home... for at least two days.


4. Tea and hot chocolate are your best friends.


5. It's not the best time to realize that your snow boots and shovel are in the car.


6. Thermals really do work.


7. Shoveling has to be good exercise otherwise my thighs and biceps would not hurt so much... ouch.


8. Snow drifts that are taller than you, natural or from a snow plow, are impressive if not a little scary.


9. Funny stupid hats are no longer funny; they are ingenious devices that really keep your head warm.


10. You develop an appreciation for ski masks.


11. When walking in the cold, bring tissues. You'll know what I mean when you go inside somewhere.


12. When your car finally gets plowed out, remember to bring your license and money.


13. The radio station telling you that temp outside is colder than Fargo means nothing.


14. People are cooler when you shovel out together.

Surveys from my Psyche

Perhaps the weirdest part of my psyche is that I love to do surveys on completely random curiosities.

Brand New to the Surveying poll:

• How many colors has your pee or poop changed?

This question is thanks to the WVSR Feb 10th post.He says his kids' cereal will turn your poop cobalt blue. Cereal has changed over time. Don't think poop changes color put I know urine does.

Past surveys have included:

• How much change does it take a person to jingle when they walk? Do guys jingle more than women? How can guys sit on wallets? Shouldn't that be uncomfortable?

Survey says: Women tend jingle more because they tend to keep change over time. Wallets are not hard to sit on though it depends on what the guy has in there. I don't remember the exact amount of change it takes to jingle but it is a lot.

• Do you think kissing should be a contest on a sports channel?

Survey says: This was posed to a group of college students on my behalf. They answered no. I still think this one is worth a shot because every kiss is judged by the lips on the other end.

• Are men willing to buy tampons for women?

Survey says: About 50/50. Not so much because men are not willing to buy them but women tend to keep up with their own feminine needs.

• Do guys really poop at the same time everyday?

Survey says: Yes. Guys poop at the same time every day. Weird.

Pulled Post

Pulled my post today because the AP article that generated my sarcasm is no longer posted on Yahoo News. Can't find it.

Trepidation

I am going to visit my mom this weekend and I do so with some trepidation.

Let me start at the beginning. My mom holds the power of attorney for my grandmother who is in assisted living in Louisiana. My mom does all of my grandmother's finances, works with her attorney, checks her meds, talks with the doctors, and much, much more. She has been doing this the past two years.

My grandmother was one of the few women to enroll in med school when she was young (late 1930's). She met and fell in love with my grandfather, who passed six years ago, and gave up a career to become a wife and mother. A strong lady.

Recently, my grandmother fell and broke her pelvis. Since then my grandmother has given up control and has relied heavily on my mom. This has been a hard transition for all of us, but especially hard on my mom.

My mom visits my grandmother four to six times a year. (My mom retired to Maine.) Every time she visits, my mom spends nights pouring over paperwork and days doing errands for my grandmother. My mom has had a lot on her mind to say the least.

The stress that my mom is under was never so evident than at Christmas. My mom and I flew to Atlanta to spend the holiday with friends. We flew separately because of my work obligations. My mom flew out two days before me and I was to meet her at the hotel she was staying in.

When I arrived in Atlanta at ten p.m., I drove to the hotel. My mom was not checked in and no word was left as to where she was. I drove to my friend Maria's house knocking on the door as to not wake up the kids. She let me in with a confused look on her face.

M: Didn't your mom meet you at the hotel?

Me: No. No one was there. Why have you talked to her?

M: Yes. She said that she was going to meet you at the front of the hotel. She changed her mind and is staying at her friend's house. I have the number.

Me: She wasn't at the hotel. Nice of her to keep me informed. (I am normally sarcastic. More so after getting off a plane.)

M: Your mom said she was going to have the airline page you during your layover in Chicago.

Me: That's nice especially since I stopped off at La Guardia.

M: Eye roll. Call your mom.

There's more.

I had decided to drop off my rental early because for the rest of the holiday celebrations I would be with mom and she had her own rental.

Mom was to follow me to the airport to drop off the car.

She followed behind me the whole way.

Until....I turned into the rental place.

I stepped out of the car, got my receipt, and turned around.

No mom.

I waited and I waited.

And waited.

Then I called Aileen. She and Danny picked me up from the transit station. I left word for my mom at the house where we were staying and with Maria and with Maria's mom.

Two hours later my mom calls. She missed the turn off and couldn't call because her cell was dead. My mom figured that I would keep the car and no big deal.

Sigh.

I am grateful for my mom's faith in me and my ability to take care of myself, but...

You see the but there?

I love my mom. I know she's under tremendous stress and is in NO way normally like this. But...

Am I a bad daughter to have mixed emotions about going to visit her?

One of those Days

Ever have one of those days where no matter what you do you can't get out of your own way much less anyone else's?

I had just finished cursing the screw that stripped itself for no apparent reason. (adding this now as I still can't get stupid ass screw out of F***** wall) and giving it a rest, decided to get some errands done.

I went to the grocery store with the purpose of buying dishwashing soap. I just received a new dishwasher, for which I am overjoyed. I have been washing dishes by hand for four years. This has become my most hated chore to the point that I stopped cooking dinner and began microwaving pre-packaged foods instead.

As frequently happens at the store, I began shopping for everything else but the item I needed. Moving through the store cart in hand, every aisle I went down I seemed to have to move my cart out of someone's way. I said excuse me more times than I want to count.

The thing was I wasn't being dense. I moved my cart off to the side when browsing the shelves. I didn't stand in the middle of the aisle. However, every corner I came around and every aisle I went down there was someone coming the opposite way. Apparently I was in the wrong every time because of the pointed looks the person pushing the other cart would send me.

I had begun to move through the supermarket abjectly. About half way through my shopping, I started noticing that one lady kept appearing in the same aisles as me. She was one of the people I had said 'excuse me' to near the beginning of my grocery experience. I don't know why but I became desperate to avoid her.

I changed course and wound up in the flower section. Flowers would make me feel better. I picked out a pretty bouquet and resumed shopping.

Finally, I left the store packages in hand. I managed to remember the dishwashing liquid and some honey for the new chai tea I am trying. Not a bad ending.

Death to Life

I just received an email from one of my friends in California reminding me of a fundamental truth; don't wait to enjoy your life.

I met Brian at work. Brian, his wife Kathy and I became friends because of our shared good humor and love of baseball. Over the course of many work trips to California, I was grateful for their excellent company.

Brian and Kathy were scheduled to go to France last August. They canceled the two week trip due to the sudden illness of one of their closest friends. Their friend, Kelly, was rushed to the hospital for a mysterious illness that later claimed his life in September. (some friends may be struck, as I was, that we know someone with the same name.)

Brian was a co-executor of the will and was helping with the processing of Kelly's home when I saw Brian and Kathy in October on a two week business trip. The impact of Kelly's death has effected both Brian and Kathy tremendously.

As they talked about Kelly during my visit, I was reminded of my friend Aditya's sudden death three years before. I was also reminded to enjoy every minute you have with the people in life.

On my way home, I had a layover scheduled to see another friend of mine. When I saw him I gripped him in a bear hug, needing to affirm life. I never told him part of the reason for this ardent hello but somehow I don't think it matters. What matters is the acknowledgement. I made the most of the visit with my friend even though I was sick with hey fever.

When I got home, I made sure to acknowledge all my friends with similar affection. My friends know I love them but I needed to celebrate their lives. Sometimes I forget to do that taking my friends' existence for granted.

Thank you Kathy for the reminder that life is meant to be enjoyed and teaching me through your example.

Kiss Kiss Kisses

My friend Robin and I were talking about the stuff we enjoy most. Kissing is near the top or at the top of my list.

I like long slow kisses that last a lifetime. Kissing that leaves me breathless is the best. Short kisses out of the blue put a smile on my face. Secret kisses keep me warm for hours. I like going to sleep with a kiss almost as much as I love waking up to one. I love kissing in all its forms.

Kissing can be far more intimate than sex. In light of the intimacy factor, kissing for me is highly selective. (NOT more selective than sex.) Once I had kissed someone because I just wanted to know if the lips he was sporting tasted as wicked as they looked. Bad mistake. Why? 'Cause I had no real interest in the guy. Next time he went to kiss me I ducked and tried to control the disinterest on my face.

When I tell my guy friends this story, they look at me like I have grown an extra head. Girls get it though. Lesson learned here: you never kiss anyone you are not interested in. OK, like duh.

The subject once prompted me to do a survey. I asked friends how important kissing was in a relationship. The follow up question: does kissing become less important over time? Most surveyed said kissing was important in a relationship and that importance did not lessen much over time. (if you want exact statistics, you are odder than I am)

Again, if you think it's odd that I would take a survey, you could be right. However, a friend told me kissing was not very important in her relationship. I stood there with my mouth agape for.... what day is it? ... I still do not comprehend. So was born the survey out of this statement.

Kissing, to me, is better in a relationship. There always has to be that first kiss. Not to say that a first kiss is bad. First kisses can be very good, but are better when they happen with someone whom I've formed a connection with first.

I am going to go sigh for awhile in reflection.