I don’t “get” people who don’t answer their email in a timely fashion. While not all email requires a response, when it does, it ought to be done sooner — say a few days as opposed to several weeks, months, etc. — rather than later.
Having the ability to dash off a quick note to a friend is the major point of email.
Even if you’ve been asked a question you can’t yet answer, write and say so. It’s the voids that are found in cyberspace that are most annoying. If I’ve taken the time to write because you’re my friend or family, you can take 2 minutes to write back. I don’t care who you are… Nobody is sooooo frikkin’ busy that they can’t take 2 minutes for an email… even me.
If you send me spam, now that’s a whole other rant.
My first and second visits to NOLA were vacations I took when single. The first trip was for a whole week, and I had a blast. My favorite spot was a bar called Maison Bourbon. I spent enough time there on consecutive nights that the bartender and I became friendly and the drummer would sit and hang out with us too, between sets. It was very comfortable, great music and excellent conversation.
A little ways down the street is Preservation Hall, a hot, uncomfortable place, that is until the music starts to play and then NOTHING else matters.
I had breakfast at Brennan’s (erm.. well, okay — brunch) and that particular morning (erm… afternoon) they were hosting a wrap party for a movie that had just finished filming on location in and around New Orleans. So I caught a glimpse of the “Steel Magnolias”.
Anyway, during my explorations I happened upon a store where all things brass were on display, including lovely art deco lamps. Etched glass shades, with long strings of beads hanging down around the circumference. I had no place for them since at the time I was still living at home. Fast forward a year or so… after I had moved into my first apartment. I was working at a small law firm, and the office manager was really twisted. She is probably the worst person I’ve ever worked for/with and I’ve been working a very long time.
I decided I needed to get away for the holiday weekend coming up (4th of July) and so I booked a trip to NOLA (not the best time of year to go in terms of humidity, but I needed a fix.) I went with my lamps in mind. I knew they would fit the decor of my apartment, which I’d begun to furnish in art deco style. I went back to the same store, and was so glad to see they still had the lamps, I purchased and had them shipped to my home. The rest of the weekend I spent having as grand a time as possible in 3 days, which in NOLA was a very easy thing to do. When I got on the plane Monday morning (barely in time) to make the flight, I’d only had about 3 hours of sleep. The guy sitting next to me was in about the same shape as I was and we smiled at each other, exchanging the knowledge that we’d both had a really great time without having to say a word between us.
I still have those lamps, and they’ve moved with me from Queens to Brooklyn, to Beaverton, OR, and back here to NY and they still evoke fond memories. Though they don’t fit the decor of our current residence, I doubt I’ll ever part with them.
I am a dedicated lover of Jazz, good food & spirits. As the birthplace and epicenter of Jazz, New Orleans is one of the most important places on the planet to me (and many others). I do not understand how this country can allow this cultural center, this most unique and wonderful place to simply vanish.
I think the whole ‘merry christmas’ movement (you know people who woke up one day and decided to be offended by the phrase ‘happy holidays’ is yet another diversion set up by the extreme right to keep us from focusing on what’s really going on (or what’s not going on). You know real issues, like the fact that our government has forsaken New Orleans. New Orleans has always been my favorite place, second only to my home town (NYC) & this whole situation breaks my heart. It makes no sense that we would let such a wonderful place cease to exist.
Can’t help but wonder what Pops would be thinkin’ if he was still alive to see this tragedy. If for no other reason, we at the very least owe it to his legacy to restore the wonderful place of his birth.
This is about Richard… Richard Reese. I don’t know why I’m thinking of him so strongly at the moment, but I am. This is to honor his memory, hopefully in a worthy way…
Richard was one of those people one has the good fortune to meet in life who, as they say in the old neighborhood, was the ‘genuine article’. A nice guy, but nice guy doesn’t seem quite enough to describe his kindness and infectious good nature. Even tempered, nothing seemed to iritate him to the point of losing his calm. As long as I knew him (not nearly long enough) he was unflappable, kind & funny.
I met Rich at the place we were both employed at the time (1989) he was one of the first friends I made at my then *new job*. We worked second shift (5pm to 1am) and every Thursday night our department had to produce the “officer’s calendar”.
The officer’s calendar was just that, a calendar detailing the planned whereabouts of the company’s officers for the coming 2 weeks & there were something like 50 officers. This was before DOS, before windblows, before most folks had home PCs.
We’d get the info submitted to us from various sources, had to make sense of it and build the document in WangWP+ .
When I say build, I mean it. It was printed on 11×17 paper using what was called a "2 page print" (two 8×11 pages of information were used to build one printed 11×17 page… there was a ‘stop code’ at the bottom of … oh geeze1…. We had no WYSIWYG. We had to envision how the pages would look once they printed lined up side-by-side.
Anyway, Rich was our proofreader and proofing the calendar was no small task. Every Thursday night Rich would work from 5pm to 8 or 9am Friday. And every Thursday afternoon without fail, he would stop off at a bakery on his way in to work and get couple of boxes of cookies for the team. Not just any cookies, but high-end bakery cookies that were… well… just to die for! Hence “calendar cookies”.
I have many fond memories of Rich including dancing with him at holiday parties. At least once each party, our tradition was to dance the twist. I did so in my CFMPs — article one of why my knees are so bad now, but it was worth every moment.
The holiday’s were again approaching, I think it was in 1990 or ’91 (it all blends together). Anyway, Rich took my friend Brian and me aside one evening at the office explaining that he’d gotten us holiday gifts. Brian and I didn’t really know what to say, because neither of us expected any gifts. Rich presented us each with a box, which we in turn proceed to open. Inside each box — a watch, they were identical.
You know how it is when someone gets you a gift that is sort of personal but so very outside your taste (or any taste)? You keep silently reminding yourself ‘it’s the thought that counts’. Brian and I looked at each other searching… searching for support, for the right words, words of tact — a way to say thanks without showing “what *were* you thinking” faces. We were also wondering if we had totally, off the chart, mis-read who Richard was.
The watches were emblazoned with paintings of Jesus. Oh they were lovely — very artistic, very serious, very religious. Neither Brian nor I were religious people in any sense & I was/am not of the Christian faith. If Richard was religious at all he had kept that from us until this moment. We were confused, dumbfounded & near total social melt-down.
And then, Richard, the brilliant, says — totally deadpan — “I got them for you so you could look at them and say, ‘Jesus! What time is it?!’ or ‘Jesus! Will you look at the fucking time!’”
It was one of the funniest moments I can ever recall, we laughed so much, and for a good long while. It became a long running joke for us and our friends.
It is something I still laugh about to this day, and thinking of it as I type this out brings back the smile to my face. And the story… the story is still getting extremely good mileage. I love to tell it, I may even have repeated it to some folks (sorry) but it keeps Richard alive, always. I think it’s good for people to know him. I like to remember that I had the honor to share a small space in time with him.
Though he has long departed, I can still see his smile, his laughing eyes, still feel the warmth of his kindness to me. I do still have the watch too.
1 – The fact that I remember, and could probably still repeat the process given the proper outmoded tools gives me no great pleasure. I wish I could do a memory dump of the useless info that seems to get maintained and make accessing more important things (like dates things happened) easier.
I don’t understand the problem that some people have with the right to die. It seems to me any terminally ill person has the right to make that decision and come to terms with it on their own, in their own way. We choose this for our pets when there is no hope of their health ever improving, when the end is near for them and we know their quality of life is miserable. Why shouldn’t it be a choice for us as well? It’s the humane thing, to have the choice and certainly not every terminally ill patient would choose this option.
According to the most recent stats that I could find in the 8 years the Oregon Death with Dignity law has been in place 208 terminally ill people have chosen this path. That’s an average of 26 people per year.
Once again this administration is trying to dismantle the Oregon law, a law that voters there have chosen repeatedly. The original law was voted in back in 1994, and then in 1997 Oregonians voted against it being repealed.
I thought conservatives were for States’ rights? Oh wait, that’s right, the current administration is not really conservative. They haven’t conserved a damned thing. They are an extreme right wing-religious fundamentalist group who have hijacked what used to be the Republican party through propaganda and their spin machine. So they don’t really care about States’ rights and they don’t care about any individual’s rights either. They want it their way, because “their god” tells them so.
That’s why we have the separation of church and state in this country — so that religous fanatics can’t dictate to the rest of us how to live (or die) just because of their misguided religious beliefs. Having a choice means just that, a personal choice. If you’re terminally ill, but your religous convictions prevent you from ending your life, then feel free to go on suffering. The rest of the population should have the freedom to choose death with dignity, without religious extremists inflicting their twisted vision upon us. More states would probably enact similar laws if the rightwingnuts would stop fucking around with Oregon.
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Update 5-28-07 5:05pm: “From the time the law took effect in 1997 until the end of last year, 292 people asked their doctors to prescribe the drugs they would need to end their lives, an average of just over 30 a year. Most of the 46 people who used the process last year had cancer, and their median age was 74, according to a state report.”
(Source: http://www.komotv.com/news/health/7702032.html)
You know how sometimes you find out that someone you know isn’t really the person you thought you knew? You find out things about them that maybe surprise you — not necessarily in a bad way just, you find out they aren’t exactly who you thought they were. It might be because you misjudged them, or because they kept part of themselves to themselves.
I like to believe I’m a fairly good judge of character, though I have been mistaken on occasion. But I’ve never found myself to be on the opposite end of this equation — where someone thinks they know me, but they haven’t got a clue. I’m fairly easy to read, my friends seem to know me, sometimes embarrassingly well. But this situation presented itself and now I realize this other person has no idea about who I am. I thought it might be because I didn’t share certain things that make me *me* with them.
Every time I would see, or speak to “A”, he would ask about my ex-mother. No matter how many times I’ve explained the particulars of our relationship (or lack of relationship), A still asks me anyway. That’s probably been enough of a reason for me to shut down part of myself around this person — as often as I’ve tried to explain it, I’m clearly not reaching him. Probably because he’s lucky enough to have no way to relate to it.
It’s been months and I still have no idea how to even mention that she’s died. Of course the more time passes, the more difficult it is to mention. I didn’t tell a lot of people when it happened. I didn’t want to go through dealing with people expressing their condolences and then wondering why I wasn’t that upset. She was lost to me long ago by her choice, her physical body dying just made it final.
This really didn’t start today, it started a little over a year ago (and I don’t believe it will end today either).
I was getting on the bus to go to work, and all I had was a $20 bill. Now the drivers are supposed to be able to give you change for a $20, but it was early in the route and early in the morning, so the man had no cash. He told me to ask the other passengers (there were about 3 other people on the bus at that point) but no one had change of a $20.
At the next stop, a few people got on, still no change, but one woman took out her wallet and gave me $3.00 so I could get to work. I thanked her profusely but never saw her again to repay her the $3.00. I promised myself I would someday help someone else in a similar situation
Fast forward to a few months ago, waiting for the bus to go home. I’m in line behind a woman I’ve seen often on this bus and we start to chat. She didn’t have time to buy a ticket, and she’s got a $20. At rush-hour on the way home the drivers get pissed off if 1) you give them money & 2) you give them money but don’t have exact change (or close to it). Well, I had no change for a $20, but I did have $3.00 — you get the idea. I told her, don’t worry about paying me back, it’s only $3, just do the same for someone else some day. And I explained the incident above.
Then about a week ago I lost my wallet on the bus. I have never, ever lost my wallet in all my #%@ years! Of course I totally freaked out (but it’s important to note, I did *not* have a cigarette). I cancelled the things that needed canceling and then called the bus company’s lost and found — no luck there. I knew I had to have lost it on the bus because my monthly bus pass is in a sleeve that’s attached to my wallet. I had to show it to the driver in order to get on the bus in the first place. I also clearly remember doing that and having the wallet in my hands. I thought I put it away in my bag, as I normally would, but apparently not.
I wavered back and forth between the following thoughts: ‘If a fellow commuter finds it, they’ll hold the wallet for me and get it back to me somehow’ & ‘I’ll never see *that* wallet again, or any of the money in it.’
Today, as I was taking a seat on the bus, the guy that was sitting across from me the night I lost my wallet came walking down the aisle. In his right hand he had — my wallet! It blew my mind. Every item, every last penny, was still in it, even my April bus pass (though I had already purchased another one, unfortunately). As I was thanking him, I looked up and there across the aisle, taking her seat & saying hi, was the woman to whom I’d given the $3.
Have I gotten away with this? Is that possible? Well, I don’t know, I won’t know for quite a few years yet, I imagine. But at least for now, I’ve gotten the all clear. My x-rays were normal, no problems. My new breathing tests went very well– my lack of lung power last time was due to the bronchitis. Whew!
It’s been a long time, but I recognize the signs. I’ve been here before, and I know it’s serious — bronchitis. One of the surest signs for me, other than the type of cough, is the fact that I can’t stand to smoke a cigarette if I have bronchitis.
So there I was in the new doctor’s office giving her my medical background information and I hear the following words come out of my mouth, “my dad died from lung cancer” and a few minutes later “my mother died from (among other things) lung cancer”. Of course I knew these facts, I had just never said them out loud to anyone before. I thought, “how stupid I must sound to this doctor who doesn’t know me”. *I* couldn’t believe how it sounded, and I *do* know me.
Addiction doesn’t give a damn about intelligence though. And nicotine addiction is particularly insidious. What chance did I have really, when my mother smoked while pregnant with me? Of course that was before the days of such great concern about these things.
Anyway, as part of the exam I had to do a few breathing tests. I did so poorly that she wanted to send me for a chest x-ray. Well, my dears, that cinched it.
I’ve quit many times before, once for as long as 1 year & 10 months and there have been other long stretches of me not smoking (hopefully this has been a saving grace). Each time I’ve gone back it’s been because we’ve moved, one of the most stressful things in life.
Stopping because of illness wasn’t exactly quitting, in my mind. I mean, there’s not that psychological “last cigarette”. Not having that “last smoke” has been a problem when I’ve quit due to bronchitis in the past. As soon as I’ve started to feel better, I’ve wanted a cigarette & badly too. Most of the time I’ve given into that craving. My first cigarette free day was 3-15-05 (hence the title of the post) and I’m hoping that my epiphany will help me stick to it… that and we aren’t planning to move any time soon.
in that moment, taking the shovel, loading it with fresh earth, and pouring it on the box in the grave… hearing that sound… in that moment of utter finality it changed for me. it was done… physical, real. maybe that’s why we do it that way… to re-inforce the finality of death. anyhow i said goodbye, again. it was merely the physical manifestation. the spiritual death, the death of anything between us had happened long ago, been mourned by me long ago. there is no more chance now than there was last week, last month, last year, of things being different, but *really* no more chance. that is the sad part i suppose. but I didn’t cry. I’d done all my crying about this long ago and over many years.
None of us were asked to speak, but I had something in mind if asked… it seems a waste to have thought about it and not get to say it so…
to me, life is an adventure… I didn’t always think of it as such, and sometimes it’s still hard to do… but as I have grown, this has become my way of thinking, living, enjoying. I’ve been fortunate in finding that out and am able to feel good about the path I’ve taken thus far. The thing about the life adventure is — it all ends the same way. No matter how we conduct ourselves while living, no matter where we go, what we do, how we treat others, we all end up with life ended.
What’s done is done… we cannot change the past. The only thing we can effect is in the here and now… how we conduct our lives, how we choose to live, how we choose to treat eachother. hopefully it is with love, not malice; with tolerance, not judgement; with honesty & openness, not condemnation for any imaginary wrongs. The choice is ours.
What purpose does it serve to carry the immense weight of grudges throughout ones life? It seems to me that there is nothing gained by those who cling to grudges. I say, why not cling to love? The choice is yours.
is yet another diversion set up by the extreme right to keep us from focusing on what’s really going on (or what’s not going on). You know real issues, like the fact that