Was There No Public Bathroom Available?

Last week, during one of those rambling, no-topic phone conversations that I’m such a fan of, I mentioned that I had never received payment for some merchandise that I had sold. Yes, I understand that “sold” implies some sort of exchange of currency, but that was indeed the intent. I don’t know how these things come up in conversation, they just do. When asked why I hadn’t pursued payment more aggressively, I responded that, given the circumstances, the buyer must have really needed the items. My friend was having none of that. “I need lots of things, but that doesn’t mean I just steal them!” Thus began a short but charged discourse on the definition of necessity and its justification for stealing. Or something like that.

Normally, I wouldn’t relate pointless phone conversations, but something happened yesterday that brought this one to mind. I was picking up a few items in my favorite store (one of the joys of working from home is the mid-day, mid-week run to the store). As I sauntered down the aisle, something caught my eye: a 12-pack of store-brand toilet paper had been opened, and one roll was missing. I couldn’t help but laugh as I thought of the conditions that sometimes justify stealing.

Busy, Busy, What?

Last Saturday was a packed day—running around from 7:30 in the morning until11:30 at night. Yes, some of that was entertainment, but busy time nonetheless. Somewhere around the middle of the day, I was rushing through a department store when a beautiful piece of clothing caught my eye. I stopped to touch it and found the softest wool imaginable. It was an ivory coat with black trim, mid-thigh length, double-breasted with black buttons and three buttons at the bottom of each sleeve. Absolutely lovely. I continued on my way, then stopped in my tracks when I realized that this was the prominent item displayed at the front of a whole section of winter coats. The date was August 1. It was inching toward 90 degrees outside. I was in San Jose, California.

Now far be it from me to presume to be able to resolve the decline in retail sales so many economists keep talking about, but perhaps if stores stocked merchandise that was appropriate for location and season, they’d see better results. But, maybe not. I still remember the women who used to wear mittens and scarves in Los Angeles. Maybe a few of them will be looking for new winter coats.

The Underground

Not quite the same as bunker life, but a different kind of isolation. Some people drink when they get stressed out. Some people start fistfights. Others find a new hobby. All of those are fine choices, but not for me. I hide. Ask anyone who knew me when I was in Connecticut. Can’t find anyone? That’s because I hid so effectively that my roommate referred to me as Boo Radley. (Somehow that doesn’t seem like a compliment.)

I bring this up now in way of explanation. While I’ve had my usual share of amusing anecdotes and sarcastic observations to share, this blog has been woefully neglected. Mainly because I didn’t’ know how to address the elephant in the room: my final rotation ends in two days and, as of this moment, I have no idea what I’ll be doing next. I’m not really panicked, but find myself in a Zen-like state. Somehow it will work out. I’ll let you know when it does.

It’s Been So Long That Now I’m Dumb

There was a time in my life that I thought I was pretty smart. Sometime around ten years old, I discovered I was pretty good at math. What can I say? My brain responds well to boundaries; and nothing says boundaries like solving for “X.” Life has certainly given me my share of humbling experiences, but this week I heard a story that made me realize oh so vividly that I never was all that bright.

My boss has two sons. The twelve year old became upset that his ten-year old brother could solve a Rubik’s Cube faster than he could. His solution to this humiliating situation? He built a computer program / robot to solve a Rubik’s Cube. Um, yah. Did I mention he’s 12?

I’m now wondering if anything other than my thumbs differentiates me from the apes.

Still Working on a Dream

I’ve heard at least a dozen times that smell is the sense most closely associated with memory, but it’s hard to imagine anything invoking memory more than music. As soon as I saw Bruce’s silhouette when he walked on the stage last night, I was back in Amy’s living room seeing the Born in the USA album cover for the very first time. And then I was driving home from my cruddy summer job with the windows rolled down, singing “Born to Run” as loud as my lungs could belt it. It’s been more years than I can count on my fingers since either one of those things happened, but my heart tells me it was yesterday. I’m pretty sure Bruce didn’t realize how many years had passed either, because I can’t imagine anyone who’s only months shy of 60 working the stage for three hours the way he did.

If someone asked me who my favorite musician was, I’m not sure Springsteen would come to mind. But every note and word last night brought me back to places and times that I never want to forget. If there’s one thing I know for sure, it’s that anyone who signs up to move every six months is decidedly Born to Run.

Turning the Tables

I often write about the less-than-brilliant moments of my own life, and certainly have enough of those to keep this blog going for years to come. But, in the spirit of equal airtime, I’d like to share a couple moments that caught my attention recently.

Last Week
As I was doing my weekly grocery shopping last Saturday, I overheard the following exchange.

Child, holding up package of whole-grain crackers: “Mom, can I get
these?”
Mother: “No. They don’t have any flavor; you won’t like
them.”

And with that, she put two packages of pizza-flavored crackers in her cart. Now, to give her the benefit of the doubt, perhaps she’d been down this road before, and had wasted countless packages of things that caught her child’s eye in the store. I’m going to go out on a limb here, and suggest that if a child is requesting something that is even marginally healthier than average, it might be a good idea to indulge it. But what do I know?

Today
I was only half paying attention to the chit chat in the carpool this morning. Then, about halfway home the woman sitting next to me began talking about a small town in Idaho. To make sure we knew just how small it was, she emphasized that this town is, “Three blocks squared by three blocks squared.” And that was when I had to activate my snicker monitor. Because now I’m dying to know exactly how this town is laid out. Is the whole town two stories tall, or does it extend into a fourth dimension? And I have a feeling that I’ll never know.

Oh, the Guilt

The reason I resisted starting a blog for as long as I did was the inevitable guilt. See, I knew there would come a point when I stopped making updates and I would start feeling bad. That point came sometime in the last two months.

Despite having more than enough to share—finding out that I’d be staying in San Jose for another six months, a lovely trip to Maine, singing Christmas carols with Tom Brady, two weeks in the Czech Republic—I just haven’t gotten around to posting an update. And now there are simply too many things to catch up on, so I’m throwing my hands up in the air and leaving both of my faithful readers with pictures of Prague.

Enjoy.