Stop Making Sense
Hello World,
Well, it wasn't that long ago that everyone in the local area was complaining about how cold and nasty it was around here, but for the last two weeks, we've certainly had as much hot and humid weather as anybody could want, that is, if they were some sort of tropical jungle creature that thrived in those conditions. As for the rest of us, it's been taking its toll, in a variety of noticeable ways. Our cats get more lethargic and lose their appetites, so that even their favorite treats don't tempt them to eat. At work, everyone else gave up on the whole idea of Walk Group, so that now the "group" consists of me and Marathon Margie, and on the days when she's at another facility, it's just me by myself, and no group about it. At night, when Bill leaves me a glass of ice water for after my shower, by the time I get out of the bathroom, there's no ice left in the glass at all, no matter how much ice it started with. This is the kind of August weather that public health officials warn us about, and no joke. Personally, and although everyone knows how I hate to hit an easy target, I blame Hurricane Bill, which seems to have stalled offshore, and all the weather systems have stopped right behind it, so that the fronts can't move through and bring us some needed relief. And I need hardly point out that we're not even supposed to have hurricanes in August in the first place, because hurricane season starts in September, but everybody knows there are no standards anymore, heaven knows.
Speaking of standards, when I got to work this morning, it seemed that every spot in the stupid little lot where I park was already taken, which has never happened since I've been in that lot. I had to parallel park in between two cars along the guard rail, which is something that I hate doing, and I'm also terrible at it, so it takes a very long time for me to stop the car in the right place, I finally squeezed in between the two cars, and when I got out, I noticed that I was parked half in one space and half in another, which you can't help but notice, because the spaces have big numbers in front of them, that are right in the middle, where your doors should be. Of course, I didn't feel negligent for parking so ineptly, since I was just parking in between the two cars that were already there, and they were the ones that parked badly in the first place, leaving me no choice but to park the way I did. But I still walked away embarrassed, and annoyed at the people who were there before me, and put me in that position, although I shouldn't take their behavior as any reflection on me. It goes without saying that when I came back out to the parking lot after work, both of those other cars had left, leaving mine all by itself along the guard rail, and inexplicably half in one space and half in another space, looking for all the world as if the idiot driver had never parked a car in their entire life, thanks not. Oh well, I don't call it the stupid lot for no reason.
Late yesterday, I was in the ladies room at work and the lights were out, so the only light was coming in through the windows. I made a comment about "mood lighting," and the senior bookkeeper who was in there with me said that she always thought she looked better with the lights out. It reminded me of a hotel that Bill and I stayed at once, and when I stepped out of the bathtub and caught sight of myself unwittingly in the horrible gigantic bathroom mirrors, with the disgusting and sickly bathroom lighting they have in hotels, which made me look even worse than I do in person, I shook my head and thought that it's no wonder that so many people commit suicide in hotels, and the hotels have no one to blame but themselves. I told Jean that story, and she had to agree with me. And the worst of it, I pointed out, is that I have very bad eyesight, and if I look this bad to me, can you imagine how awful I look to people who can see well, talk about the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune! She laughed.
Last week was the 40th anniversary of the Woodstock Arts & Music Festival held at Yasgur's Farm in Bethel, New York, which started out in an ordinary way but then unaccountably turned into a cultural event with far-reaching implications that are still being felt today. Of course, the media was awash with Woodstock-ian reports and programming, all day long and all night long, so that a space alien, landing here from a far distant solar system, couldn't help but think that it was actually 1969 at the moment, instead of a full forty years later. Even the usually staid and reserved History channel got in on the action, throwing their documentarians into the counter culture phenomenon with gusto. Our local newspaper was not to be left out, running long-winded and hackneyed articles all over the different sections, day after day. There was a commemorative concert in Bethel with some of the original performers, and a few people who had attended the original event in 1969, plus the anniversary concert, were featured in the news coverage. It seemed that there was no getting away from Beyond the Return of Beneath the Revenge of the 40th Anniversary of the Age of Peace, Love and Understanding Aquarius, no matter how you tried to avoid it. I figured that I could put a stop to all that, and my solution was to go outside and feed the birds in peace, not to mention, love and understanding.
Not so fast! It turns out that even our fair city was swept up in the hippie-dippie free-for-all, and from the band shell at nearby Hudson Park, anyone could hear the unmistakable sounds of Woodstock all over again, whether they wanted to or not. I didn't really notice it at first, although I was surprised to hear anybody playing Delta Lady, not the most popular choice at community concerts. After that, they did a long set of Credence Clearwater Revival, including the justifiably obscure Suzie Q, which I'm thinking that even CCR tribute bands wouldn't do. When they launched into a bunch of Crosby, Stills and Nash, the light finally went on even in my poor addled head, especially since I had just seen in the newspaper the entire list of performers at Woodstock, and all of the songs that they did there, so it was fresh in my mind. I admit that I wasn't expecting the city planners to jump on the Woodstock 40th anniversary bandwagon, and put on their own flower-power commemorative concert right in our neighborhood, but that's exactly what happened, and I'm not just whistling the I Feel Like I'm Fixing To Die Rag, by golly.
Meanwhile at church, we have an interim pastor who has been filling in while our call committee searches for a permanent replacement, after our previous pastor followed his wife and her job to Lebanon in July. (That thudding noise you hear is the sound of people falling down asleep all over the Middle East, whenever the pastor opens his mouth to speak, which is to say, whenever he's awake, and sometimes even when he's not.) The interim pastor is an affable gentleman going into the ministry as a second career, with no illusions or starry-eyed idealism of fledgling seminarians. Somehow he manages to deliver sermons that are interesting and punchy, that make a point and get to it directly, that are concise and engaging, with firm scriptural foundations while still being relevant. It's been a real wake-up call for our members who are used to sleeping during the interminably boring sermons we used to get, or people like me, who would bring magazines to read instead. The best part is that rather than being stuck at church all day, not just for worship but working in the office afterward, now we can all get out at a reasonable time and get on with our lives, if there are other things we need to get done, like errands. I took the opportunity to run some errands last Sunday after church, which turned into more of a hit-or-miss proposition than I was expecting. One place that I went was the supermarket, where I was expecting to get a few things, but only found one item that I was looking for. The self-checkout lines were just as long as any other, so I stood on one of the regular lines and just patiently waited my turn, after all, it was still early and I had no place else I needed to go, except home to do yard work, which was not a great incentive to hurry. Just as the family in front of me reached the cashier and started loading their groceries on the belt, I heard a great commotion behind me, and people were pointing me toward the customer service desk, which had apparently been trying to get my attention, although I had no idea what for. In utter confusion, I walked over to the customer service desk, where the young lady announced in an aggrieved manner, "We opened 6 for you, but you didn't listen." Now I feel like I should apologize to her, as if this is somehow my fault, that their well-meaning intentions were in vain because I failed to heed their exertions on my behalf. Not wanting to add insult to injury, I duly take my place at the end of line 6, which now is longer than the line I was originally on when I first started, and don't forget, I had gotten all the way up to the belt before being hijacked for this supposed advantage they had prepared for me. So thanks to the ever-vigilant and accommodating staff at Stop-N-Shop, I spent twice as long on line as I would have on my own, to buy one item that I could have picked up at the Sunoco station convenience store and been out of there in a flash, without all of this hullabaloo, and thanks so very much not. I keep saying that this new economy is not all it's cracked up to be, and believe me, that's not just a lot of tie-dyed, peace-symbol, love-beads anti-disestablishmentarianism, by golly. Say, who is that whistling the I Feel Like I'm Fixing To Die Rag?
Elle
Well, it wasn't that long ago that everyone in the local area was complaining about how cold and nasty it was around here, but for the last two weeks, we've certainly had as much hot and humid weather as anybody could want, that is, if they were some sort of tropical jungle creature that thrived in those conditions. As for the rest of us, it's been taking its toll, in a variety of noticeable ways. Our cats get more lethargic and lose their appetites, so that even their favorite treats don't tempt them to eat. At work, everyone else gave up on the whole idea of Walk Group, so that now the "group" consists of me and Marathon Margie, and on the days when she's at another facility, it's just me by myself, and no group about it. At night, when Bill leaves me a glass of ice water for after my shower, by the time I get out of the bathroom, there's no ice left in the glass at all, no matter how much ice it started with. This is the kind of August weather that public health officials warn us about, and no joke. Personally, and although everyone knows how I hate to hit an easy target, I blame Hurricane Bill, which seems to have stalled offshore, and all the weather systems have stopped right behind it, so that the fronts can't move through and bring us some needed relief. And I need hardly point out that we're not even supposed to have hurricanes in August in the first place, because hurricane season starts in September, but everybody knows there are no standards anymore, heaven knows.
Speaking of standards, when I got to work this morning, it seemed that every spot in the stupid little lot where I park was already taken, which has never happened since I've been in that lot. I had to parallel park in between two cars along the guard rail, which is something that I hate doing, and I'm also terrible at it, so it takes a very long time for me to stop the car in the right place, I finally squeezed in between the two cars, and when I got out, I noticed that I was parked half in one space and half in another, which you can't help but notice, because the spaces have big numbers in front of them, that are right in the middle, where your doors should be. Of course, I didn't feel negligent for parking so ineptly, since I was just parking in between the two cars that were already there, and they were the ones that parked badly in the first place, leaving me no choice but to park the way I did. But I still walked away embarrassed, and annoyed at the people who were there before me, and put me in that position, although I shouldn't take their behavior as any reflection on me. It goes without saying that when I came back out to the parking lot after work, both of those other cars had left, leaving mine all by itself along the guard rail, and inexplicably half in one space and half in another space, looking for all the world as if the idiot driver had never parked a car in their entire life, thanks not. Oh well, I don't call it the stupid lot for no reason.
Late yesterday, I was in the ladies room at work and the lights were out, so the only light was coming in through the windows. I made a comment about "mood lighting," and the senior bookkeeper who was in there with me said that she always thought she looked better with the lights out. It reminded me of a hotel that Bill and I stayed at once, and when I stepped out of the bathtub and caught sight of myself unwittingly in the horrible gigantic bathroom mirrors, with the disgusting and sickly bathroom lighting they have in hotels, which made me look even worse than I do in person, I shook my head and thought that it's no wonder that so many people commit suicide in hotels, and the hotels have no one to blame but themselves. I told Jean that story, and she had to agree with me. And the worst of it, I pointed out, is that I have very bad eyesight, and if I look this bad to me, can you imagine how awful I look to people who can see well, talk about the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune! She laughed.
Last week was the 40th anniversary of the Woodstock Arts & Music Festival held at Yasgur's Farm in Bethel, New York, which started out in an ordinary way but then unaccountably turned into a cultural event with far-reaching implications that are still being felt today. Of course, the media was awash with Woodstock-ian reports and programming, all day long and all night long, so that a space alien, landing here from a far distant solar system, couldn't help but think that it was actually 1969 at the moment, instead of a full forty years later. Even the usually staid and reserved History channel got in on the action, throwing their documentarians into the counter culture phenomenon with gusto. Our local newspaper was not to be left out, running long-winded and hackneyed articles all over the different sections, day after day. There was a commemorative concert in Bethel with some of the original performers, and a few people who had attended the original event in 1969, plus the anniversary concert, were featured in the news coverage. It seemed that there was no getting away from Beyond the Return of Beneath the Revenge of the 40th Anniversary of the Age of Peace, Love and Understanding Aquarius, no matter how you tried to avoid it. I figured that I could put a stop to all that, and my solution was to go outside and feed the birds in peace, not to mention, love and understanding.
Not so fast! It turns out that even our fair city was swept up in the hippie-dippie free-for-all, and from the band shell at nearby Hudson Park, anyone could hear the unmistakable sounds of Woodstock all over again, whether they wanted to or not. I didn't really notice it at first, although I was surprised to hear anybody playing Delta Lady, not the most popular choice at community concerts. After that, they did a long set of Credence Clearwater Revival, including the justifiably obscure Suzie Q, which I'm thinking that even CCR tribute bands wouldn't do. When they launched into a bunch of Crosby, Stills and Nash, the light finally went on even in my poor addled head, especially since I had just seen in the newspaper the entire list of performers at Woodstock, and all of the songs that they did there, so it was fresh in my mind. I admit that I wasn't expecting the city planners to jump on the Woodstock 40th anniversary bandwagon, and put on their own flower-power commemorative concert right in our neighborhood, but that's exactly what happened, and I'm not just whistling the I Feel Like I'm Fixing To Die Rag, by golly.
Meanwhile at church, we have an interim pastor who has been filling in while our call committee searches for a permanent replacement, after our previous pastor followed his wife and her job to Lebanon in July. (That thudding noise you hear is the sound of people falling down asleep all over the Middle East, whenever the pastor opens his mouth to speak, which is to say, whenever he's awake, and sometimes even when he's not.) The interim pastor is an affable gentleman going into the ministry as a second career, with no illusions or starry-eyed idealism of fledgling seminarians. Somehow he manages to deliver sermons that are interesting and punchy, that make a point and get to it directly, that are concise and engaging, with firm scriptural foundations while still being relevant. It's been a real wake-up call for our members who are used to sleeping during the interminably boring sermons we used to get, or people like me, who would bring magazines to read instead. The best part is that rather than being stuck at church all day, not just for worship but working in the office afterward, now we can all get out at a reasonable time and get on with our lives, if there are other things we need to get done, like errands. I took the opportunity to run some errands last Sunday after church, which turned into more of a hit-or-miss proposition than I was expecting. One place that I went was the supermarket, where I was expecting to get a few things, but only found one item that I was looking for. The self-checkout lines were just as long as any other, so I stood on one of the regular lines and just patiently waited my turn, after all, it was still early and I had no place else I needed to go, except home to do yard work, which was not a great incentive to hurry. Just as the family in front of me reached the cashier and started loading their groceries on the belt, I heard a great commotion behind me, and people were pointing me toward the customer service desk, which had apparently been trying to get my attention, although I had no idea what for. In utter confusion, I walked over to the customer service desk, where the young lady announced in an aggrieved manner, "We opened 6 for you, but you didn't listen." Now I feel like I should apologize to her, as if this is somehow my fault, that their well-meaning intentions were in vain because I failed to heed their exertions on my behalf. Not wanting to add insult to injury, I duly take my place at the end of line 6, which now is longer than the line I was originally on when I first started, and don't forget, I had gotten all the way up to the belt before being hijacked for this supposed advantage they had prepared for me. So thanks to the ever-vigilant and accommodating staff at Stop-N-Shop, I spent twice as long on line as I would have on my own, to buy one item that I could have picked up at the Sunoco station convenience store and been out of there in a flash, without all of this hullabaloo, and thanks so very much not. I keep saying that this new economy is not all it's cracked up to be, and believe me, that's not just a lot of tie-dyed, peace-symbol, love-beads anti-disestablishmentarianism, by golly. Say, who is that whistling the I Feel Like I'm Fixing To Die Rag?
Elle
posted by El Tango Fandango @ 9:26 PM
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