12-30-2005

BORA TAGGED ME (see, I wrote a title like I promised)

Bora (Coturnix) plays a game on his site (sciencepolitics.blogspot.com) in which he "tags" some people (?) to fill in a bunch of categories involving personal choices. I'm apparently "it" today, so here goes:

Four jobs I've had in my life- Rod man for a surveyor (you have to dig those damn monument holes), Fuller Brush Man (ring 100 housewives doors a day and you'll learn what "desperate" really means), Polical speech writer( one guy I wrote for ended up face down in SF Bay, it's OK nowadays, though, he was a liberal), Stock broker, from which I need an occasional break, which is why I write)
Four movies I could watch over and over- 1000 Clowns (too bad Robards died), American President (shhh, I'm a liberal), High Fidelity (Cusack's a genius), and of course, Casablanca
Four places I've lived- Carbondale, IL, New Milford, CT, San Francisco, CA (during the flower-child days), Worms, Germany (no, I'm not old enough to know Martin Luther personally, but I could use a good Diet)
Four TV shows I love to watch- Numbers ( to get in touch with my nerd side), Arrested Development (it's the only way to feel good about my upbringing), Lost (because I am, usually), and Grey's Anatomy (the female interns are HOT).
Four places I've been on vacation- Cancun, mexico (where I lost a golf ball in an iguana hole, you get a free lift, if you dare to reach in), Amalfi, Italy (only married a year, then, I played no golf) , Aspen, CO ( I climbed to the upper lake at Maroon Bells- gorgeous), Disney World (took kids, then grandkids), I also went to Mardi Gras, but I can't remember a thing after Pete's)
Four websites I visit daily- I check on my classmates- nileblog.blogspot, thescreaminmemey.blogspot, takethisdotcom.blogspot, and of course, brettevans.blogspot. If you're wondering why I don't just link you to them, my ancient computer doesn't seem to want to let me.
Four of my favorite foods- porcupine meatballs, javanese sate ( I first had it at Trader Vic's, now long gone- if you couldn't score after sharing those humongous tropical drinks you're a eunich), chicken mole, and corned beef hash (for breakfast)- also anything extremely caloric.
Four places I'd rather be- Roaring Fork River Valley (they still have cattle drives down Main Street), Lake Garda, Italy, Studio 54 (in 1977), in Michelle Pfeiffer's bedroom (by personal invitation)
Four albums I can't live without- Tom Lehrer (If you can remember him, you're too damn old), Ella's Greatest HIts, Julie London ( the sexiest voice in recorded history), and , inevitably Patsy Cline

Now that I've proved myself to be a man of impeccable taste, Bora, help me find the memeing of life.

Oops, forgot to "tag" . I tag Brett,
Patti,
Coleen,
Joal


Later.

12-29-2005

Tonight I was going to start putting bold headlines on my posts, when I realized that I didn't have the slightest idea what I was going to write. This makes it very difficult to create a headline. I could just write the post and go back and put a title on it, but that feels like cheating. So those of you anxiously awaiting headlines will have to bide patiently until my next post- or not, if you want to be snotty about it.

My office is moving across the river to Glastonbury. The distance is only 3 miles, but the effort is exponential, mentally as well as physically. We've been at our current location for fourteen years, and you can't begin to calculate the massive amount of useless (precious?) junk that I've amassed in my relatively small office. I know it breaks some Newtonian Law, but the pile of stuff I threw out had a larger volume than the office itself.

Some of the treasures with which I was forced to part caused me wrenching, soul-searing sorrow. My prized putting machine , with which I have beaten Palmer, Nicklaus, and even Woods- out the door. My toy coconut from the top of the falls of Ocho Rios- gone. Framed sheet music of such topical artists as Al Jolson and the Andrews sisters- packed and sent home. (It has been dictated that the new office have pristinely bare walls). The same fate has befallen my 50-some-odd placques for various volunteer and civic achievements, even business rewards. I also had to take home a framed advertisement picturing the first car I ever drove, a 1947 Dodge- what a car, 11 years old when I got it (the car, not me). Files of clients who've died, many misty memories as I threw them away. Peanuts from 1996 at the bottom of a drawer, 3 bottles of expired aspirin, a gift fountain pen with real ink (no ballpoint), 12 mugs of varying degrees of memoir significance, a whale-shaped letter opener from Maui, 6 broken-toothed combs, a Sherlock Holmes pipe from when I used to smoke- the list is endless.

I'm sure I'll function just fine in my antiseptic new office (did I mention that only plastic plants are allowed). But please allow me this brief nostalgic moment. Maybe, though, like the unobserved falling tree in the forest, my unobserved memoirs call the existence of my last 14 years in my office into question. With no echoing memories on the walls, was I ever there?

I guess I did find something to write about. I probably could have done the whole thing about my '47 Dodge. Maybe I will, soon. If your lucky, you'll get a headline.

Later.

12-26-2005

Christmas at my sister's was the usual chaotic happening. Given the diverse personalities of the attendees, the comparison to a poorly scripted Chevy Chase holiday movie is inevitable. 17 related people, some directly, some obscurely, some an amalgamous combination of both. Inevitable chaos.

It started with my daughter Amanda sitting down on a couch occupied by an ancient dachshound. This animal is 5 years older than Methuselah and has "nipped at" (my sisters euphemism for bitten) an incalculable number of innocent victims in her dotage. Naturally , Amanda had a small hunk taken off her hand, post-which my sister in total denial of events told her she'd only been "nipped". I put a bandage on the bleeding "nip", figured the dog was probably up-to-date with her shots and the day proceeded.

There were 7 children present (from 1 to 11), this not counting we "adults" who have yet to leave adolescence. Aside from the usual competition for adult attention, I only counted 6 reportable incidents (none to the cops, we're discrete in our family). Here's an example or two. My grandson Fin (3 years old) fell on the walk on the way in. He very tearfully reported to me (1) that his Daddy had pushed him (perception, not fact) and (2) that his Mommy had "not caught him" as he fell, and (3) that I should do something about (1) and (2). Further investigation revealed that no one was within 15 feet of Fin when he fell, so the action I took was to kiss the booboo on his knee and point him toward the amazing stack of presents under the tree. This apparently was the correct solution.

Azra (1 year old), having never seen a fireplace fire, decided it was probably a very sparkly TV set and rushed headlong to touch it. Her mother grabbed her inches away from screaming conflagration. Routine for Azra, a very curious individual and possibly the most interesting person at the party, but an attention grabbing event nonetheless.

Henry, my sister's husband, is a really nice guy but definitely not a sports fan. Thus it has been my fate to be exiled from the NFL and NBA on Christmas Day for the rest of my life. Discussion of sports is also tabu, the topic, when broached, being shunted aside by my sister, my brother-in law, and even my wife in solid phalanx against us sports Phillistines. My suffering will be rewarded in some Christmas-inspired afterlife, although with my luck this well-deserved Nirvana is probably non-existent. (Anyway, can there be a Christmas Nirvana?)

A drop-by of 2 adult children of my sister's neighbors brightened my afternoon. Eleanor used to send me postcards as she backpacked alone through the Nicaraguan jungles. Unfortunately, she's now rather prosaically teaching 4th grade in Oakland, CA., a life short of vicarious thrill inspiration. She's thinking about a life change, though, like me exploring a new path with a graduate degree in some field other than her current metier. Again unfortunately, she hasn't decided which field. None of my suggestions (surprise!) made an impression.

Her sister Abby, a merger specialist lawyer (could a job be more button-down?) has recently moved with her husband to the DC area, renting an oddly shaped (12x30, 3 floors) town house in Georgetown. She, 5 months pregnant, looks more beautiful than I've ever seen her (and she was always very attractive). She's frustrated with the exorbitant price of real estate in Washington but otherwise is terrifically happy with her life. Made my day.

Since some of the people were vegetarians, all the food dishes but one (some Xmas ham) were non-meat. I myself am a two-fisted, blood and guts non-PC carnivore. When I finished the meal, I felt like running out and hunter-gathering something that moved and devouring it whole. Luckily , my wife made a trifle for desert, so I stowed my excess virility and concentrated on building an humongous sugar high. Succeeded in same.

In the interest of brevity, I'll skip the voracious attack on the present pile and the ensuing display of conspicuous consumption on the part of all concerned. It's good to discover , once again, that the true meaning of Christmas and Chanukah has been correctly identified in thousands of TV commercials and that we're sending our children the appropriate seasonal message.As Tom Lerher composed "Hark the Herald Tribune sings, advertising wondrous things". It's an old sweet song.

Scrooge here, signing off. Bah...you know the rest.

Later.

12-25-2005

Finally, I get a break from various crises, an opportunity to sit down, organize my thoughts, and as John Cameron Swayze used to say "be an eye-witness to the happenings that made history" (at least MY history).

The first crisis began with a phone call from my brother telling me that our 89-year-old father was in the Mayo Clinic hospital (in Scottsdale, AZ) having had either a heart attack or a stroke. 24 hours and some frantic phone calling revealed that neither event had occured, that he had gotten a really bad flu and the attendant infection and pneumonia had made him temporarily delusional and disoriented. When his wife tried to get him to a doctor (I still don't know why an ambulance wasn,t called immediately), he fell and couldn't be moved. My father is over 6 feet tall and weighs (he says) 220 plus (I think significantly plus). Since even with a neighbor's help he could not be moved, they finally called an ambulance, who took him to the hospital.

We pick up the story the next day when I called him at the the hospital. He told me (1)he was feeling very weak, (2) that they wouldn't feed him (he had an IV in), and (3) that the hospital was inefficient, the nurses inferior, and they kept forgetting to bring his medicine. I should mention at this point that my father was for 10 years a hospital administrator. He is also chronically pessimistic.

After a long series of cardiac tests and various brain wave tests, heart failure and stroke were ruled out. My father then told me how unhappy he was with hospital procedure ("I'm just a number here") and how things would improve greatly when he got to re-hab, at which he was supposed to stay at least 10 days to get back his strength and mobility.

He arrived at re-hab and informed me (1)that he was feeling weak, (2) that the food was lousy, and (3)that the re-hab was inefficient, the nurses inferior, and that they kept forgetting to bring his medicine. Then he told me how much better things had been at the hospital. He then told me he wanted to go home, which was a bad idea because by this time his wife had the flu also and can't take care of him. At this point I leave this crisis and take you to another.

My daughter has flown out this week from Colorado and is staying here with me because her adoptive sister is having difficulties with her pregnancy and needs her support. I will untangle our family relationships later, but suffice it to say that my daughter is my daughter and her sister is not. Her sister had preeclampsia and the baby had to be C-sectioned in the 34th week. All week Ericka , my daughter went to Stamford Hospital to help out her sister and her sister's husband. After various crises , the baby was born yesterday (what a great title idea). Mother's fine, baby a surprisingly large 4 lbs 11 oz, 8 APGAR. Crisis over.

I got up at 5 this morning to drive my daughter to the airport so that she could be home by noon to spend Christmas and Chanukah with her children, my wonderful grandkids Ruby and Lucy. I love my daughter. I wish I could have all her crises for her.

Throughout all of this , I've been packing up my office which is re-locating after 15 years. I'm somewhat of a packrat and throwing away a ton of useless stuff has been excruciating for me. Crisis? Maybe. Feels like it to me.

God, because He occasionally feels like testing mortals like Job and me, has conspired to put the Christian and Jewish December holidays on the same day this year. So in the middle of all these events, my wife and I wrapped 27 (count 'em) presents yesterday. This out of a total of 50 plus that we're actually giving. The American economy can never fail as long as I'm in it.

Enough. Later.

12-19-2005

This blog is dedicated to my classmate Holly.

One thing that was undeniable in our study of blogs is the cathartic effect of the blogging process. All of us discovered significant personal things about each other through our writings even though we spent only a few hours in personal contact. This process is continuing, for me at least, reading the blogs of my classmates who have continued writing. Last Saturday's post by Holly brought me to tears. Here's why.

32 years ago, when my daughter was 2, she was diagnosed with leukemia, which we thought was a death sentence. Medical science had a break-through, but the process was flawed. Amanda was cured of leukemia, but was overdozed with chemotherapy and radiation which left her brain-damaged, " mentally retarded" was the term used. My beautiful, gifted two-year-old was left with an IQ of less than 70. When she was 5, we had her tested at Gengris Center and were told that she would never read or write and they predicted that she would end up eventually in a group home with a very limited existence.Thesignificantly underestimated my daughter's strength of character, and ours.

One of the most difficult adjustments that a parent has to make in this situation is the loss of the "Dream". When a child is born, every mother and father has shining hopes for huge successes in the child's unlimited future. This rosy scenario comes crashing down when a disaster like ours occurs. Many marriages don't survive , as one partner or the other slips into denial, depression, guilt ,anger, or abuse (substance or physical). Some people, however, find the love and the strength to help their child succed in the world, and when the child does, the rewards to the soul are tremendous.

Getting the proper support from the school sysem is a major frustration. Lack of funds, mediocre teaching , and unknowledgeale administrations makes every forward step like slogging through a swamp. Constant vigilance and interactive participation is a must for parent's of "special needs" kids. It's hard to make the system work, but when it does , the results are extremely satisfying.

Gengris was wrong. Amanda, through incredible personal effort, can read and write a little. She is able to live in her own apartment with some daily assistance from an agency (which we chose after some failures). She works in a sheltered workplace, and that combined with her entitlements makes her financially independent, a fact of which she is fiercely proud. At 34 she has a social life and a good relationship with her family. In short, she is happy with her life.

Raising Amanda, after a gut-wrenching start, has had a really beneficial effect on our life also. My wife, originally a school teacher, made the experience into a career, being employed as an educational consultant (and parent contact) at the Special Education Resource Center. I have initiated special needs programs in 5 different sports, and still coach 3 annually. I find a patience there that doesn't exist for me anywhere else.

This is to you, Holly. I'm 20 years down the line from where you are now . My daughter, like yours, makes astounding (to me) insightful remarks out of the blue, making connections that I thought were impossible for her. I wish you all the joy in the world with your daughter. Never underestimate her.

Later.

12-15-2005

Brett and I were the only two blogging class alums to show up at the Bistro, which led to an hour and a half discussion of the following topics:
(a) Brett's current dating life
(b) my former dating life
(c) my appreciation of the attractiveness of Asian women (of which several examples were present), which Brett doesn't fully share
(d) how the women in our class (Holly, Elin, Erin, Patty, Jen, and Brie) were collectively and individually more beautiful than those we were observing at the moment
(e) that only 6 members of our class were keeping up their blogs, although we have hopes for a return of a few blogs now that papers are finished
(f) that the calibre of pulchritude had diminished at the Bistro because (1) many had already gone home and (2) too many clothes are worn in winter- ( I wonder what the Bistro's equivalent looks like now at, say, the University of Alabama
(g) adoption, and abortion, with me providing anecdotal coverage of the subject
(h) fidelity, it's cause and cure
(i) military life and Joal

Noteworthy for it's lack of mention was any discussion of blogging, politics, or religion. After a while Brett got bored and we decided to leave. I'm surprised that the conversation lasted as long as it did. No booze , no women, an hour and a half is about the limit for 2 guys talking.

Later

12-14-2005

Tonight I have the honor of an invitation to the thesbian debut of my grandson Fin. He is , for those of you not following along, a very brave 3 years old. My wife has come down with a bad cold, so I am attending this monumental event stag. A night out alone would ordinarily lead to preliminary flights of bacchanalian fantasy in which I get drunk or stoned, then am sexually accosted by Michelle Pfeiffer simply because she can't help herself. However, even my over-active libidinous imagination can't do much with a bunch of harassed-looking young women frantically trying to organize their recalcitrant toddlers into the "performance" of this holiday extraviganza. I think the best I can hope for is Harold Lloyd-esque comedy-on-the-brink-of-disaster. If it's funny enough , I'll tell you- later.

12-12-2005

On Saturday night there was an incident near the Trinity campus. 4 young men climbed out of their car and jumped a student walking alone. The attack occurred almost exactly where I had left off my classmate 2 nights earlier. This whole business scares the hell out of me.What I want to know is, why doesn't it scare anyone else? We're sitting on a powder keg at the college, and people are, through apathy and arrogance, inadvertantly throwing matches.

We get letters from the university president when a student is robbed or attacked, but no comment when incidents of racial profiling happen almost daily on or near the campus. Students complain about the "bad neighborhood" surrounding the school (by which they mean Black or Latino), but nobody volunteers to personally help solve the problem with some positive interaction. Town-gown relations have never been worse. How about accepting more local kids into the school? How about dreaming up some way to have social contact with your neighbors right outside your gates? Trinity students are rumored locally to be arrogant , preppy, and superior-acting. Guess what, people, some rumors are self-fulfilling.

I have vivid memories of the Watts riots in the '60s. I was stupid enough to drive down to LA from San Francisco to see for my own eyes what was going on. Unlike Watts, when our neighborhood goes up in flames, we'll go with it. The apathy of the school, and especially the students, to the problem is maddening to me. This is the second time I've warned about the wolf (the first time didn't even draw a comment), and he's getting hungrier.

Later- I hope.

12-12-2005

Yesterday was the 3rd birthday of my grandson Arefin. As is usual in our family, Fin was showered with a conspicuous outpouring of gifts that the Magi couldn't duplicate. The theme, of course, was anything mechanical and mobile. Fin loves trucks, trains, cars, and things he can ride on. The wonderful part of all this is that he deserves all of it. He is, I say with familial pride, the prototypical "great kid". Although endowed with all the natural unceasing heedless motion of a male child (his sisters float through life, Fin barges), he has a sweetness and kind nature that blows us all away. When he arrived at our house and saw the piles of presents, his eyes lit up like Hannukah lights and he rushed to tear open the wrappings. I gently held him back (not easy) and told him he would have to wait for his party guests to arrive before he could open his presents. My heart ached to watch the effort it took for this little person to respond to my adult restriction on his properly childish excitement.My Fin came through like a champ, though, and waited patiently (sort of) for his just rewards. God, I love that kid.

Another amazing and gratifying event was the creative effort that went into the baking of the birthday cake. This was the joint production of Fin's parents, Nicole and Greg (my son). The cake, naturally, was in the shape of a car, a combination of chocolate and vanilla layers surrounding a creamy ICE CREAM base, with Reese's chunks for wheels and intricate combinations of icing to design the car. I could taste peanut butter, chocolate, butterscotch, vanilla, and maybe, I think, coffee.Absolutely delicious. Fin was ecstatic. We showered Nicole with deserved praise, which she deflected to Greg. He, apparently, was the concept guy, she the artisan. Best cake I've ever had, hands down.

One last party memory: the outstanding behavior of my granddaughter Kyly. Kyly's whole life is a dramatic performance, and she fights ferociously with her brother for the attention of her favorite audience-her parents and grandparents. On this day however, acting with a maturity far beyond her 5 years of life experience, she stepped down from her perennial stage and graciously deferred the spotlight to her brother. I'm so damn proud of her I could bust.

I could go on about the party, about how great it was to have my family around for such a joyful occasion. Also about how great it is to have such variety in my life, contrasting my Thursday night's observation (and participation, somewhat, I admit) in the Hartford bar scene with Saturday's family party. Now, my wife and I are off to dine with some old friends adding to our exploration of Sunday Brunches around the state. More on that-later.

12-09-2005

It's blizzarding out my window, which is forcing me to play hooky from work and recuperate from last night's "end of class" festivities. A full evening it was, complete with a little nostalgia, a little mauldlin sentimentality, and some immature excesses on my part- all in all a satisfying night.

The evening started with Brett and me meeting before class at the Bistro, mostly for some serious discussion about the merits of campus life and, far more importantly, the merits of the outstanding display of pulchritude available for our critical observation. Brett, who is 26 and single, and I, who am neither, nonetheless share amazingly similar views on this subject. For example, a sweet, young thing passed by evoking very little reaction from either of us, Brett because she wasn't attractive enough and me because she wasn't old enough. But as she passed, both of us snapped our necks around simultaneously so hard we'll probably need traction.This SYT's posterior made Jennifer Lopez's look like Twiggy. When she passed by again I briefly swapped pleasantries with her. Her friendly response surprised Brett, whose technique is to make eye contact and then ignore his target (prey?). I don't know why this works, but it does, a lot.

At that point , Elin showed up, followed soon after by Patti and Joal. Elin, who is very attractive and intelligent (notice the word order of my description) can really crack the whip with a sarcastic comment. She dragged out this particular weapon from her arsenal when she discovered what Brett and I had been doing. For the sake of my ego, I'm omitting her comments, but she did ask us to point out the young lady in question. It didn't clarify the matter, the SYT was sitting down.

Class was anticlimactic. We had come to a realization that we had been part of something special but no one came up with a spectacular finale, so we decided to do the next best thing- take the action to a local tavern and drink a lot. One thing though, I got really feel-good goodbye hugs from Jen and Brie. I got a nice handshake from John, too but it just wasn't the same. I'm resigning myself to a permanent hetero bias.

After class, a bunch of us repaired to the Arch Street Tavern for some libation and sentimentality, from whence, I believe, comes the term "crying in your beer". To liven the proceedings, I proposed a well-deserved toast to Colin, who had earlier made the analogy of himself to a lion-tamer in this class. I am blogger, hear me roar! I think Colin surprised even himself with the effectiveness of his teaching. Maybe that feeling of experimentation was a factor in the success of the course.

I then had an inspiration. I called aside the barmaid who was serving us (cute, sassy, working her way to a Finance BA at UConn). I asked her to walk up subtly behind Brett's chair, breathe into his ear, and murmur loudly "I love English Majors". I then told everybody (except Brett) what was going to happen. Diana the barmaid was a natural ham, so the gag went well. OK, it's a lot funnier after 4 beers.

Lots more happened, but due to privacy issues and the Patriot Act I'm stopping here.Later.

12-05-2005

The TV had "Holiday Inn" on just before I started this- as if I didn't feel maudlin and overly sentimental enough from my topic alone. What I want to talk about is the way I feel about our blogging class, the people in it, and the fact that something really special is coming to a close.

I knew nothing about blogging before this class, I barely knew the word. Moreover, as you have discovered, I'm generationally challenged about anything involved with the technology of the computer world. To my surprise, however, I found that I was not alone in being intimadated by the concept of blogging. All of us had difficulty, in some way or another, in adapting to the world of the blogosphere. Some were nervous about the lack of privacy, and concerned about reader interaction. Some wrote stilted, formal blogs at first, worried about expressing private thoughts in a public medium. Some, like me, struggled with the mechanics of the damn thing.

The interesting thing is not that we managed to learn a great deal about blogging, but that in the process we somehow became a close-knit unit. I found that, through reading each other's blogs, talking to one another in class and privately, and, most of all, learning about each other through the unique experience of interpersonal blog commentary, we somehow arrived at a position of mutual respect and surprising closeness. I wound up feeling grateful to have had the opportunity to share the phenomenon of these last few months with my classmates and I'm very sad to have it end.

There are several unforgettable memories that I will take from these Thursday nights. Elin gesturing passionately to make a point. Dave methodically arguing his position by the numbers. Erin breaking through her personal shyness with some brilliant blog comments. Brie, combining youth, beauty, and talent- who of us wouldn't want her future? Joe, always effective with emotionally charged remarks, and Eric refuting them deadpan. Jen, my seat neighbor, focused to a fault on her life's goals, but absolutely brilliant in flexible thought in her blog. John, always helpful (to me particularly) and cogent in his blog critique. Jeff, my musical buddy lightening up the procedings. Matt, in denial of the personal revelations of his blog writing. Patti, with her angst in toward the blogging process. Holly, lighting up the room with her enthusiasm and optimism. Joal, the future marine, he'll never know 'til he gets there.Chris, a brilliant mind in the process of self-discovery. And me, how can I be expected to stick to one topic when there's such a lot to explore?

And , of course, there's Brett. As you can see, it takes a whole new paragraph to describe his effect on the class. He was the first of us to realize the cathartic nature of the blogging medium, and by far the best in exploiting it. He took us down the personal odyssey of his (dating) life, leaving images most of us won't forget. I'm not sure whether Brett was made for the blogosphere or vice-versa, but they are a perfect and inevitable fit.

I was going to link each name mentioned to the appropriate blogsite, but I realized that some privacy issues were involved in naming the authors of some blogs. Nuts, and I wanted to show off my new-found linking skill.

Before I leave this blog, I need to point out that none of this experience would have been possible without the deft hand of Colin guiding our path. This was a new, previously untried teaching medium with a lot of serious groundbreaking required. I, personally, am very grateful for having the luck to be part of this brave new world, and I think we all thank Colin for making it a huge success., Yes,guys, I probably am sucking up, but that doesn't mean I don't mean it.

No one will be surprised that I could go on forever about how I feel toward my classmates. I've been blown over by the talent , intelligence, empathy, and all-round good will that I found. I know that because most of us are Master's candidates in English we will probably meet again in other classes, and I hope we all keep blogging and stay in touch thatway, but I can't shake the feeling that after Thursday night something will be gone from our lives that is irreplaceable.I hope not.

Later.

12-02-2005

Man, do I feel stupid. As every one of you already knew, the linking process is ridiculously easy to anyone but a technophobe such as myself. Once you conquer your fear of somehow breaking the equipment and actually making an attempt, everything just falls into place. This experience brought me a "deja vu" of the first time I had sex. I remember having that same feeling that I might break the equipment somehow(hers, mine,maybe...I don't know). In fact, that same parallel has held in my mind throughout this bloggong class.

The chief reason for this feeling is that I sometimes have the impression that I'm here, as I was then, under false pretenses. My debut into the world of sex was on a double date with my friend Jimmy Medlin, who was 2 years older than I (17-15). Naturally, I lied about my age by 3 years, which gave the false impression to my partner ( a relatively, to me, experienced 17 year old) that I was far more accomplished and sophisticated than I was in actuality. In the 1950's, nice girls "made out", but somewhere short of her "fate worse than death" would pant out the magic word "stop" and any seld-respecting young swain would, indeed, stop. On this night, however, cramped uncomfortably in Jimmy's back seat, I waited in vain for that magic word. As things progressed, I became more and more anxious that as I sailed into uncharted territory, my pathetic lack of experience would become glaringly evident, and that this sweet young thing would hold me up to ridicule forever. Fortunately for my sexual ego, and to my eternal gratitude, my kind partner took things in hand (figuratively, you dolts) and things progressed to what was apparently a very satisfactory conclusion (at least that's what she said).I hope wherever she is today all good things are happening.

Anyway, this "fish-out-of-water" syndrome, and the attendant fear of embarrassment, has echoed in my mind on many occasions during this blogging class. I do not belong to the computer generation. As I have related in class, there was no TV in my town until I was 9 years old. I look around me and realize that I need to study and learn many of the things that are second nature to my classmates. I feel like I'm in the back seat of that car so many years ago, with the people around me expecting me to have much more knowledge and/or experience, at least in the area of computers and the cyberworld, than I could possibly have amassed. It's reverse aging. The older you are less you know.

Brett,of course, will be very pleased to see that there are, and have been, areas where I am definitely NOT self-confident, although if asked I'd probably lie about that.

Later.

12-02-2005

Since Brett took the time to bring me kicking and screaming into the 21st century by demonstrating how to llink to another blog, he gets the dubious honor of being my first link connection. I followed instructions, now I'll post this and see if it works.