Month: December 2018

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2018, In Memoriam

I imagine this is how the chaps and dames felt as the clock motored down to close out 1918, totally unsure of what awaited in 1919, but hopeful that it would be better than what they were leaving behind. As December bled into January of a new year, I imagine them dancing their dances, and … Continue reading 2018, In Memoriam

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It’s Complicated

“You let me complicate you.” ~Nine Inch Nails

I find it pretty hilarious when you look at someone’s relationship status, and it says “It’s complicated,” because all relationships are complicated, to an extent. I think the idea of “It’s complicated” came about because of the lack of definition most relationships seem to have these days. It’s hard to find girlfriends and boyfriends anymore because everyone is so intent on being single unless otherwise noted.

But we as a society don’t seem to care about this lack of definition. We are all about labels, so when a relationship is undefined we feel the need to define it, to slap a big label on it so others can sufficiently judge it. It’s like how employees in retail wear nametags so we can call them Sid, and Nancy, so we can feel like we know them just that much better because we know their names. Status is the same.

Remember when you used to hang out at bars, and it was all about trying to figure out if the hot girl in the group at the far table was single. What did single mean to you? Did it mean was she not married? Did it mean she had a boyfriend who you could displace? Did it mean she was totally unencumbered with none of the above? Remember how you wished you could just hand her a slip of paper asking her status? If she had circled “It’s complicated,” would you have continued your pursuit?

To me, “It’s complicated” means she’s probably in a relationship with someone who is a placeholder, or they’ve been through some issues and she’s now unsure if they will go the distance. Continue reading “It’s Complicated”

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I Live in New York

“I live in New York.”

Such an innocent phrase, but one fraught with a sort of complication from the outset. When I tell people this, in response to their question of where I live, they almost always launch into their memories of the city that never sleeps. They tell me about how they visited “the Village,” or how they loved Times Square on New Year’s. Or a plethora of other tales that I inevitably have to interrupt.

“Not the city. I live upstate.”

Then they look at me as if I’ve grown two heads, or in disgust because they thought I’d deliberately misled them. When, for me, it’s simply easier for me to say New York and try to move on. Saying “Upstate” makes me sound a bit snooty. “I have an estate upstate.” So I say “I live in New York,” and steady myself for the onslaught that is likely to come from the final reveal.

I’ll admit that sometimes I wish the city was called something else, that the good people who created this great state didn’t name it the same as its largest city. It’s not like Oklahoma City, in that if I said “I’m going to Oklahoma City,” you know I don’t mean the state, and vice versa. It’s not like there weren’t about a million others names out there, but no one of significance decided this was a faux pas.

“I’m confused,” they tell me. “What do you mean upstate?”

And I have to tell them I live about halfway between Syracuse, a pretty big city in its own right, and Albany, the erstwhile state capital. Continue reading “I Live in New York”

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Stocking H2O

“How could this Y2K be a problem in a country where we have Intel and Microsoft?” ~Al Gore

Sure, I had water stocked up. At last count there were 30 gallon-sized bottles edging out all other space on the kitchen floor. The apartment was small enough without the attention to detail that the possible looming emergency situation “required.” I argued that it wouldn’t be necessary, that, as the vice-president said, it wouldn’t be a problem, but I was one simple voice in the void.

What did I know anyway? What did anyone know?

I did know that I hadn’t worried about it at all from the moment the news outlets started talking about the horrendous possibilities.

“The Y2K problem is not caused by technical limitations. We simply forgot to think of the problem.” ~Hasso Plattner

That was the crux of the issue right there, at least as any ordinary citizen could understand it. These days it’s easy to say there are failsafes for all the failsafes, but back in the early days of computer technology it wasn’t even remotely the case. Scientists were lucky the systems were even working, they hadn’t considered how their coding could affect things all the way into the 21st Century. Continue reading “Stocking H2O”

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42.

Maybe I’m really 24. Maybe the past 18 years have all been a dream. If I wake up tomorrow and I have no trouble getting out of bed, I’ll know it was all a lie. I’ll know I’ve still got a sizable chunk of my life left to live. I can’t be middle-aged. That’s not a possibility.

Except it is. And I really am 42. “How do you feel?” someone asked me on my Facebook timeline this morning. I miss when it used to be a wall. But that was just me stalling because I honestly don’t know. Am I really 42? Have I really traversed over 4 decades of this thing called life? What do I have to show for it?

Well, I have a wonderful family. Check. My knees may creak more than they ever have before, but I’m not doing too much kneeling anyway, so I’m okay. My children are both into the double digits agewise, which makes too much sense for me to make sense of. When did that happen?

I shaved my head this morning. I needed to take the obligatory birthday selfie, and it turned into a photo shoot. First I had hair, then some hair, then no hair. Click click. But my phone doesn’t make a clicking noise unless I figure out how to make that happen. I realized halfway through that I didn’t care to find out.

What else? I have a job that I love. I’ve had it for a year now, and I still pinch myself every morning before I head in. But I don’t have to work today. Continue reading “42.”

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Like Jesus

“You smiled at me like Jesus to a child.” ~George Michael

I’ve read the Bible more times than I’d care to admit, and definitely more than people who only know me tangentially would surmise. That’s because I hardly ever quote it, because you would never find me anywhere near a church, and because I don’t go from door to door proselytizing. Someone asked me the other day if I was religious, and I found myself saying no.

“I’m spiritual. Not religious.”

What’s the difference? That’s the simple part. Religious means tied up and twisted with organized religion, and whether or not the church I grew up instilled in me strong principles, I don’t think I’ve ever been religious. When we’re young our parents push us in certain directions, or we feel like we should follow those paths because of them, but one thing that always stuck out to me about faith was that it’s a personal thing. So, no matter how many people push you in a direction, it’s not your “way” unless you independently choose it.

And I have chosen more than once, since I’ve become an adult, to avoid organized religion. I’ve seen how so many faiths have no separation from the wide world, how often they don’t adhere to their own teachings, and how deep the divide is between members of the faith. I’ve seen the bickering and infighting, the dissensions and jealousy, and the ostracizing nature of many organized religions when it comes to those who are not “of the faith.” Continue reading “Like Jesus”