Stop Electing Idiots

All the crap in the news about the economy and the McCain campaign has made me comically frustrated recently, and I don't really like to write about stuff not immediately related to my everyday experience, but I feel just kind of want to write my thoughts on this.

Countries that elect idiots get idiotic governments. That's why America has such an incapable government compared to all those other countries, where people want to elect someone smarter than The Average Joe. After all, they're better than the other guy. So if we want a better government, we should just stop electing idiots.

So do it. Stop electing idiots. Fun facts: Obama graduted from Columbia University and was editor of the Harvard Law Review. John McCain finished 894th out of 899 in his Naval Academy class and crashed five planes upon graduation.

Obama is smarter than McCain. He is. Don't complain about elitism. Stop electing idiots and vote for Obama.

Do it or you can kick your own ass in four years.

Peace out.

Jen's Mom

Sometime in the middle of this summer, before Kristin went to Spain, I went for a walk with her down Smithbridge Road to visit Jen Vitlip, because I told her I would, and I told Kristin I would walk with her, too. I took a picture of Kristin on the way down there when someone called her - I forget who it was, but I think it was a girl. We stopped on the bridge to make sure we didn't get hit by cars, and admired how pretty it was from there. The neighborhood - that little cul-de-sac - at the bottom of Smithbridge Road, is actually particularly beautiful, and if you are reading and live in that Glen Thrills, you should check it out sometime, really.

We knocked on the door, and I think an aide for Jen's mom answered. I knew Jen's mom was very sick - in a wheelchair with muscular dystrophy, or multiple sclerosis, or some similarly degenerative muscle disease - but I didn't know how sick, or that she needed aides. It was a young, nice black woman with long hair, and we asked if we could talk to Jen or Josh, and they both came out. We went to the back of their house and tried to find places to sit. I think the grass was a little wet, but it was also very hot that day. I sat on a piece of wood, I think, meant to cover up some sort of outlet. I took some pictures of the pond beyond us. There were snapping turtles in it, they said, and it was covered with algae. There were some benches too, I think, but at least one of them was completely overrun with ivy. I forget what we talked about exactly - Genuardi's, friends, ... - but I think this was when I told Jen that I wanted to bake cookies one day and run around town giving them to friends, and yes, she would be one of them.

We talked about cats, I think. I forget if I asked to go inside, or if they had to go inside because the aide that had answered the door for Kristin and I was on her way out, but we walked back up and went inside. I think Jen went to check on her mom, and Josh took us to try to find the cat(s). We found at least one, in someone's bedroom. It was a pretty cat and it looked pretty nice, but Josh said it didn't really like people, and it ran away when I tried to get close enough to it to pet it.

I think I said I was hungry, or something along those lines, or wanted to find their other cat (if I'm correct that they had two), so we went toward the kitchen in search of Lucky Charms (which I did get), and her mom was in the kitchen in her wheelchair. I suppose wheelchair isn't quite the right word, because it was electric and had much more to it than just wheels. It also held her head in place if she needed it to. Her head was hung low when we walked into the room, but at one point she asked Jen if she could lift her head up. So Jen lifted her head up, and then pulled a strap across her forehead that was attached to the sides of the head cradle at the top of the chair. It was large and black, I think, with a wide base, although I can't remember much more about it.

I didn't know how to react to her mom, and I felt bad about it. I remember reading or seeing or hearing somewhere that summer that people with disabilities hate being ignored just like anyone else hates it, and hate being treated differently, and hate it when people try to pretend they don't have whatever condition they have. So I really wanted to just react to her as I would react to any other of my friends' parents, and I said hello to her, and maybe asked her how she was, but I didn't know what else to do. I would have liked to have talked to her, but her voice seemed extremely weak and I guess I was afraid that it was difficult for her to talk. I would have liked to have asked her if she was doing okay how she was, maybe, that would be very bold for me and maybe inappropriate.

We left soon after, and I talked to Kristin about it. I said that I felt bad, and I wanted to talk to her again, the way I'd talk to anyone else, if I could. I put it on my list of things to accomplish by the end of the summer - Talk to Jen about her mom, with the intention of talking to her mom again. Somehow I never found the time to do it.

I found out today that her mom died sometime over the summer. Jen is a really strong kid, and so is Josh, so I think they'll be okay, but it must have been terribly sad to lose her, and to lose her in that kind of battle. And I felt upset at myself for not doing anything. I suppose ultimately it wouldn't have made a difference in any case, but I still wish I had known what to do, and if she liked people to talk to her, and if I could have talked to her and had a conversation with her. If it were possible I would still like to know, but I don't think that's the kind of thing I can ask anymore.

Peace out.

"I'm Not Going to Vote for a Muslim"

Every once in a while, I'll get a call on my cell phone from a number I don't recognize. Sometimes I get really optimistic and hope it'll be a call from the National Security Agency, or the CIA, or the Department of Defense or something like that, telling me they have a summer internship waiting for me where I can just do number theory all day and watch The Daily Show at night. But, almost uniformly, it is someone from the local campaign call center phone banking for Barack Obama. I think this has happened at least three times. I don't know why they're so disorganized; I always mark down that I am a volunteer already and a bunch of the people there would recognize my name.

The first time, I just said that I was voting for him and that I was campaigning for him, and said thank you and hung up. The second time it was a call from Tara, who's basically the director/organizer of the whole office, and I was POSITIVE that she knew me, so I was like, "Um, Tara, it's me. Jeff. I do classrooms for you. I talked to you on Sunday." [or something close to those lines] And she just said, "Oh, Jeff! Hey, how are you? How's it going?" So we talked for a second and I hung up. I think I got another call one time after that, and just said yes, I was working for him, thank you, and hung up.

I got another call, I believe, this Friday night, although it could have been this Thursday. My guess is Friday, because I was at Putnam training on Thursday.... although I could be wrong. In either case, I saw someone was calling and I realized the 814 area code, and figured it was from Obama. I'd been waiting to do this. So the woman introduced herself, she sounded probably 40 or so, and said that I'd written somewhere that I supported Obama and was asking if I was still going to support him with my vote. I said, "Um, no, I'm not going to vote for a Muslim." And then there was silence. She just had no idea what to say. After letting her sit in pain for a few seconds, she started to say something, but I had already started to talk to and I told her that I worked on the Obama campaign registering classrooms, and that I was kidding with her, and that yes, I was still going to vote for him in November. She started to laugh and said, "Oh, thank god! I'm a newbie at this and when you said that, I just - a Muslim?! I didn't know what to say!" And I responded, "Yeah, don't worry, I'm just f***ing with you." She said that she would normally ask if I wanted to volunteer, but that I already said I did, so we just said goodbye and hung up.

Peace out.

Wrist Shot

I was playing hockey today at the YMCA in State College, at the farthest intersection of University Drive and Allen Street [although it turns into another street, but I forget the name, it might as well be Allen]. We had started playing sometime around 6 o'clock. A bunch of the guys from our hockey team, Blue Balls, were supposed to show up, but I think it was actually only Chas and I from our team. However, a local guy named Cole and a whole bunch of his friends showed up to play. We only had one goalie for a while, so we played full court and we'd switch after either three goals or two posts. Playing post is EXTREMELY frustrating.

He doesn't seem to have a specific title, but a guy we call Dyke [a shortening of his last name] is basically the director of club hockey at PSU. He's really good, and sort of funny, and plays with people all the time, whether they're on the teams or not. He was playing with us tonight, and sitting on the bench beside me, and I heard him talking about a kid named Dan that we were playing against tonight. He said that he was on "the team" and that he was captain, and called him "chatty," though as a good thing. I turned and asked, "Wait, which team?" And he said, "Um.... the team?" Some kids who play Club - and I think Dyke is on the B team - also play in the i.m. league, so I thought he might be talking about that. I didn't remember a "Dan" being selected for the team during announcements this year. And I said, "Like, the club team or what?" And he said, "...are you one of Timmy's friends?" I was, so I said so. Tim is from Garnet Valley, and plays on the club team. Dyke said, "Of course you are. You guys always try to hang out with us so you can drink at our parties." I said something to the effect of, "I've never tried to party with you, and I don't drink." He said back, "Sure, that's what you say, trying to get me to like you." The kid on the other side of him laughed a little and said, "I used to not drink."

The club team was coming to play at about 8PM. It was 7:50 or so and they weren't there, and we were all still playing because we wanted to get our time in, and another goalie had shown up (I think it was Judas, the goalie for the A team). I got the puck just left of the slot and somewhere near the top of the circle on the other team's side and put up a wrist shot.

Unfortunately, it went a little higher than I would like any shot to go, and there happened to be Cole standing right in front of it. It whacked him on the head, bounced off, and he went down immediately. I saw blood coming out, and I was terrified. I had no idea what I had hit. I thought I blinded him. I thought I broke his nose. It looked high so I was pretty sure it wasn't his mouth, but I was terrified. I apologized profusely. Other kids started looking for a towel, and after Cole got up I went to my car to look for a towel too, but I suppose I'd taken mine out. Thankfully, and extremely luckily, nothing "important" was damaged - it got him on the top right of his forehead, right about at the bottom of his hairline. It didn't touch his eyes at all and it didn't touch his nose. It was bleeding a good amount, but it was clear that nothing was broken, and at worst he would need some antibacterial and stitches.

He was up a little after the hit. There were spots of blood on the court, a small pool of it where he had fallen, and then more where he had skated before someone got him a pink towel. Spots of it were saturated in blood within a minute. He said, "Man, you guys know in those war movies when a bomb goes off and everything just goes silent, and then it's like ringing in the ears? I always thought that was made up, but it definitely just happened to me." I kept apologizing. I went over to him at the bench and said, "God, Cole, I am so sorry, I absolutely did not mean to do that at all, I would never try to hurt anyone playing here." He said, "Man, it's hockey. I've been waiting for someone to draw blood for weeks." I still felt terrible, but it was at the least a little relieving that he wasn't incredibly angry at me.

He talked about possibly getting stitches, but he wasn't sure he'd want to because he didn't know about his health care. Politics. Hockey. Seriously? He said he needed a ride home, and that possibly he'd need a ride to the hospital, so I said I would give him a ride. I also told him that I had health insurance and it was my fault, and that if he needed stitches or anything at all, to just do what was best for him and not to even consider cost, since it'd be on me. I hate private health insurance. He also told someone else that he owed them a towel, and I told them no, that would be on me as well. I also owe the club team a Rocket puck, and Chas an IDF puck.

We put his things in his car, and I gave his cell phone a call so he'd have my number and I'd have his. He got in my car with his skates on and a towel to the wound, although it didn't seem to be bleeding very much anymore at that point. He didn't want to drive, just in case something bad happened. I asked him if he was dizzy on the way home, and he said no, he just had a headache, which I guess was a good sign. His house was just two left turns away, and on the right. There was a small red car in the driveway, which was cement and sloped up a whole lot. It was a nice house, white sidings, with a light on at this point. It was 8PM at this point. I had planned to be back by then for [H]ouse, but I wasn't going to skip out on Cole when I just did that to him.

We went inside. His large brown dog greeted me. He said it's name and asked it who I was, but I forget what its name was. He still had his skates on in his house when his dad came into the foyer to talk to us. He had talked to his dad at that point, and I came in and jokingly said, "Hey! I did it, I'm the criminal. Sorry." His dad had a pretty good sense of humor about it. He took a look at it and said it didn't really look too bad - it hardly even split the skin, he said, more like gave it a very serious dent. Cole asked him if it needed stitches, and his dad went and got a flashlight, and concluded again that no, he probably didn't need stitches. Some gauze, he said, not peroxide, though.

I told Cole again that if he thought stitches were the best idea, to do it. I didn't want him to be left with something worse than what he had to be left with because he was afraid it was cost money or be a bit of a hassle. He said that he didn't want to get stitches, and that he liked scars. He showed me another one he had from when he fell off a roof during some construction work that had split his entire hand open. I guess if he made it through that, he'd make it through this alright.

He and his dad seemed to agree the best plan was to just wait for a little bit for the bleeding to stop, put some gauze on it, and check it out in an hour or two. Cole asked if I could get text messages, and said he would send me one if they went to the hospital. I excused myself since it seemed like he wouldn't need a ride for a while. I drove out of the driveway very slowly to make sure I didn't hit the car at the bottom and screw up even more things in their life.

I haven't gotten a text and it's been 4 hours. I guess he's not going to get stitches. I hope that's the right thing for him to do.

Peace out.

Waiting for an Elevator

If you walk out the door of my room and turn left, you'll go through a heavy puke-colored door, and legend has it that there have been at least two puke incidents just on the other side of the door, so whenever we go through it we walk around where there supposedly was vomit. If you keep walking after you go around the mythical vomit spot, you'd come to another really heavy puke colored door. On the right side of that door, before you go through it, is the most useful elevator in my building [Simmons], since it actually goes to all the floors, from Basement to 5. Beyond that door is the entrance to the terrible, terrible Simmons cafeteria, which I promise I will get to at some point.

So anyway. I left my room tonight to go talk to Tanvi, who lives on the second floor, so I went through the door and hit the button to go up on the elevator on my right. As I was going over, I saw someone in a white shirt with red/green squares somewhere in the design in the cafeteria entrance, beyond the next door [the doors have a rectangular glass window in them]. I know that Jason, my next door neighbor, sometimes talks on the phone in there. I hadn't seen him in a while, so I thought I would bother him and just say hey, but I opened the door and saw that it wasn't him. The kid had longer black hair. He was probably a junior or a senior. He was standing behind the counter where the person who swipes your card usually sits, and all the posters and whatnot were up, including the one saying "THE NORTH CASHIER IS CLOSED, PLEASE USE SOUTH CASHIER."

I closed the door and just waited for my elevator. But as I was waiting, I started to hear him talking. I don't remember exactly the first few things he said, but I remember thinking that he had a particularly high voice for a guy of his size and age. I didn't really mean to eavesdrop, but I couldn't help hear. In a sad, pleading voice, he asked, "I don't understand, how could you just break up with someone like that?"

I felt pretty terrible for him. I have no idea what the circumstances were but it looked like he was hurting a lot and terribly confused. He said a few more things, but unfortunately I forget those too, but they were definitely about a relationship and a break up, and it was clear that she was the one doing the breaking up with him, and he didn't know why. The elevator came after stopping on the floor above, so I got in and went to talk to Tanvi.

Peace out.

Stealin' a Cookie

The other day, I think it was this Monday, I went to Redifer for lunch. That's the place that I go to now that Simmons has terrible food - more about that later. At least Redifer is somewhat nearby though. In any case, once I was done my lunch, I wanted a cookie, and I told Gina that I was going to get one and she could meet me outside or something if she wanted to split it, and she agreed.

So I got a cookie from their display and got in line. There were only I think two or maybe three people in front of me. It was a coffee type place, although I forget the name of it at the moment. I could see two people behind the counter, and I knew that there was a third on the side working with the soda fountain or something like that. In either case, they were taking forever with whatever order(s) they had. I couldn't even figure out what they were doing. Maybe they were fixing something? Or maybe they were just trying to make a drink. In either case, it was exceptionally slow.

So I was standing in that line with the cookie in my hand, with a worker on the side who couldn't see me and two who were very busy turned around working on whatever, with two girls in front of me, and I started contemplating stealing the cookie. Although I'd say it was more like borrowing, because I did honestly plan to go back and pay for it at another time when the line wasn't two people and twenty minutes long.

I started considering the conversation.

"Hey, let me pay for a cookie."

But you're not buying a cookie...?

"Oh, I know, it's okay, I stole one earlier so I'm paying for it now."

Why would you steal a cookie?

"Because I was in a line that was taking FOR. EVER."

You still probably shouldn't have stolen the cookie.

"Look, I know, but at least I'm paying for it so really what do you care?"

I guess at that point I would hopefully be able to say "Do you want me to pay for it or not?" and they would just say yes. Hopefully they wouldn't try to take me down for stealing or something. But like, really, would it be stealing? Would it just be deferred payment since I was actually completely serious about doing it? If you buy something, do you always need to pay for it right this second?

The girl in front of me ordered a soy latte. I don't know what that is but it occured to me that it might take another eternity to make. So I just held up my cookie to the cashier, as if begging her to just check me out now so I wouldn't have to wait.

"Oh, you're just getting a cookie?" she asked. So I said yes, and paid for it, and left. It was a good cookie. I still wonder what that later conversation would have been like, though. Ah well.

Peace out.

Music Minor

Today at the beginning of Math/Stat 414, the teacher realized she was using the wrong .ppt and had to go back to her office to get the right one, so I decided to make a phone call I had tried to make on Friday but wasn't able to. I'm thinking about minoring in music, so I wanted to find out if I could get out of any of the courses since my schedule is already pretty packed with my Math Major. So I called the director of the music minor and said,

"Hey, I had some questions about the music minor and I'm trying to talk to the director of the music minor, and I thought this was the number - could you help me with that?"

And he said, "Well first of all, never address a professor initially with 'hey'. Because when you go out into the business world and address your boss with 'hey', he'll fire you on the spot. Okay, got it?"

I was so taken aback. I didn't know what to do. I've never had anyone be such a colossal and self-righteous d-bag to me in my life and I had no idea how to react. I sat on the phone in silence for a second considering what to do; I thought about hanging up. Somewhat sadly, I decided to talk to him and even gave him my real name, so I can't be a jerk to him.

In retrospect, I should have said "Get the f**k over yourself! Alright, peace out homeboy."

Peace out homeboy.

I Hate My Bike

So if you've read this long enough, you know that my bike was stolen last year from a bike rack at Brown when someone cut my wirelock and made off with my bike. After that, I went to the Providence Bike Hub or something like that and looked for a bike. It was basically the only place I could conveniently get a bike in Providence; anything else I'd have to take a bus to, and get a lock and lock it to the bus, or something, I didn't even know, and it didn't seem worth it.

All the bikes in Providence were EXTREMELY expensive, I guess going off the convenience argument I just made and the fact that it was a college campus. So when I saw some mountain bikes in there for like $450, I decided to just ask for the cheapest bike in there and see if I liked it. It was a one-speed commuter bike for like $150 and it was a complete piece of crap, so I said no, and looked at the next one up. It was a seven-speed commuter bike for about $225, and I figured it seemed okay, so I took that one and got a lock for it.

I hate that bike. I think it is possibly the second worst bike in the world, second only to the $150 bike I didn't buy, and possibly the Segway Scooter (not a bike, shut up). It's like 17 feet tall and whenever I want to get on it, I have to put the pedals in the right position so I can lean it to the left, put my right leg over it onto the pedal, and then straighten and pedal down simultaneously. The wheels are also so big that they don't fit into like any bike rack ever, which is seriously annoying. The shocks also suck, so a pebble in the road is like a dagger into my crotch. Sorry for the visual, but that's how it is. Also, the chain pops off ALL THE TIME. Like, ALL THE TIME. Generally at least once a week. And every time it does, you have to get your hands all greasy and disgusting to put it back one.

Earlier this week I was rushing from my Insurance 301 class to Willard to register some people to vote in a classroom, and I went down a curb, and my chain popped off. So I was a 3 minute bikeride or a 10 minute walk away from a place I needed to be in about 10 minutes. And I hated my bike. I stopped and put the chain back on and washed my hands of the grease furiously before I went to the classroom. I think someone from Gov. School also texted me saying that my bike was a piece of crap, but I'm not sure.

Well anyway. Today I was riding from my Stat class to my Econ class, which is maybe a ten minute walk or a three minute ride, and I was late because I stayed to talk to my Stat teacher about whether or not I should keep the class or just keep Stat 414 and then take 462 or 501. Sometime when I was going West on Pollock road to get to my class, my bike's chain mechanism just shattered. I don't even know how it happened. I don't think I shifted gears or even went over a bump. The things that hold the chain in place laterally came off and the chain fell to the pedals and it was a nightmare and I was late for class and missed some extra credit because my bike sucks.

After class, I took my bike to the shop on College Ave (after walking it down five flights of stairs because I'm an idiot), walked it into the shop, and asked the keeper, "Is this bike totalled? Is it totally broken? Please say yes." And he looked down at it and said, "No... unfortunately it's not as bad as it looks. You don't even need those. You want me to take them off?" I said no, it's fine, I would take them off myself, but he took off the easy on (outside of the chain) and put the chain back on. He also put it on the holder to check if anything was bent, and noticed my brake pads are worn. I said that's great, hopefully they'll explode soon so I can get a new bike. I told him I'd be back in November when my bike broke and thanked him for his help, and hated my bike a whole lot, and wished it would break.

Peace out.

Poor Squirrel

Today I was riding my bike back to my dorm after eating dinner at East Halls because that's close to my INS 410 class. There are always hiccups when you're riding your bike - people get in your way, people just stand still as they're terrified that you really really want to kill them, cars and intersections are a nightmare, etc. - and I had encountered a few on the way back, but nothing bad.

For some reason, I was thinking about cars and woodland animals just as I got to Mifflin St., which is the small street to the East of my dorm [Simmons Hall] where I park my car. I was coming South, back to the part of the sidewalk that actually dips down so you can ride your bike up on it from the street. For some reason, I was thinking about cars and them hitting squirrels or other animals, and I thought, Man, I hope I never hit a squirrel on my bike.

Then I saw a squirrel on the grassy part on my right, near where my dorm was. And I just though, Nah, no way, that squirrel's not going to come out here. And it moved around a little bit, and I went on by, and then suddenly, it darted for my bike. It was moving around at the bottom of my bike, running very quickly, and I was taken aback and scared for the poor thing and didn't know what to do. It ran to my front wheel and I heard a harsh hitting sound, and then it ran away, back to where it came from. I'm assuming its head hit my front spokes.

It was so surreal. I could not believe that I was actually thinking about that happening just a moment before it happened.

If the curb had dipped earlier, I wouldn't have hit that squirrel. Also, I would be significantly less inconvenienced. So the squirrel and I would both me much happier now, so I suggest we lower the sidewalk further up that street.

I feel so bad for that poor squirrel =(

Peace out.

Leaving Walgreens

I was on the schedule till 5PM, but at 4:45 I realized there was nothing more I could do, so I went to the back to clock out. The back room is big, brown, linoleum floored opening with a breakroom, bathroom, and office on the left and the floor door and truck door on the right. The punch clock is right near the floor door. Sarah was throwing boxes to the compacter or something like that, walking in and out of the truck door. For some reason I hoped she didn't see me. I clocked out and then went up to the front to find Dominic, who was talking to Katie. I forget what we talked about, but Dennis came up to us and saw that I was distracting them. I told him that I was off the clock, and he encouraged the others to not be so distracted by me. At some point after he gave Dominic some Starbucks drinks for the coolers, we noticed that the mylars say "HHHYPOINT" instead of "HYPOINT." Dominic said the owners of Hypoint go to his country club.

After that I went to the back again to grab all my things. I didn't have a lot of time that morning, so I had brought peanut butter and a butterknife to work. I grabbed them, and the water bottle I had been bringing recently since we ran out of paper cups to drink from, and the gallon of water I bought for Gauss, my fish. I was walking away when I realized I had forgotten my math book, so I put my things down and picked up The Art of Problem Solving 2, which had gone to the bottom of the pile after Sheri cleaned the break"room" desk.

I said bye to Dom as I walked out, but I figured I'd see him that night. Sid, the soft-spoken Indian cashier with two academic degrees who works 9-5 M-F, was up front still, and I didn't think I would see him again so I stopped to say goodbye. He's such a nice kid. Dede told me he was Autistic but I never checked with him. I remembered that I'd be coming back for my paycheck so I thought I'd see him again, but then recalled he'd be on vacation in Arizona to see his uncle, so I said goodbye for good. I didn't have a free hand, but I put out my hand holding my water bottle to shake his and he held on for a second and let go. I think it was the only time I've ever touched him. I said bye to him, bye to Dominic, and walked out.

Peace out.

Customers 3

A week or two ago, three teenage girls came into the store. One of them was wearing a sort of showy blue top and short jean skirt. She was probably like fifteen, but maybe a bit older. She asked for gum, and for some reason I thought there was something a little bit strange about her. I suppose it was the ukelele that she brought into the store.

She and her friends ended up just getting some stuff for the movies. As I was ringing her up, I asked her, "Are you taking that ukelele to the movie theater?" And in a sort of airy and detached voice, she answered, "Yeah, I take it everywhere I go...!" I didn't really know what to make of the response. I really was curious if she was taking that ukelele to the movie theater and why, but I didn't feel like pushing to find out. She also thanked for me for noticing that it was a ukelele and not a miniature guitar, which apparently is a common mistake.

I suppose I was just a little thrown off by the whole thing. I mean, come on. A ukelele.

//

Just about at close last night, the door opened and I heard some barely pubescent girls screaming "HAHA I LOVE YOU" to someone outside. They walked up to the counter and basically accosted me right away, which is really annoying. I forget what things they asked me, but one of them said, "You're kinda cute," to which I didn't respond, beacuse they were scabby teen hos [ouch] and probably the age of like, Abby's sister. And dressed really skanky. And just overall very obnoxious and sort of skeeving me out. Then they loudly joked, "LET'S GO GET SOME CONDAMS." I think they asked me if we sold condams, so I pointed them in the direction of them. I didn't think they would get them since they were like, 13.

A couple minutes later they came back. Three of them were holding a Durex Pleasure Pack in their hands, and they bought them and asked me to keep the receipts. "No receipts, please," one said. They asked me if I smoked because I was trying to remove the safety from one of the lighters, but I said no. They asked me if I would serve them, and I said no. To be honest, I might have if they weren't obnoxious scabby teen hos, but as it were, they were obnoxious scabby teen hos, and I'm not bending the rules for you if I don't like you.

They proceeded to sit outside and accost passerbys for a while. I heard someone shout at them later, "GO BACK TO HIGH SCHOOL." I'm pretty sure they were in middle school, so that must have been a huge boost for their ego. Oh well. At least they're having safe sex.

//

A man came in with two rolls of 24 exposure 35mm film. Every one of the 48 pictures was the same birdhouse and a few birds. He said he and his wife sat there for hours taking pictures of it.

//

Around close last night, a guy and a girl came in and looked around. A minute later another guy, wearing a white shirt and jeans, asked me where the pregnancy tests were, assuring me "It's not for me." It turned out he was with the guy and girl that had come in before... they might have come together but I missed that. He had blonde hair and the other two had dark hair, all probably about 23 years old.

A minute or two later they came back with a pregnancy test and bought it. They were joking that it "Wasn't for them," or something like that. I swept it under the desk to deactive any security devices that might be on it, since things like that are often stolen. I told them why I was doing that and they were like, "People steal these?" So I said, "Yeah, basically anything to do with sex.... so like, pregnancy tests, condoms, lubricant..." They all thought that was pretty funny, and I added, "Yeah, and the yeast infection stuff... basically anything with those three letters." To which the black haired guy added, "Haha, V-A-G."

After they paid, they asked, "Do you have a bathroom?" ((o_O)) Yes, we do. So I asked Dave to take them to the bathroom, and he came back a couple minutes later.

"Dude, Sarah is so skeeved out. The girl was like 'Man, this is really dirty,' but then all three of them went into the bathroom to use the test. Why do you need to do that?"

I thought it was hilarious, that they would go into the bathroom with her as she peed on a stick. They came out a couple minutes later, all very exited, and somehow they told us that she was negative. As they walked out, very excited, she said to Dave, "Have a nice night!" And then she said to me, "And you! WRAP IT UP!! Don't get the HIV!"

Peace out.

Five Dollars

When I was in first grade I wore sweatpants basically every day. I remember one time in 5th grade I bought two pairs of khaki pants and Shawn Hagerty said to me in the hallway, "God, you finally got some real pants." I didn't even know he knew who I was, let alone that he noticed my legwear habits.

Anyway. One day in first grade, wearing my sweatpants (the black ones, in my memory), I reached into my pocket on the playground at recess and pulled out a $5 bill. I remember it was a sunny day, and I remember being near the bench where the adults would always sit - if you looked at the school from the playground, it'd be the closest and leftmost corner. I had no idea where the money came from - I never brought money to school - and I said, "Wow! Look, I found $5 in my pocket!"

I don't know who I was standing with or why, but one of the kids was Justin Reader. He said, "Did you say $5? I think I lost $5 earlier in the cafeteria." I didn't think it was really possible that it would end up in my pocket if he lost it - I never picked up money that I saw lying around - but he insisted. "No, I lost $5 in the cafeteria today, that's mine." He was bigger than me and to be honest I was a little bit scared of him, so I said okay and gave him the money.

I went home that day and somehow I ended up telling my parents about it. I don't think I was that upset about it, but apparently one of my parents thought that it needed to be dealt with. They called the Reader family and told them what happened.

That night, sometime when it was dark, our doorbell rang. I remember opening the door and it being very dark behind the two people there, Mr. Reader and his son. Crying quite a bit, Justin handed me an envelop with $5 in it and, I believe, a written apology, and managed to say "I'm sorry" to me while he was there.

I remember not feeling particularly good about this episode. For one thing, I was afraid of Justin and seeing him crying was extremely unsettling to me. Furthermore, I didn't really care about the $5 from what I remember. In retrospect, it definitely wasn't worth the $5 to make that kid feel that bad, or to teach him whatever lesson he might have learned if he didn't know it already.

His dad died of pancreatic cancer years later. I don't know how my parents always knew about his condition, but I remember hearing about it for a long time before his death. For people unfamiliar, pancreatic cancer is basically a death sentence with a mysterious time frame and a swift, painful end. When I heard about his passing all I could think about was Justin crying at my door that one night with his dad, whose face I can't even remember looking up to see.

Peace out.

Hockey Fight

There was a fight at hockey this Sunday.

My team is the Chargers, and one of the best players on our team is a 6'2" jovial guy named Nick. He's a joker but also a good leader, plays clean most of the time but can dish out trash talk when he needs to. We also have a guy on our team named Dan who's a bit older, a bit bigger, and often complains of back problems.

We were playing a team called Orange Slice. We were destroying them so badly that their best player quit, leading us to destroy them even more badly - something like 7-1 with a few minutes left. They got a bit of relief when one of their players slapped the puck into the net from the top of the circle, making it 7-2. The very next drop of the puck, though, Nick drove up through two of their players - who were playing very dirty defense - right up to the net, passed it off, and let the other winger score. On the way back, the defenders tried to tell Nick that he was playing dirty and he just smiled and laughed and said, "Yeah man, I'm garbage, absolutely."

I guess their team was getting frustrated by the crushing score. Their center, who I call Short Fat Angry Italian Man (SFAIM), got very upset in particular. He came up to the drop with me and shouted, "IS THERE ANYONE ON YOUR TEAM THAT ISN'T MENTALLY RETARDED?" I thought about telling him where I went to school this fall but decided not to. He slashed very roughly when the puck was dropped.

It went back into our zone after that drop with about 40 second left on the clock. Nick was defending the guy with the puck and skating along with him behind the net. I guess Nick was a little feisty right then, so he just railed the guy into the boards. Once he was on the ground, he started pummeling him, and the guy started pummeling back.

At the same time, inside the circle on our goalie's left, SFAIM slashed Dan in the back of the knee, taking Dan to the ground, but Dan took SFAIM to the ground with him. I believe Dan just pulled the guy's shirt over his head, removing his helmet, as the guy removed his gloves, but they didn't fight. There were two referees, and one of them dealt with each of the brewing fights.

Nick and his guy had actually punched each other, but SFAIM and Dan had not. Once the refs separated them, though, SFAIM didn't calm down. His faced turned red and he strained and shouted at Dan: "YOU P***Y! YEAH YOU LEAVE YOUR F***ING HELMET ON P***Y! YOU JUST ENDED YOUR F***ING LIFE MAN I'LL F***ING KILL YOU IN THE PARKING LOT."

The game ended before we were allowed to play anymore. We went to our bench to get changed, and got word that Nick might be suspended for the next game because he and his guy had actually thrown punches. Dan appeared safe for the moment. We talked about how funny it was that SFAIM was getting so upset over recreation Men 25+ roller hockey. Nick said, "Yeah I mean, I might get a little pissed off for those thirty seconds and throw my body around but once the game's over what the hell do I care? I'm over it!" We all agreed. He said he used to get really upset when he was twelve and he played in tournaments that "actually mattered," but not for things like this.

As we were changing and talking, SFAIM man started walking to our bench and accosting Dan, asking if he was too p***y to come out to the parking lot and fight him. The thin ref got in his way and told him to leave, and one of our team members and two guys from the Vipers (playing after us) told him to quit the league and go home.

We weren't going to let Dan walk out alone, so I walked out with him and JT (who is very muscular). When we got out there, SFAIM was actually waiting around on his little blue car with three of his friends and approached us: "Oh, so there you are you f***ing p***y." Dan just kept walking straight and the guy came up to him and lined up to throw at him what he had in his hand - an empty Dasani water bottle. I wanted to laugh, but I suppose it would have been a bad time. I know how much water bottles hurt... and it's not much.

Anyway, in retaliation, JT wound up to punch the guy, and SFAIM flinched big time, but Dan told JT to stop. JT could have pounded the crap out of the guy, but there were four fighters for them and basically JT for us. The fat ref came out and told us to stop and go to our cars, so we went home.

I don't know if SFAIM is actually Italian. He could very well have been Eastern European, or basically any other European descent.

Peace out.

Jury Duty

About a month ago I got a summons in the mail for jury duty. There were two pieces of paper you had to fill out. They asked you to fill out your name and address and race, etc., and then another one asked you if you or anyone you know is a lawyer, if you've ever been convicted of a crime, etc etc. So I filled them both out and my dad forgot to send one. Fortunately I didn't get in trouble. The piece of paper, from what I thought, said to call on July 23rd to see if you'd need to come the next day. On the 22nd, my dad came up to me and asked me if I had called. I told him that no, I hadn't, I needed to call the next day. He asked if I was positive, and I said I'd bet my life on it. "I wouldn't do that again, " he said, and then showed me the paper which said I needed to call on the 22nd.

So I called the number and a recording of a girl's voice said that jurors of all type needed to come in that day (I was a "Standby" juror).

The next day I was going to wake up at 8AM so I could drive to Media in time, but my dad woke me up at 7:55 somewhat hurriedly asking, "Are you getting up now? You have to go to Media." And I said, I know, I was going to wake up at eight. But he said that I had to take a shower and shave. It made me sad when he said I had to shave because I had a lot of facial hair at that point and I HATE shaving and it takes a long time, but he said, "Look, I know everyone there and they know who I am and I can't have my son walking around that building with a tshirt and scruffy." I got up then and ate my cereal (Cinnamon Life, which my mom accidentally bought instead of regular Life) and while I was eating it, my alarm started going off. I thought about going upstairs to turn it off, but I just let it ring figuring I'd turn it off when I went back upstairs for the bathroom. No one even said anything about it, so I think I was the only one that noticed.

I took a shower and shaved (shove? ...). As usual I cut myself and didn't do a very good job. My hair is white in some parts and you can't see it at all when it's wet, so I never find out how terrible a job I did until it dries. Some of my hair goes up and basically over/around my cheek bones. It makes me look like a caveman and I forgot to get some of that. So I had to go to court as dad's caveman son.

It was really easy to drive there. I thought about The Morning Commute while I was driving and concluded that the drive from here to Media isn't that bad. It was about 25 minutes, which is a great amount of NPR's Morning Edition to listen to. Hopefully my commute will be something like that long, if I have to commute. When I got there, a cop was standing on the street and I showed him my jury summons and he let me into the parking lot for free.

For some reason I parked on the top level of the lot even though I think there were spots open in the bottom level. I walked down and walked over to the front steps of the courthouse. The courthouse was way bigger and more grandiose-looking than I remembered/expected. Big pillars and columns and everything. I walked in and there were two lines for security, so I put my stuff through and saw a woman with a red pin that said "JUROR" in white and thought, Wow, this woman is really into being a juror. After I got my stuff back I asked a cop where the jurors were supposed to go and he pointed me to the jury lounge, which was down the hall and to the left. There were two signs for it (oops). When I walked in the first thing they did was give me a red button that said JUROR in white, and then I felt stupid for thinking that other woman was a loser. They also gave me a clipboard with a lot of papers on it and told me to NOT fill out the survey until we watched an instructional video on how to fill it out.

The jury lounge was pretty big. When you walked in there was an "office" for the selection workers, and then it opened up to a large floor of chairs. It probably went back 20 rows and was about 15 wide, with aisles on the right side and in the middle toward the left. The chairs were red with gold buttons on it or whatever you call them and were all free-standing so you could move it if you wanted to bad enough, but they were very organized in rows and columns so no one would think to do that. The chairs had a rounded back and a sort of puffy bottom and were made of either leather or pleather. I picked a chair that was next to a seat where the person had gotten up to go to the bathroom, figuring it was much less awkward than taking the seat beside her when she was actually there. When she got back she took her coffee and moved it over, taking the seat two away from me instead of the one right next to me.

The seats were very, very uncomfortable. I tried to read Bury My Heart at Wounded Knee, an Indian history of the United States, but finding a comfortable position in which to read was so difficult that I couldn't read the book for nearly as long as I wanted to be able to. I think it was the rounded back that made it so terrible. It was very rounded. I tried hunching over away from the back, and leaning to the sides, and putting my foot up, and putting my foot under me, but in all cases my back started to hurt/get really uncomfortable, so after a while I'd have to stand up or something like that to make it hurt less. All in all, though, I did get about 70 pages into the book.

When we first got there, a younger, heavy blonde woman moved a podium with a microphone to the front of the room and started talking to us all. I forget what she said, but she read from a script and didn't seem to be enjoying it at all. It was just some welcome speech. After she finished the script she just started talking and seemed a lot more natural, but still like she hated her job. After that she introduced a judge who came to speak to us and remind us that what we were doing was very fulfilling and our duty and necessary and gratifying and important and things like that. After that I think we took a break because we were all exhausted.

They told us to take the elevator downstairs, but I didn't want to wait for 30 elevator loads so I started looking for stairs. After looking over the entire floor, I found no stairs that I could access, so I had to go to the elevator. We were headed to the cafeteria, which I then found, but all the dougnuts had been eaten. So I got some Tastykake doughnuts which I suppose were just as good.

When we went back up we watched the instructional video on filling out that survey. It asked, again, if you were an eyewitness to a crime, if you committed a crime, if you or someone in your family was a lawyer, etc. The video was about 30 minutes long, which I think was a little overkill for 16 yes or no questions.

We were all probably hoping that a judge would come early in the morning to strike a jury so that we could get out of there - there were only two judges waiting so if it happened quickly for both of them, we'd be done in an hour - but none came. At 11:35, the blonde lady said we were on lunch until 2. TWO AND A HALF HOUR LUNCH BREAK. Seriously? Do all judges get 2.5 hour lunches? As I was walking out of the building with everyone else, I heard a lot of them talking on their cell phones saying "I'm just going to go home!" One teenage girl wearing a gray shirt that said "FITCH" on it was talking to her dad on her cell phone and I heard: "What happens if you just don't come back? .... I'd rather just be arrested." I called dad and asked him if it was generally understood this meant you could leave, but he said no, but that I could talk to Mr. Montella and maybe he could tell me what he thought or get me off the list for the rest of the day. I went to look for him, but he was also on a 2.5 hour lunch break.

I sat outside eating my peanut butter sandwich and apple that I brought. I sat on a hard cement bench, but at one point moved to a round thing so I could lean back. I remember three black kids walked by me while I was sitting there eating. When I was done I wanted to walk around Media. I called Jenn to see if she was in Media by any chance, but she was still asleep. So I just walked around. I walked to the right first and saw the Coffee Club where I used to play, but the Planned Parenthood next to it appeared closed. I don't really remember any of the other stores down on the right, and so I turned back to go left. There were a LOT of restaurants. I passed the ice cream store I went to last summer with Chaz and Sarah with the big staircase in the front, and passed Cold Stone and thought that I saw Mr. and Mrs. Bank talking with potential buyers behind the counters.

There were also a lot of banks. There was a Trader Joe's in an old church it seemed, though maybe a barrack. There was a nice restaurant called Under the Stars. I saw the Towne Hall or whatever it was where we often have Christmas dinner, and I saw the Iron Hill Brewery where I think we went for dad's birthday this year. When I was walking I saw a store called "Deals," so I went inside. There was a woman talking to the owner, but I just looked around at the prices. Everything seemed ridiculously expensive. 4 AA batteries was 11.99, but they claimed the original price was 16.29. As a Walgreen's employee, I can tell you that is not the truth. That is not a deal at all.

There was another Deals store I went to further down. The first one was gray and white, but this one was large and open and brown and dark. I walked up and down all the aisles, and at one point had to walk through three older women talking. One of them had just had a stroke two weeks ago, and made a comment about quitting smoking. One of the women looked at me and said, "Hear that young man? Quit smoking!" I said, "I don't smoke, but thanks," and kept going. They were weird. The deals in this store were actually sort of deals, but they didn't have a lot. Specifically no back to school stuff. So I kept going.

After that I walked back, checked out a toy store real quick, and went back to lay on the grass in my nice collared shirt and call Gina. After a while of that I decided I was just going to go to my car and listen to NPR.

On my way over I saw a black pick-up truck parked on the sidewalk with cages in the back, and I heard a cooing/chirping noise. So I looked and I saw animals in the cages. There was a raccoon keeping himself very low and almost lunging forward. There was also a badger, I think, in a cage to his left. There was food in his cage. He was making the sad sounds. It was very very hot outside and these animals had a lot of hair and were sitting in direct sun. The badger was leaning on the side of the cage and looked very tired. There was food in his cage but I don't think he was interested. I took some pictures of them on my cell phone. When I went to the other side of the truck, I saw that there was another raccoon below the badger. At least he was in the shade...

So I moved my car to a spot on the first floor for shade, realized it was reserved, and moved it again. It was really hot (I wouldn't leave the car running with air conditioning!), so I opened the windows. Still too hot, so I unbuttoned my shirt. Still too hot, so I just took my shirt off and leaned forward. So for me, jury duty included about forty minutes of sitting in my car with my shirt off listening to economic news on NPR. Do you know what the Ted Spread is? I do. And it's very important in economics. It's basically a measure of fear regarding the economy and is usually at 50 points and hasn't gone far from that in a century. Now it's at 150.

After that I went back and tried to find Mr. Montella again, but he was still at lunch by 1:40. So I went back inside. I kept doing the security thing wrong, and the police man there said, "Dude, I don't need to x-ray your phone!" At one point he did look at my white flash drive to see what it was though. I went back and read, and at about 2:30 they said they were going to strike a jury for a criminal case, so they'd be calling 50 people I think.

They started calling in groups of five. She'd say 1, a name, 2, a name, 3, etc. She got to 45 and I still wasn't picked. 5 people left, I looked around the room, must have been like 75 people in there. So she got down to 50 and I still wasn't picked, and I thought, Whew! I could be done right now! But then she said 51, a name... and I thought, WHAT. God. 4 names left and 69 people so my chances are still like 1 in 17. Got down to two people left. 2 names and 67 people. 1 in 33 chance. 54, me. I was number 54 out of 55. Everyone gave all the terrible glory to #55 though. I think at least three people commented to him. He commented to me, "We almost made it!" He was a middle aged white guy with short blonde/brown hair and seemed nice. I saw that the man in front of me was a chemist/engineer on the survey we had to fill out earlier.

We went upstairs. The judge introduced himself and then asked us a bunch of questions after a while, which was basically the survey all over again. Only a few people stood for any of the questions, including the guy next to me who said that he might not be able to be a fair and impartial juror in this case (#55, that is). After they did the full survey, they started calling up individual jurors to the sidebar. They put on static noise throughout the court so we couldn't hear what they were saying. They started with 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, and we though it would take forever, but then they jumped to 9, 13, 25, 28, and then I think they were finished. A court clerk then took a paper multiple times between the defense and prosecution's attorneys, agreeing on who to pick.

The first time I saw the guy accused was when I walked into the courtroom. He was standing there with his attorney, who was young, heavy, white, and red-haired, and looked sort of dejected. He was Latino. His last name was Martinez, I think. He wore very large and very thick glasses, had short brown hair, a mustache and almost a unibrow. He was wearing a yellow shirt with some green writing near the breast pocket, probably for some club he belonged to, and khaki shorts or pants. He was accused of driving under the influence. Apparently on December 24th, 2007, there was an accident that he was involved in and the police said they smelled alcohol and arrested him for driving under the influence at 2:13PM. That was a pretty bad time to get caught for that, I suppose.

Anyway, they called the 14 jurors and I was not one of them. I had talked to the people to my right a little bit, including a very talkative black woman and a much quieter older white guy (the engineer). She was a student and adjunct professor of English at Temple, he was retired. It was nice talking to them - we talked mostly about school and the kids that she had as her interns. He spelled "crooked" as "crookted." He was an athlete, she said.

We went back down to the jury lounge, and everyone else had gone. We wondered when they had left and felt jealous. Everyone turned in their juror number which we had clipped to ourselves in the top right part of our shirts and their red juror badges, except for me because I lost mine sometime around when I took my shirt off I suppose. I'll have to look for it in my car.

Peace out.

Exciting Things

I finished a song the other day. It's called Miracle and it's on my MySpace and you should listen to it. You can also get to my MySpace by clicking on the two lines of dots right above this post. So you know.

In other piano related news, I've realized that the only things that make me want to go back to Brown/miss Brown at all are things related to the piano. The songs I heard and played there and wrote there and things like that.

In other news, I joined a hockey league. My first game is today (Monday) at 7:30 PM. I'm excited and a little scared.

Peace out!

Peckermints

So Nicki had her Rocky Horror Picture Show party on Friday night. I wasn't doing anything that day, and sometime around 1PM I got a text message from Nicki saying, "Are you busy at 2:20/do you want to be my best friend ever?" I wasn't busy, and of course I want to be Nicki's best friend forever, so after a couple of texts we got it sorted out that I would go to Granite Run and meet her around 2:20. She said that I had to buy her something but wouldn't tell me what, but that she needed someone older than 18 to buy it for her. I thought she was working at Granite Run for some reason, forgetting that she worked with Joe Sestak in Media.

So I drove very fuel efficiently to Granite Run at 2:20. I called her from the parking lot while I was coasting to save some gas to find out where she was. She said Entrance 2, but I had no idea where that was, but when she said near Ruby Tuesday's I knew where to go. I parked in a pull through like I always try to now, and found her waiting near her new car, which was something of a surprise because I thought she was already in the mall. She was dressed up really nicely because she was just handling the phone at the Congressman's office.

So once we got there I asked her what the deal was, and she told me that I had to buy some things for her at Spencer's Gifts that were going to be prizes for the winner's of the virgin ritual at RHPS. She told me that we were going to go in and find them, then she'd give me the money, walk out, I'd buy them, and that'd be it. So we looked around the store - she called Kacey - trying to find a phallic lollipop. After a few minutes of looking, she found them next to breath mints called Peckermints (guess why!) and decided she wanted those too.

We had to go to the ATM, and I think it was while we were looking for this that Nicki told me the story about her day. She was working on the phone and some woman called and started to complain. They get out a complaint sheet to take the name/number/location of the caller and write down what they wanted to complain about. So Nicki gets one out and starts writing, but the woman goes on for like half an hour. About things that Sestak can't even control, although I forget the specific example she gave. So at the end Nicki asks for name and number and location and the woman says, "I'm not giving that to you!" So she tells her it's just so they know where the complaint is coming from and finally manages to get the woman to tell her what city she's from and she says, "Pittsburgh." Nicki responded, "Um, are you aware that Sestak doesn't have any control over what happens in Pittsburgh?" and she said back, "Yes, I just call everyone in the state."

So we got the money from the ATM after waiting behind a guy for a minute and went back to the store. I looked for a little and finally found the light-up lollipop and the Peckermints and took them to check out. When I got there - holding Nicki's $20 in my hand - there was a woman in front of me wearing a huge dark cloak, a far-too-large wooden cross, grey and black long dreads, a painted white face, I think vampire fangs and probably many more things I didn't even have the time to notice. Immediately when I come up behind her she turns to me and gasps/moans, "Fiiive?"

Huh?

"Can you spare fiive?"

[[ Far too conspicuous about the $20 in my hand ]] No, sorry, this is the only money I have on me (LIE) and it's my friend's, so it's not really my decision

"Can you spare fifty six ceeents...?"

No, sorry, I only have my friend's money...

So after she sorted out something with the cashier, I threw my stuff on the counter and ironically exclaimed, "Well that was weird!" I don't think anyone appreciated my utter genius but oh well.

As the cashier was ringing me up, she asked if I had an e-mail and I said "Yeeeeaahhh.. buuut not one I want to give to Spencer's." She asked why not - "Because I don't want to get vibrator emails all the time?" There was another girl working at the front - both of these girls were about 18 probably - and she said "They're just coupons." Yeah, vibrator coupons, okay, for vibrators I'm not really interested in. Then she said, "What, are you embarassed of what you're buying?"

ME?! Am I embarassed?! You're the one that works at the penis store! Not me!

I didn't say that but I should have.

Peace out.

Customers 2

There was an older woman who came in today. My guess is that she was not quite 60, with short black hair that she said her husband liked and black eyeliner and blue or green eyes. She only bought one thing but I forget what it was.

After we finished the transaction she headed for the exit, but she ran into someone that she knew on the way. Turns out they were old friends, I suppose from working with each other sometime around 1970 in a department store. I think they said that at first it was Strawbridge & Clothier, then it was taken over by Federation (or something like that, the woman that I rang up first said), and then by Macy's. They both seemed to agree that Macy's was a terrible place to work and they both seemed happy to be out of there when they could retire. They talked about their pensions a little bit - one of them would have gotten some more if they had stayed for another six months or something I think they said, but didn't want to stay around for another Christmas. I guess Christmas is a terrible time to work for department store employees. I never really thought of that.

At one point they started talking about their personal lives just a little bit. The woman I rang up is with a guy named Ray, to whom I believe she is married. It turned out that her husband died about eight years ago, I think she said. She met Ray sometime after that, and said that they met by talking about lung cancer and that his wife had died of lung cancer too. The woman lived in Fox Hill Farms, which she thought too small, and Ray was living in the same house that his wife had died in and didn't want to live with this woman in that house, so they decided to start anew. I think the second woman was married a second time as well, after her first husband died.

What really struck me and the reason I remember this is because of how cavalier they were when they were talking about their deceased spouses. I suppose that after eight years or so you might be able to talk about it passingly when catching up with an old friend, but it was still surprising how they mentioned "Oh, the man I loved and married died eight years ago" literally seconds before talking about how they hated taking care of their feet in basically identical tones.

The second woman came up to the register afterward and addressed that I probably heard their conversation and laughed because she figured I just latched on to the funny parts, but I was actually kind of disturbed. I don't know, though. I've never had a spouse die, or had a spouse.

//

A man came in today and asked for Marlboro Menthols. He had short hair and a bit of stubble and looked very young, so I asked him for ID. He said "Aww CRAP, man. Come on! I'm drinking over there!" I could kind of smell the alcohol on his breath so I was inclined to believe him but he looked under 40 and there wasn't really anything I can do. I actually thought he might be about 18 so I definitely needed to card him. I told him, "I'm sorry, but the law won't allow me to sell these to you without ID." He got a little bit angry and said he'd go to his car to get his ID.

He came back a few minutes later and showed me his ID. He was 23. The first words he said when he came in were, "Man, I am PISSED." I just said that I was sorry and there was nothing I could do. Then he lifted up his arms - he was wearing a beater - and said, "Look at these man. You know what these mean? I'm 18." And I said, "Not if you used a fake for those." I wasn't being rude, I was trying to politely justify what I was doing. I don't think he heard me in either case. Then he said, "There you go. There's my ID. Tells you I'm 23. I've been in Iraq for three and a half years." I just said I was sorry and I did what I had to do.

If I had known he was a soldier I would have given him military discount. Oh well.

There was another couple that came in the store before him that I carded. I thought the guy was about 20, but after I saw him more closely, I saw he was probably closer to 30. His girlfriend came up to join him and was going to buy her own cigarettes and excitedly said, "That means you have to card me too!" and happily put her ID on the counter. She very eagerly asked me how old I thought he was and why I carded him after he left the store. I guess it was her boyfriend and it was sort of flattering for both of them.

Peace out.

First Friday

It was a year ago today, on Sara's birthday, that my mom didn't let me go to First Friday with her, Chaz, and Kim and I believe Nupur. She said I would have lots more First Fridays that I could go to with them. It's been a year and we have one remaining First Friday; we haven't been to one yet. Chaz and Nupur are both in Providence for the next First.

This is a note to myself that when my hypothetical kids ask to do something reasonable that they can do later... let them do it now.

Peace out.

Winchester

The intercoastal waterway is the system of little river-ettes and whatnot that goes up and down the entire east coast of the US. Our beach house is right on it (as are, basically, all eastern beach houses) and if you go out from our "alley" into the bay, at low tide, you'll be able to get to Peanut Island. It's not really an island. It's really just a sandy and shallow part of the bay that looks something like a beach, with water on one side and the dunes and marshes behind it. The sand is very hard in some places and very soft in other places, with just about no inbetween and no way to tell. It's very staunchly ridged in either case, and hurts your feet a little bit to walk on. A tiny "river" cuts through one part of the island and goes back into the marshes - we tried to explore it but there were too many flies today because it was extremely windy.

As we were walking back from that river, we walked by four chairs inhabited by what was presumably two husband and wife couples. As Sam was passing them, suddenly, a small little Dachsund jumped out and started yipping at him. He said he loved Dachsunds so he didn't really mind, but as he did the owners kept calling him - Winchester - to come back.

There was a boat that was beached on Peanut Island just beyond where Winchester was sitting from where we set up. It was clearly just there that day and the person would be fine when the tide came in a little bit. At one point we actually saw the guy and his two young daughters - maybe 8 and 10 years old - running back to the boat. He was wearing a dark blue swim suit and no shirt with a very tan back, and his girls were paler with shortish curly hair and wearing light blue and pink swimsuits, I think. As he ran by, I believe Winchester came to attack him. Of course his daughters were trailing behind him, and Winchester came after them too. I believe one of them safely escaped his yipping, but the other ran in a circle. From where we were observing, it looked like Winchester had taken her over a small hill and tackled her on the ground to consume her. Which was pretty funny considering the dog was about 7 pounds max.

Turns out she was fine, of course.

Peace out!

Whistling

I play hockey some Sunday mornings with a group of adult guys from Delaware. They talk about divorces and their wives and kids and real jobs and being old and things like that. It's an interesting change. One of the guys is a heart surgeon I believe.

On the way back, when I was making a left turn onto (I think) Barley Mill Road and I had to stop at a red light. I don't know why but I looked into the car to the left of me in the other turn lane, and the people caught my attention. It was a dad, I think dressed in a collared shirt, and his daughter, maybe twelve years old or so, looking like she about to go to a pool party. He was teaching her how to whistle by putting your fingers into your mouth. I suppose he knew how to do it pretty well. I didn't look too much because I didn't want to be a creeper but she looked like she was having some trouble. I think I remember seeing her one time try and then just give up laughing very hard, her dad doing exactly the same. I don't know if she learned it in the time that I was there or not - it seemed like a very long light - but I remember catching them again when the light turned green and she wasn't trying to whistle anymore, they were just talking.

Peace out.