Mea Culpa, Mea Culpa, Mamma Mea Culpa

I know, it's been so damn long since I've blogged. I didn't set out to be a major disappointment to myself, or to you, my faithful readers, but it seems life keeps intruding on my time. I have spent some of my time wisely, though, so I may have learned a little bit that will eventually make this blog better.

Since last I typed:
1) I bought a fancy-schmantzy expensive Woodworking CNC gizmo, the CarveWright(tm). Off to a very bad start.

2) I started taking some art-glass classes, with varying degrees of success.

3) My Grandmother and Mother have both taken long vacations.

4) I've embarked on a dental-health plan that will culminate in a beautiful smile (I hope,) and will encourage me to take better care of myself overall.

All of this, and much more. Should prove to be occasionally interesting blog-fodder. Let's see what happens...

1.5TB, and I've got nothing to wear

For a short while, about two years ago, I was dreaming in stereo. Vivid, colorful dreams, with great soundtracks. I'd wake up, disappointedly realizing that I was back to the drab, and I'd write down what I could remember of the songs from the dreams. Two of these songs I was able to flesh out to the point where they seemed to be ready to be recorded. Don't worry, I am well aware of my limitations! I can't read or write music, and I can't carry a tune. I've listened enough to music, though, to have some very limited understanding of song structure, and what makes two or more notes sound good together, or not. I had this fantasy that I'd somehow manage to write up the tunes for them, using some kind of tonal representation that I'd be able to convey to someone who actually could write music, and my name would wind up in tiny print parenthesized on the label of a platinum single, or a Scissor Sisters album.

Like most fantasies, this one was eroded by reality into a couple of mildewed text files burried on the hard drive.

Also from dreams, I'd sometimes wake up with wonderful story ideas -- fully formed outlines for the arc of a great novel, or an article worthy of publication in the finest journals of our day. These ideas contained well-worded nuggets of universal truths that would illuminate and astound my growing legion of readers, my brilliance changing hearts and minds as I'd lead them into the utopian paradise formed from the gossamer of my world-view.

These, also, are somewhere burried on the hard drive. I can't even find the files. I need a better system.

You can feel the intensity!

Put me in, Coach, I'm ready to play.

Fed up with FedEx

There is nothing more frustrating than waiting for the phone to ring. It is an eternity in limbo, a season in purgatory. I have absolutely no control; I'm at the merciless mercy of another. When faced with these situations, I tend to nap, hoping that the unwatched kettle will boil sooner.

eBay's "Buy it Now" button has been good to me. No more waiting for auctions to end, sniping or being sniped. Just click, click, click, and it's on its way. eBay and PayPal, together, are the fulfillment of the American Dream: the magic of the internet, the miracle of a cashless society, the acquisitional greed. But every dream has its nightmare.

The Gospel According to Tom Petty tells us that the waiting is the hardest part, and He's really hit the nail on the head this time.

Every delivery method has it's own personality, and a tracking system, some more reliable than others. My favorite system is the United States Postal Service, Priority Mail. At the USPS tracking is a joke, and I do have a sense of humor. I always have the merchandise in my hand before they've updated from entered into the system to in transit. But balancing this against a super-quick turnaround time and a reliable delivery person, tracking becomes a non-issue. UPS, the sexy boys in brown, is my second favorite. Each UPS driver is a brunette twink from a William Higgins film, and the summer shorty uniforms accentuate their positives. Their tracking system is accurate, and I've managed to train the drivers to leave packages on my back porch if I'm not home to fantasize about them personally.

Which leads me to FedEx. Their tracking system is precise and unforgiving. They are willing to leave flatwork tucked inside the storm door, but anything else becomes a battle of wits and wills. A battle I always lose, because they cheat. I'm not sure I've ever even seen a FedEx driver. I think they are all ex-military people, probably special-ops types, Marines and Navy SEALs. Their specialty is stealth. These highly-trained professionals can silently tag an inner door without disturbing a cathair tumbleweed, or a napping Tom Kitten. By the third notice, I've always given up the fight, and have made arrangements to drive the fifty-seven miles to their nearest Home Delivery substation to pick up my treasures myself. I've tried staying awake for their arrival, but that doesn't work either. Any distraction -- a call of nature, a ringing telephone -- and I've lost the battle and the war. I have sat from 8am to 7pm on my front porch, catheterized and high on caffeine, only to find that their tracking system indicates that they were unable to make delivery at 11:47am because "customer was unavailable." By the time I get back down to the door to examine it for evidence, the delivery attempt tag will have magically appeared, stuck on the inside of the squeaky storm door.