Twisty

What Do These People Do All Day?

Yesterday afternoon at the office, we got our weekly call from Mitch*. I only mention this because Mitch was unceremoniously fired early last summer. I know this because, at that time, I was asked to take over his duties – in addition to my full-time position.

Mitch calls all the time to gloat about his copious amounts of free time. The purpose of this particular call was to brag about the summer he plans to spend bumming around in Southern California.

A 32 year old, college-educated professional, Mitch is one of a few people I have come to know that has chosen not to work. He just doesn’t want to. So he relys on handouts, government aid and education grants to get by.

His whole situation just pisses me off.

Please understand. My wrath is not targeted towards those who are forced to stay at home (ill persons, unemployed folks), need to remain at home (family caregiver, Stay-at-Home Mom/Dad) or people who have earned their stays at home (retired people). Rather, my gripe is with those who just don’t feel like working.

Here’s another story:

A few years ago, in my first apartment, I lived across the hall from a woman named Ada. Ada looked to be somewhere in her late forties. Despite suffering from an alleged and ever-changing set of maladies, she still found ample time and energy to skip into Manhattan (1 hour away) every day to work out and shop.

She lived off of disability payments and a generous allowance she received from a mysterious married man in California. (Ada was proud to tell me, on more than one occasion, that she was his long-time mistress.)

I would do everything in my power to avoid her, even to the point of considering using my first-floor bedroom window as a makeshift entryway. Why, you ask? This is how a typical encounter would go with her.

Setting: New Jersey
Date/Time: Weekday, After 7 p.m.

Ada: (Calling from her doorstep, walking over) Hellooooo, Teeee Jaaaay!

(I fumble with keys, briefcase, purse, six bags of groceries and manage to force myself in, barely managing not to christen the carpet with chicken breasts and jug of Snapple.)

Me: (Dejectedly) Hi, Ada.

Ada: (Sashaying past me and my bag-laden arms through the door of my apartment) May I come in?

Me: Ummmm…

(Ten minutes pass. I’m forced to make small talk while my just-purchased frozen yogurt drips all over my counter.)

Me: Ada, I’m afraid to cut this short. I’ve been at work since 7, I’m kinda tired and hungry…

She would then spend the next twenty minutes doing the following:
- Detailing the purchases she made at Pottery Barn
- Probing me for advice about an outrageously expensive laptop her adulterous benefactor planned to buy her

Inevitably she would end these little gab sessions by giving me some version of this speech:

Ada: TJ, I’m just so tired. And, you know what? I’m tired of giving. All I do is give, give, give. Why can’t society do something nice for me for a change?

Huh?

I literally have to choke back the bile in my throat when I think of these folks. Why do they have it so good? What I would give to spend all day sitting on our smooshy leather couch, watching Days of our Lives, ordering crap from Pottery Barn and planning the gourmet meal I plan to whip up!

But then I think: Is that really that I want – to do nothing, to give nothing?

Nope. I guess a life of leisure isn’t for me.

Well, I’m off to bed. I’ve got work tomorrow.

* Names have been changed.

The Sound & The Fury: My New Career as a Technical Consultant

Those who know me are aware that repetitive mechanical noises drive me crazy.

I'd rather get shock therapy than be subjected to truck "back-up noise." I've been known to freak out when people allow cell phone message alerts to go on, and on, and on. I think I would have to be institutionalized if I ever bought one of those cookie jars that oinks every time you reach for an Oreo.

I should tell you that one of the ports on the back of my computer is loose. Most of the time this doesn't cause a problem. However, at least once or twice a week, the system will decide that one of the ports has become too loose and starts BEEPing like crazy -- shrill, repetitive BEEPing. Thus begins the same laborious process...

I crawl under my dusty desk and jiggle the wires a bit. BEEP BEEP BEEP. Then, I restart the computer one or two times. BEEP BEEP BEEP. Finally I end my misery and call our technical support desk. BEEP BEEP BEEP. About 10 minutes (and plenty of BEEPs) later, a cheerful-but-overworked engineer crawls on his tummy, tinkers, reboots and solves the problem. Afterwards, he will look at me with say (with a special mix of both condescension and pity), "When this happens, just jiggle the wires around, you know, like this." Then, he smiles, dusts himself off and races to solve someone else's computer woes.

Early this morning I turned on my system.

BEEP BEEP BEEP.

So, I kicked it.

No more noise.

I'm thinking I'm already well on my way to a second career!

A Salute to Buffy

In less than a week, Joss Whedon’s ground-breaking show, Buffy the Vampire Slayer will come to an end. I, like many viewers, am already morning the loss.

I credit my mother for my interest in the show. A natural nurturer, my mom has always had a soft spot for the underdog. This compassion even extends to television shows. She’s always willing to give poorly reviewed, no-name networks’, mid-season replacements a try. In this regard, Buffy fit the bill quite nicely.

The show had everything going against it. Buffy was of the WB’s first forays into the wonderful world of original programming. The show was based on a bit of a silly premise -- a teenage outcast named Buffy is given a sacred duty to rid the earth of vampires, demons and a bunch of other evil nasties. To make matters worse, this show was based on a previously released movie that tanked at the box office. (For the record, I always kind of liked the quirky Buffy the Vampire Slayer movie, featuring Luke Perry, Paul Rubens and the uncomfortable-looking Donald Sutherland, who, I’m guessing, was just in it for the paycheck.)

For me, the show couldn’t have come at a better time. I was just getting out of school and going through that awkward post-college phase. My life was changing. I was no longer writing term papers and figuring out what I was going to wear to the next sorority formal. I was getting my ass out of bed at 5 a.m. and headed to my first, big, important job in the city. I was lonely, living with my folks and missing the comfy, insulated college scene.

Buffy was all about growing up, getting older and taking on responsibility. I related to that. I also related to Buffy’s friends, a colorful cast of characters, who were just as lost and geeky as me.

Also, the show just kind of appealed to my tastes. I’ve always had a penchant for drama that is governed by strict sets of rules. On Buffy, there were so many tricky little rules. Once a Slayer dies, another one is born. A vampire can’t enter your house unless you invite them. Buffy (Slayer) and Angel (vampire) couldn’t sleep together and, if they did, he would turn evil. These restrictions always added a little tension to the show and, as Drama 101 students know: Tension provides the fundamental building blocks of drama.

When I moved into my first apartment, Buffy kept me company. So many of my friends lived far away, so the dinner hour was always a little lonely. I would come home from work, make myself a healthy “dinner for one” and catch up with the Sunnydale gang, thanks to the magic of syndication.

As of late, some have claimed the show has gone downhill. I don’t think so. As the show has evolved, so have its viewers. In the span of seven years, Buffy has gone from high school, to college, to the “real world.” I’ve been through college, the start of a career, long-term relationships and, most recently, marriage. In television time, Buffy could have stayed in high school forever. What I will always appreciate about the writers and producers of the show is that they never took the easy route and kept things status quo. Instead, they appreciated the viewers enough to make the show change and evolve every year.

Buffy has survived the introduction of a new sibling (almost inevitably a “shark jumping” moment), deaths of more than one main character (including the show’s namesake), multiple locations, failed romances, a spin-off, a change of network and seven amazing seasons.

However, even good things must eventually come to an end.

Thanks, Buffy, for a great run.

Hawaiian Holiday

Rather than bore you with a book report-style tale of our comings and goings in Hawaii, I thought I would share with you a few highlights…

Lava Means DANGER!
During our stay on what is known as the 'Big Island,' J and I decided to go take a trip to see Hawaii Volcanoes National Park. Although I am not what one might call a nature lover, I figured I would be pretty lame if I did not join J on a trip to see Kilauea, the world's most active volcano. As expected, it was rocky and barren. However, it was also incredibly beautiful. Frankly, I had never in my life seen so much open pace. It was pretty awe-inspiring.

Now, here is the kicker.

At my insistence, J and I went to go see an introductory film before our trek into the barren wilderness. (Also, I needed to pee and I knew the Visitor’s Center would have some nice, clean flush toilets. I so dainty!) Before the film began, we were shown a decidedly dramatic instructional video about what not to do on a volcano.

We heard a lot of the basics:
- Wear sneakers. (Rocky land. This is kind of a no brainer.)
- Drink lots of water. (Hawaii is very humid. You can dehydrate very easily.)
- Do not mess with the animals or vegetation. (OK. No stealing berries or feeding the geese. Got it.)
- Do not walk past barriers or stand on the edge of really tall cliffs. (When lava cools quickly it forms these plateaus called 'benches.' They are unstable and can disappear into the ocean at any time.)

Now, here is where it got kind of funny:
- Stay out of the steam vents. (Would someone really want to stick his/her head in the path of sulfurous smoke?)
- Do not go near the lava. (Yep. Seams reasonable.)
- Do not touch the lava. (I was not planning on shoving my hand into a spewing magma inferno, but thanks for the reminder.)
- Really. We are not messing around. DO NOT TOUCH THE LAVA!!! (OK, already! We got it.)

We were also treated to a bunch of pictures of people on stretchers and hikers showing off their bloody hands and skinned knees.

J and I walked out snickering quite a bit. The little safety film reminded me of those nasty Driver’s Education films you had to watch. (I think one was called something like 'Blood on the Highway.') So, I am thinking: I thought this lava stuff was no brainer?

I was wrong. Our friendly tour guide said they have several fatalities a year. The main cause? Stupid people getting in the path of the lava. Ugh.

Hawaiian Mint is not Minty
J and I learned in non-safety-oriented part of the presentation that more than 80% of Hawaii’s plants are found only in Hawaii. Also, some Hawaii is home to many species of plants and animals that have evolved because of the environment. For example, Hawaiian mint is not 'minty.' Apparently mint’s unique taste and smell is a defense mechanism. At the time it began growing in Hawaii, it didn’t need to defend itself against anything. As such, it lost its taste and scent. Neat, huh?

The Ocean Really is That Blue
I have seen pictures but never believed them. How can an ocean really be that blue? It most certainly is.

Starting in the deep ocean it begins as a deep shade of turquoise. Then, as the ocean makes its way to the beach, it gradually lightens into an incredible shade of ice blue.

Born and raised near the oh-so-polluted Atlantic ocean, I was amazed that I could stand in the water and actually see my feet.

Some Hawaiian Customs Are Not Fake
When I was a kid, my Aunt Phil and Uncle Joe took my mom and me on a trip to Disney World. At the time we stayed at the oh-so-swanky Polynesian Resort. There was lots of hula and plenty of leis. For most of my young life, I thought Hawaiians went around banging bongos and twirling fire batons. As I grew older and a tad more cynical, I came to appreciate that much of that stuff is Disney-ized. Hawaiian folks do not actually live that way. I realized that Hawaiian families did not eat spit-roasted pig every night. So, when I went to Hawaii, I figured most of the touristy stuff would be a bit of a sham.

However, there were a few things I was surprised to find out to be true:

- Hawaiian folks actually wear leis. Well, sometimes, anyway. During our stay, J and I made an excursion out of the super-touristy area and checked out a real Hawaiian supermarket. Apparently leis of all shapes and sizes were being marketed as a Mother’s Day gifts. I am guessing a lei functions like a corsage. (I'm hoping someone from Hawaii will set me straight on this.)

- The 'man skirt' is far more accepted. I saw quite a few guys wearing skirts (long, sarong-length ones). Color me surprised. They all looked pretty cute, too!

- Hawaiian folks really do say Aloha (Hello/Goodbye) and Mahalo (Thank You). Yeah, they say this stuff on the airplane and in the resorts to the tourists but the true test was whether real, non-tourist folks say these things to one another. Apparently, they do. However, it is a sad fact that they Hawaiian language is dying. It is estimated that only approximately 5,000 people who speak Hawaiian with any degree of proficiency.

Cabanas are the Best
J and I, both of Irish descent, are so pale you can almost see through us. Most early mornings were spent slathering on the sunscreen so we would not be burnt to a crisp. Partly because of this sun sensitivity and partly because we wanted to feel like the rich folk do, we decided to splurge on a poolside cabana rental.

Oh. My. God. It was absolute heaven!

For the price of $50 American dollars, we were offered fresh pineapple, ice cold water and chilled, herb-scented hand towels by a tan, strapping cabana boy. Also, we had the ability to open (or shut) our Velcro-edged curtains to keep out the sun’s nasty rays. Responsible sun care and pineapple? Sign me up!

Our cabana boy, a very sweet guy named Pete, kept stopping by and asking, 'Can I do anything else for you?' I, who was happy as a piggy in poo just reading my book and looking at the ocean, did not need a single thing. Every time he stopped by, I would just smile and thank him. Apparently people at other cabanas did take advantage of poor Pete and made him do a bunch of stuff (e.g. get lunch, fluff the towels). Grrrr.

I could go on and on, but I really need to scoot. It has been a terribly long day. I am eager to go home, watch Buffy and beg J to bring me some fresh pineapple! Aloha.