wbjb-sn-20091207.mp3

Two hours.

That’s just about the amount of time I spend every week - give or take a half hour - at the local laundromat. Local is actually a misnomer. New Jersey has an over abundance of laundromats, dry cleaners, strip malls and asphalt. Garden State indeed. But I shouldn’t trash on my adopted state; it has provided me with a vocation, education and my son.

It is my son who once again has provided me with a perspective, and a thought, for this blog. (more…)

My first thought, when I heard this, touched on my brother. He works in an auto parts plants off a winding country road in rural Michigan. One of many plants just like it that many families rely on throughout Michigan and elsewhere to earn a living. The men and women at my brother’s plant have already volunteered to cut the work week by a day - and one day’s pay - in order to save some of their coworkers from losing their job altogether.

I know Michigan. I know the feel, the taste and the smell. At times like this, senses pull everything together and grip your gut in knots of fear. Fear has a definite taste; it removes the flavor from everything else and steals your appetite. The smell of fear has a similar effect. There’s nothing quite as vapid as a future of uncertainty.

As the economic engine of Chrysler and G.M. rumbles to a low and coughing sputter, there are many who will need to shut the car off, sell it, or let the repo man come and take what’s his.

I like watching people, no real curiosity there, a lot of people do. But when these two, large, biker-types sat down next to us I thought for sure I had some entertainment to accompany our dinner. I did. But not what I had anticipated.

With his black T-shirt encased belly pressing up against the table, the man to my right looked like he road in on a Harley. Perhaps the Harley-Davidson leather skull cap was what gave me that impression. He also sported a chest-length ZZ Top beard streaked with white hair that matched perfectly his shoulder length black hair accented with the same seniority highlights.

His friend, dressed all in black except for the white athletic socks scrunched above his soft-soled black street shoes, also fancied longer hair and kept his squarish glasses perched professorially at the bottom of his nose. The two complimented each other nicely, I thought. Perhaps they are brothers, maybe they’re going to talk about the job, or women, or maybe even the latest hemi.

Nope.

It was hard to hear Mr. Spectacles, he had a low voice that was hard to pick-up between his munching and chewing and the ambient noise of the restaurant. Music piped in from the back room also helped to drown out most of the conversation. But Mr. Harley was easy to hear, mostly.

He had a high-pitched voice that chirped the most unusual dialogue for someone who most assuredly belonged to a local biker gang.

“I prefer to think of it as the wild west of role playing,” he said. Mr. Spectacles nodded and chewed. “Also, there’s a powerful weapon inside his gut.”

No way, I thought, these guys are gamers. It continued.

“Unfortunately, even when you go through the dungeon, it can come back and get you,” the high-pitched one said. “Yes” was all that Mr. Spectacles said, too intent on his massive plate of food to give a more detailed response.

“The first time is great, you literally come out the other end, the monsters are so big . . . ” and on the conversation went. I scribbled down some of the dialogue on some napkins, thinking what a funny blog post this will be. Hm, well, probably not.  But, I learned - once again - not to make assumptions.

The top listing on a Google search for Barack Obama, or Obama-Biden, led to BarackObama.com (other than a sponsored CafePress link at the top of one search) where those seeking information about the candidate are taken directly to a page soliciting donations.

Hmm.

I knew, with the first welt, that I needed to see a doctor. Without any insurance, however, the idea turned in my head registering with dollars and cents. This was going to be expensive. (more…)

Let’s see, I am a 42 year-old white male, of average height and weight and exercise only occasionally. I avoid the obvious, no soda or excessive salt, try to eat only meals made at home with ingredients I can pronounce, drink green tea and plenty of water and take several vitamins and minerals daily. If you follow this blog you will also notice that I bake, at home, pies and cookies and breads. Baking is usually a weekend indulgence and, again, I know everything going into that pie because I made it. Perhaps this is a off-kilter view of healthy living, but it is my life and I feel pretty darn good over all.

When I was a kid, we didn’t get candy except on Easter, Halloween and Christmas. That was it. There were no store-bought cookies in the kitchen cupboard and no soda in the refrigerator. When she had the time, and we had the money, my mother would bake pies or cookies or bread (zucchini and banana were my favorite) and at Christmas the younger kids would help to make candies. Perhaps this is a way of life that doesn’t fit for most people any more. I can believe that. But I am also likewise convinced that, at least for myself, the option to instead buy off the shelf pre-made meals is quite literally off the table. (more…)

It was the summer of love. (more…)