March 31, 2005

Ruthless, personified

That's me. I move through the house with nary a care for the usefulness or emotional attachment we have to the object. If my house will show better without the object, then that object is already halfway out the door. Today is bulk pickup garbage day. Things like, say, broken chairs in the basement which were waiting for me to fix, are no longer in the basement and no longer waiting for me to fix them. To the curb. Old vacuum cleaner we (well, I) were keeping in anticipation of having it fixed to keep upstairs as a second vacuum, to the curb. I admit a small pang as I looked at it on the grass. We bought it a long time ago when we had different lives and were living in a different town. It brought back some nice memories.

That's the thing about objects. The reason you've kept half of this garbage is because it reminds you of things, of times past, of when you were a different person. When you were young and married and had no real responsibilities. The vacuum, by way of example, reminded me of all of the apartments I used it in. Vacuuming was always my chore. My wife hated it but did not mind cleaning the bathroom, something I hated. So I used that vacuum in a house in New Orleans (where we bought it at Sears) and in an apartment on the Upper West Side and another apartment on the Upper East Side and then the house, where it quit after some 12 years of faithful service.

So, just because I was ruthless does not mean that I was not reflective and maybe a little bit sad. I liked the people my wife and I were when that vacuum was young. I miss them, sometimes. Life was simpler then and our options seemed without limit. Now, our lives are much more complicated and our options more constrained. That comes just with growing older and having kids. I love my kids and I wouldn't trade them for anything but I miss the feeling that the possibility of the future as this limitless adventure is, if not gone, waving bye-bye.

That feeling has not been moved to the curb, but it may just be a matter of time.

Geez, I never would have suspected that old vacuum cleaner had so much life left in it.

Posted by: Random Penseur at 09:45 AM | Comments (3) | Add Comment
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March 30, 2005

Pack rat? Me?

In a panic, last night, I realized that if we are well and truly going to be putting our house on the market next week *GULP*, this might be the last recycling day between now and that date. Therefore, it was incumbent upon me to race around the house and ruthlessly reduce the old magazines which were cluttering up the whole house, stashed in lopsided piles in odd corners and in each bathroom and the guest room and next to my bed and, well, you get the idea. In a burst of energy, I rounded up something like 9 shopping bags full of old Sports Illustrated, Architectural Digest, Consumer Reports, Westchester and NY Magazines, and various other random publications and conveyed them to the curb for disposal.

I have barely scratched the surface, I realize, of what needs to be done to make the house ready to show, but it felt good to get started.

Tomorrow, I'm afraid (and I really mean afraid), may be the last bulk garbage disposal opportunity before the house lists. Thus, tonight may be a really late night as I attempt to make some snap decisions about what stays, what goes, and what gets run to the curb tonight.

All the fun and drama of packing up an entire house but compressed into 2 nights.

In the back of my mind, I hear my late grandmother's voice, passing along the words she used to tell my mother when my mother was sent off to clean up her room: Be ruthless.

Wish me luck, for it is against everything holy for a pack rat to be ruthless.

By the way, how come nobody is ever told to be "ruth" anymore? How come ruth fell out of the language except as a first name?

Posted by: Random Penseur at 11:42 AM | Comments (8) | Add Comment
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March 28, 2005

Buy/Sell and Sell/Buy: The difference?

The difference is the amount of stress and the sheer terror that sometimes accompanies the purchase of a new house and the immediate, and chilling, obligation to get your current house in shape and on the market. I have spent the day alternating between stressed out, temple throbbing, chest pounding anxiety and fatalistic acceptance that I am slowly pushing down a major commitment which will absolutely, no question about it, be a big mistake. Why a big mistake? Because at least right now, in my current house, I understand and appreciate what I don't like and what is not suitable. In a new house, in a new town, and in the state next door, all that is unforeseen and unappreciated. Besides, I think that deep down I really loathe change. Also, I pretty much hate debt and debt is a new best buddy.

Hence my silence today. Too much time being freaked out and unhappy. I have also done no work today of any kind professionally speaking.

Did I mention that we found a house that we really loved this weekend and can't quite afford but are planning to buy anyway? I may have left that out.

Posted by: Random Penseur at 04:31 PM | Comments (7) | Add Comment
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March 25, 2005

Easter

Religious holidays are odd things. They are so many different things to so many different people. I have no idea if anyone reading this will be celebrating Easter this year, or if they are, whether they will sit awhile and think about the deeper significance of the holy day (where do you think the word holiday comes from, hmmn?) but I hope they do. We'll be watching our kids run around picking up eggs. I'll be the guy with the Bloody Mary in his hand.

So, that said, if you are celebrating Easter this weekend, I wish you a happy, peaceful and meaningful holy day.

And maybe, just maybe, you'll spare a thought for Terry Schiavo. Mark at Irish Elk has provided very thought provoking coverage.

Posted by: Random Penseur at 02:04 PM | Comments (3) | Add Comment
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March 24, 2005

When an update is not an update

Like now. I owe you all an update on the visit to England and dinner with Helen, etc. I can't do it right now, I fear. I was in Atlanta all day yesterday and returned on a very, very delayed flight. I walked in to find my wife telling me how much our daughter was looking forward to seeing us all at her school for her Purim party. *gulp* I am bad parent. I forgot about the Purim party. I did not go to work this morning. Instead, I went to Purim party, more on that later, as well. I have been playing catch up at work ever since.

I will leave you with the words that the Girl Child dictated as she pretended to write a letter and she closed it out:

Gratefully yours,

Love you,

Bye.

She assures me that is how she ends all her letters.

Posted by: Random Penseur at 03:49 PM | Comments (2) | Add Comment
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March 22, 2005

Oggi, oggi, oggi, oggi, oi, oi oi (spelling guessed at)

waleslogo.gif

Yay, Wales! I am informed that the title of this post is a cheer at Welsh rugby matches (if informed incorrectly, please let me know). Among the things I did in London was spend two hours in a pub on a beautiful day drinking with friends and watching as Wales beat up on Ireland in the finals of the Six Nations Rugby Tournament (also caught the end of France/Italy). It used to be the Five Nations. In fact, the Five Celtic Nations. Now Italy's joined. Let's just say the Italian Rugby Team has a ways to go.

This is the first time since 1978 that Wales has won the tournament with a grand slam (all the matches). The first time in 22 years that they have managed to beat Ireland at home in Wales. Wales exploded in joy after the match.

walestoast.jpg

And it was a very exciting match, too.

walesplay.jpg

Rugby is an excellent sport to watch. You cannot believe, if youÂ’ve never seen it, how fast and strong the top players are. And how they fling themselves about with almost no regard for their personal safety. There was quite a bit of blood on the field. Oh, and injury care? That seemed mostly to involve a 30 second application of an ice pack. That's it.

My favorite anecdote about 6 Nations? The Welsh team is sponsored by Brains beer and wear, on their shirts, the name: Brains.

walesbrains.jpg

The French prohibit advertising on the pitch so the Welsh replaced the word Brains on their jerseys with the word: Brawn. Excellent, no?

So, join me and lift a glass to the 2005 Six Nations Rugby Champions!

Posted by: Random Penseur at 02:55 PM | Comments (2) | Add Comment
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I have returned, with a theory, no less

I am back from England where I had a wonderful time (more on that later) and trying to prepare for a meeting in a far off city tomorrow. I am working very hard to pretend that jet lag is a theoretical malady that afflicts others, not me. And I have a theory. For the first time, I actually have concocted a theory about jet lag and the is it worse here (US) or there (Europe) debate. My theory is that jet lag is simply worse wherever you are returning to. When you go to a place, you suffer less from jet lag because of the excitement about the travel, especially if the travel is holiday (vacation) related. You arrive and are up early and are out the door, buzzed to get going and do stuff. You ignore the jet lag, pretend it isn't there.

But then you get home. And you don't pretend the jet lag isn't there. You can't. In fact, your mind keeps returning to vacation and you think to yourself that, gee, its noon here but its five o'clock back in London. And since your mind keeps going back that way, and you keep imagining yourself back in London (or wherever), you magnify and intensify the jet lag.

That's my theory, in a nutshell.

I tried to put it into practice. I set my watch as soon as I got on the plane to come home. I dragged myself out of bed at the usual time and went to the gym and did the usual hard workout. I came to work. I have thought nothing about what time it might be in London.

And you know what? I'm pretty wrecked actually. But it has nothing to do with jet lag. Nope, according to my theory, I'm totally over that.

Posted by: Random Penseur at 02:28 PM | Comments (5) | Add Comment
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March 16, 2005

Like a good ol' country lawyer, I'm hanging a sign on my door

GONEFISHING.jpg

Well, not really. At least, not fishing.

Nope, off to merry old England as of tomorrow morning. Just me, no wife, no kids, no car seats, no strollers, no diaper bags. Just me and a new book on the history of the Late Roman Empire I picked up last night in the bookstore. I will have 6 (or so) glorious economy class hours all to myself to read without interruption. I guarantee that this is the part of the trip my wife envies me the most for. I know that I have envied her that part when she has gone on business trips. Solitude. *sigh* I cannot wait for some solitude. Not too much, mind you, just a couple of hours.

Expected highlights of the trip to come:

*Dinner with Helen and Angus on Friday night! I am looking forward to this tremendously and am only sorry my wife cannot join us.

*A moment to pay my respects to the Laughing Cavalier (Franz Hals) at the Wallace Collection, where he lives. He is one of my all time favorite portraits:

laughingcavalier.jpg

I'm sure you can see why. Actually, permit me a slight digression. Among the things I love about this painting are the twinkle in his eye, like he is sharing a joke with us, not laughing at us and the gorgeous clothes he is wearing. I have read that Flemish painters in the 1600's, when this was painted, used to get their commissions from rich Flemish wool merchants and they were famous for providing stunning and luxurious fabrics to the rest of Europe. Such that, Flemish painters used their portraits, in part, as an advertisement for the Flemish fabric trade and painted these stunning clothes in these fabulous textures and colors -- rich brocade, deep velvets, heavy silks, etc. Next time you see a Flemish painted portrait of a well off woman, take a close look at the clothes. That depiction will knock you out. I promise.

*Lunch with my old fencing master! A very dear man, in his 70's now.

*Hanging out time with some of my bestest friends from law school, people who rented the other half of the house we lived in for 2 years.

*A visit to the National Portrait Gallery.

*A trip to the British Museum to see some treasured old pals: The Elgin Marbles; the Assyrian collection; the Magna Carta; and any other damn thing I want to see!

*A wedding on Sunday!

*Some time in the bookstores, getting my wife her perfume, maybe picking up a new tie or two if the exchange rate doesn't absolutely frighten me away first.

*and finally, walking around to my heart's content, taking pictures of the splendid buildings and just being happy about being in London.

When a man grows tired of London, etc.

Wish me a safe trip, if you would be so kind, and look for my reports next week.

Pax tibi!

Posted by: Random Penseur at 09:21 AM | Comments (18) | Add Comment
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March 10, 2005

Hey, buddy, you got a light?

I am a reformed smoker. I quit the day after I took the NY Bar exam, some 12 years ago. Sometimes I miss it, sometimes I hate even walking behind someone smoking. Sometimes, though, the feelings I associate with tobacco go from mild missing, to nostalgia, to craving to being really sorry I gave it up. Those feelings usually sneak up on me. Like today.

There was this nasty, beat up van waiting to pull into the street from a gas station as I passed by. I took it all in -- the dents, the multihued exterior from original paint to bondo to rust, the driver with the predictable lit cigarette. And then, whoosh. Damn, I wanted one. I am not going to have one, clearly. But I am going to write about it.

At its best, a cigarette was a sensuous experience. Every part of it.

First, you'd pack the pack. The smack as you slapped the top of the pack against the palm of your hand and the little sting you'd feel. You'd do this several times until all the loose tobacco was packed firmly into the cigarette. Then the crinkle as you took the plastic off and the smell as you opened the pack and pulled the silvery paper out of the top.

You'd take the cigarette out of the pack then and put it in your mouth. You'd hold it loosely with your lips as you pulled out the fire. Loosely so you wouldn't get it wet.

Then, fire. Flame came from several possible sources. First, matches. The scriiitch of the match head against the strike paper, the quick attempt to cup the match if you were outside so it wouldn't go out, or the even faster attempt to light the smoke right off the flare as the match ignited. This was the least satisfying but had some appeal anyway. No, I really liked the zippo lighter, the heft of the brass. I had my initials engraved on mine. The sound of the top as you popped it open, that metal snick. The roughness of the wheel as you engaged the flint. The smell of the lighter fluid that just seemed to make the Camel Lights (my preferred brand) taste better. The solid thunk like the door of a Mercedes as you closed it. It always stayed lit in the wind, too.

Then there was the sound of the cigarette as it took the flame. The crinkle noise of the paper as it caught at the end. The change it made as the tobacco started to burn.

Then the smoke as it finally hit your lungs. That part was really quite excellent. Quite excellent.

Of course, I also liked the holding of the cigarette, the gesturing with it for emphasis, the flicking away the butt when I was finished, the quick tap or flick to knock the ashes off the end. All of this I liked.

I liked a slow smoke. I also liked a fast smoke. Like one of my classmates said in law school, in con law, when asked by a professor whether the cigarette boxes still had the Surgeon General's warnings on them: "I don't know, Professor, I just rip 'em open and smoke 'em."

I also liked pipes and still take, maybe a couple of times a year, a good cigar. But this post isn't about that. It is about missing my little pack of smokes and my snazzy zippo.

As I've said often to my wife, the thing I regret the most about ever starting to smoke seriously is that I can now no longer have the social cigarette if at a bar with friends. Nope. I'm done.

But I can still miss them from time to time. And I do.

Posted by: Random Penseur at 03:48 PM | Comments (9) | Add Comment
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March 08, 2005

Welsh Hip Hop, reprise

Back in December of last year, I put up an entry on Welsh hip hop. Would you believe it still attracts the occasional comment from the Welsh hip hop afficionados and partisans? This is why comments should not be closed. It may have something to do with the fact that when you run the Google search, my little blog is the second search result on the list.

The BBC put up a nice review of the album released last Summer: Miwsig I'ch Traed A Miwsig I'ch Meddwl. I cannot pronounce it, honestly, but I like the way all of the letters look together. This album was put out by Boobytrap Records, which also puts out Welch Hip Hop albums by Kentucky AFC. If you want to hear a snippet from MC Mabon's hit single, opupPic('mp3s/mc_mabon.mp3')">go iawn wir yr click on the song title and hopefully that will work. If not, click here, because I don't want you to miss your chance at hearing the "chanting song of acid-guzzling choir goers".

Here is a great set of resources for Welsh Hip Hop from BBC Wales: Adam Walton's Magical Mystery Tour. Here is an informative looking website from another record company: Angst.

Finally, the BBC Wales does have a nice looking set of links to Welsh music sites generally, with some hip hop mixed in.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm off to check out The Martini Henry Rifles new video. Not hip hop, mind you, but quite interesting and in English.

Posted by: Random Penseur at 09:56 AM | Comments (5) | Add Comment
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