stuff...

More contrast in my life…

Kevin was living and working in Utah, for ski season this winter, after returning from a summer gig in Alaska. He came home about 6 weeks ago. The contrast: empty house/full house. Missing the tranquility of the empty house…

During my recent vacation, I spent some time with Gadget Girl, a good friend who lives in the Virgin Islands. (Yes, we have some history together, too). It had been about 9 months since I saw her last, and it was a real treat catching up. She also took me on an “off-the-grid” tour; spots only known by locals. It was a lot of fun.

 

Vacation in the Virgin Islands was fun, but my time with Jenn was marred, slightly, by the fact that I wasn’t feeling well. I came down with a fever and cough—very annoying. Still, if I’m going to be sick, it may as well be in paradise with Jenn! I’m bummed I missed the infamous Full Moon Party at Bomba Shack; we’ll have to go back for that one in the future. Contrasts: healthy vs. sick, time with Jenn vs. time alone.

A little home improvement lately, as my deck is now sheathed in stone, the attics insulated and new travertine going into the house right now. It’s disruptive and the chaos in the house contrasts with the order that I so enjoy. Now, to get a Jacuzzi installed…

And, of course, the weather! It’s funny how happy it makes me to experience the recent heat wave, then the moderate weather that followed. I love Southern  California, the sun on my face, the sea breeze at the house in the afternoon. Ahhhh. Winter in SoCal is not horrible, but Spring has been springing for a while now, and I see blooms everywhere, soaking up the sun.

Life is good. Duh…

50 shades of finished

It has been an interesting run. I read all 3 books. I liked the second best. I am ambivalent about the overall experience. It was a good story, told poorly. Most of the excitement, for me, came from the shared experience of so many friends reading it simultaneously—and their shock at some of the racier ideas. Of course, I went to Catholic school, so that’s sort of like stacking the deck a bit. 

I do not want to rehash a lot of the usual reviews of this story, but true to my thoughts on romance, I can’t let the fairytale ending go. Yuck. And, of course, I would be remiss if I didn’t point out that the heroine is an idiot. Well, maybe “idiot” is a little harsh, but I found myself sympathizing more with the evil dictator, control freak than with the “normal” girl. And lastly, I’m a guy that really gets into the willing suspension of disbelief. I have no problems with aliens chasing each other around with light sabers, Hobbits wandering the Shire, heck, even a Bahamian crab singing to a wee mermaid. Why can’t I believe in a ridiculously handsome, kinky, hung, 27 year old billionaire who hooks up with a multi-orgasmic virgin for a little light spanking?

it was a sunny, breezy day

Today, as I sat beneath a stand of palm trees blowing in the strong sea breeze, I saw beauty. First, a completely bald woman walked past me. She was bald like an egg…completely. Her head was tanned and her face was aged, but she had a very nice demeanor; she seemed fit, which had me wondering why she was bald. If she had stopped to talk to me, I would have told her it was a good look for her, although I’m thinking that might be sort of condescending or something. I was very pleased for her that she did not look sickly, like I would expect of a completely bald woman. I was glad she did not have a wig; maybe she realized this was a good look for her.

I was thinking about the bald woman as I looked out on the sea, and an ugly couple walked by. They were like two trolls. She was a lumpy, sallow woman, squeezed in a dress that was too small. The man was short, squat, wearing a buttoned-down checkered shirt and shiny nylon basketball shorts, with dark shoes. It’s a good thing there really aren’t fashion police—I shudder at their fines. The couple walked slowly, chatting to themselves as they took in the gorgeous scene. Believe me, it was just an amazing day by the water today. Their mutual regard for each other was evident from the touching and eye contact. These were no newlyweds, but I like to think they were much in love, as they walked along the docks. It struck me—these two ugly people were the most beautiful couple I’d seen all day.

I smiled as I realized this. Then I started to think other thoughts: Truth, Beauty, Love…these things that people have contemplated so much. Are they eternal? Are they constants? Are they objective? I have recently read that beauty can be objectively measured and scientists have catalogued the various facial ratios, and can measure the symmetry in a person’s face and score them for beauty. How would these two trolls in love score? I’m betting they would be on the Ewww-end of the scale, and yet I thought they were beautiful. I must be wrong.

Truth, ah Truth with a capital “T”. Is it objective? Writ small, of course, Truth is easier to handle. When the chicken crosses the road, there is a road, a chicken and a crossing…voila! But more complex things have their own Truth, and one must examine various perspectives. Truth, then, becomes a slippery thing—something that needs some thought before a declaration is made. Is Truth objective? Can there be more than one Truth? Can they conflict with one another? I don’t think I am smart enough to know the answers.

Love. Love has always given me trouble. Ask someone to define love and there is confusion and consternation, yet most people can point out love when they see it. Hmmmm, something ill-defined, but readily identifiable? That just reeks of ambiguity to me, and ambiguity bugs me mightily, like sand in my swim trunks. There’s a passage from the Bible, of all places, that starts with “Love is…” Sure there are probably many like that, but I’m thinking of the passage that is read at many, many weddings, “…love is patient, love is kind…” blah, blah, blah. It tells me many of the ingredients for love, but the recipe seems a little scant on detail. If you baked that recipe, you might get a cake, or a muffin, or an iguana sandwich. Is love constant? Almost certainly not; I don’t even think I need to go into it. Is love eternal? Oh, hell no. Is love objective? I’m going to go out on a limb and say no. I have no fantastic argument, but anything that is so slippery to define almost has to be subjective.

So, in a world where Truth and Beauty and Love are inconstant, and fleeting and subjective, what is there to hold onto? Well, the beautiful moments, the flashes of truth and the magical nuggets of love. Sure, they may have a beginning and an end, but they do exist. Perhaps like life, I shouldn’t fret about the end of them, but revel in the here and now. To seek them out like sunsets, marking them, and be thankful.

Ramble

Preface: Sometimes I start to write something and it turns out differently than I expect. A lot of the time, I just delete the whole mess, but I think I'll share today's mess...

There’s a saying I find amusing and often true: 

A woman marries a man, hoping he’ll change; 

a man marries a woman hoping she’ll never change. 

I’ve never really thought through some of the implications of this. A friend is looking for Mr. Right, and I was curious about something, does she want a “project” or a guy that is already independent and happy? I realize that is loaded question, and a bit of a bifurcation, but I’m genuinely curious about how she and other women would respond. 

Another friend advises me that she finds a man’s independence and confidence an attractive quality. But is too much independence a bad thing? Many a woman will tell you, Mr. Right is perfect—he just needs the love of a good woman. A woman to complete him. Let’s all take a moment to reflect on the image of a teary-eyed Tom Cruise admitting, “You..complete…me…” Go ahead, I’ll be over here trying to keep my lunch down. 

Perhaps my disdain, in evidence above, will tip you off? I think the best (\) relationship is between two fully-formed, independent adults. It’s been a long time since I wandered around, feeling like half of something, desperate for my missing half. Don’t get me wrong, I have needs; but this two-halves-making-a-whole bit is just not for me. I admit, I may be atypical. Very likely, this is a continuum, with needy incompletes on one end, and happy hermits on the other. Where do I fall? Where do my friends fall? And if they are more needy than me, are they looking for someone that is equally needy? More so? Less so? 

When shopping for a perfect tie, you might ask the sales clerk for advice. Their first question is likely to be: tell me about the rest of the outfit? What color is the shirt, pants and jacket? I think that is likely true of relationships. If you seek the perfect mate, perhaps it is best to know about the rest of the ensemble…and that is you. 

I was chatting with a friend of mine recently. She is a lovely creature, and she asked me for input about her recent relationships which had been a little rocky. I told her honestly, “you are just not a 24/7 type of gal.” She looked a little hurt, but she is very independent and her last boyfriend was very needy. She tends to immerse herself in her relationships, jumping straight into the deep end. But in that end of the pool, you can’t touch bottom. (Meaning there’s not a lot of me-time left). She likes to think a couple that truly love each other could spend all their time together, waking and asleep, and the bliss would be majestic. In contrast, it should be a surprise to on one that I think people need a balance between me-time and our-time. You can call me Mr. Compartmentalize, if you like.

Where is all this going? Well…

•   It is important to know what you need before you go shopping.
• What you want and what you need may be different things.

Mmmmm

Soon, Jenn will be here for another visit! As usual, I am ridiculously excited.

Not all that long after we met, I told her I wanted to be her vacation. She has always been mine…my respite from the mundanities, my escape to fantasy.

  

I often think about the nature of our relationship. Sure, it is rather unconventional, but I am deliriously happy (and last time I checked, that was high on my list of goals). I know that to move in together would probably destroy my career. She’s my vacation and you can’t have vacation every day—it’s bad for business. In her case, really bad.  There’s also a bit more to it. Living in the moment means when I’m at work, I am working. When I am on vacation, I am vacationing, pointedly not working. And when I am loving, that’s the only thing I want to be doing. 

 

As our relationship matures, there are compromises. I have to laugh about the time she suggested we go to Rome. I’ve always wanted to go, but going with Jenn at the time would have been tragic. Rome, the ancient beauty, art everywhere, the food, the modern and the antiquity—I still look forward to seeing it one day. But when I’m sightseeing, I want to be sightseeing. And when I’m loving… 

This is a compromise I see coming to my life. If things continue as they have been, Jenn will never meet my friends, I will never meet her family, we will never see Rome together. I guess it’s time for me to grow up a little.

Cold Feet

I am such a simple creature. I take delight in many simple pleasures. Just this morning, I was warm and toasty under the covers, but my bedroom was a little chilly. I slipped out of bed and went into the bathroom, where the new stone floor was quite cold beneath my feet. This floor used to be carpet, but now a lovely travertine and occasionally as cold as a well digger’s lunch bucket. Hmm, I thought to myself, perhaps I should have kept the carpet? I went through my usual morning ablutions as the water in the shower warmed and my feet cooled even further. I opened the steamy shower door and stepped into the hot water. What a delicious sensation! My feet warmed, the water splashed most satisfactorily, and I inhaled the heavy steam. I wonder, would I have even noticed the joys of hot water this morning, if the stone hadn’t chilled my feet?

I do a lot of thinking about contrasts and about simple pleasures. Nothing makes me appreciate summer more than these long nights of winter. Getting up before the sun and leaving work after full dark is depressing business for me. It makes me wistful for those halcyon days of summer, when the sun woke me in the morning and I could garden for hours after work. I wonder, how much of the hectic nature of the holidays is owed to the shortened days, leaving us so little time? In the summer, I miss the need for a fire in the fireplace. A full moon party in the summer always runs later, as we wait for dark and the beautiful light of the moon. I was in the backyard last night and the plumeria have dropped their leaves. It is well and truly winter in Southern California, despite the temperature in the mid 70s. Although far from desolate, winters here are just enough to make me fully appreciate the daffodils, which herald spring for me. They make me laugh—they pop up, glorious, then often get scorched by a sudden nice day, here. How frustrated they must be.  

They say, “absence makes the heart grow fonder.” It’s the contrast of being apart and being together that makes this so.

Simple pleasures…has it always been so for me? It is hard to recall. I think I have always taken delight in the small things, but I would certainly sacrifice my simple pleasures for something I considered more important. Maybe that’s the change? Maybe what I consider important has changed, and these simple pleasures have risen accordingly?

Perhaps I am simply justifying my burgeoning alcoholism? You see, as a young man, I would never embrace the demon rum when working the next day. Now that just makes me laugh.

More Batch Lore

In my field, we are vicious users of acronyms. They are ubiquitous and you can usually spot the newbie by the confused look after an exchange like, "Where's the DSO? We were checking out the ITA with the DMM, before installing the TLB and PCM."

In case you were actually wondering:

DSO - Digital Sampling Oscilloscope
ITA - Interface Test Adapter
DMM - Digital MultiMeter
TLB - Termination & Load Board
PCM - Power & Control Module

It's so rampant that we jokingly call them TLAs...Three Letter Acronyms.

An interesting thing about TLAs is they are a convenient shortcut, allowing us to communicate faster and more efficiently. (To demonstrate, try repeating the sentence sounding out all those extra syllables).

I find that I use adages as shortcuts in a similar matter. For instance, I was explaining why I think most men and women don't belong living together. "Familiarity breeds contempt," is all I needed to say. This is an old adage, and like all adages, has truth but shouldn't be shoe-horned in unnecessarily. It is a shortcut to a long discussion about cohabitation. I would expect some people to object to my use of this adage, but the ones that have experienced the joys of a long marriage are conspicuously quiet. Well, the newly single ones usually respond with a lusty "Amen"! whereas the currently married ones generally look left, look right, then nod quietly and blush.

A friend of mine told me that cohabitation is the death of sex. That's her theory. I think "death" is a little harsh, but she has a point that is hard to ignore. When I am asked, I often joke about my GF moving in with me. I really don't want her seeing the unvarnished bachelor that is me, taking the time to bleach the skidmarks from my pantaloons. I would rather approach her clean shaven, smelling good and sporting clean underwear. Is there such a thing as too much intimacy? Hell yes.

Another adage I use a lot is, "absence makes the heart grow fonder" and generally in that same discussion. If you want to make spending time with someone special again, the easiest way is to take a break from their company. In the case of a significant other, that time away is often your only opportunity to spend time with yourself... alone. I cherish my alone time.

funny

1: "Sometimes, I like to be cold."

2: "Why in the world would you like to be cold?"

1: "Because getting warm feels very nice."

2: "Why not just stay warm in the first place?"

1: "You don't know me at all."

1 = me.

Do you get it?

I'm a bad man

Gee, I suppose I'm supposed to write an inaugural address kicking off a new blog, but not today. Maybe I'll get to it later.

I am a bad man. Not for the usual reasons, I suppose, and perhaps "bad" is a little misleading. Maybe "tainted" like a bad piece of fish. Here's the point: I am a romantic, but my concept of romance is not the same as chicks'. (Oh yes, I use the words chick, dame, babe, etc. If you're keeping score, you should probably add that to the list).

In my mind, there are two types of romance. Like economics and politics, there is micro- and macro-romance. 

First, microromance: holding hands, kissing, candlelight, the full moon, bumping butts with someone in the kitchen, China silk on skin in a warm breeze, pouring Bailey's into a lover's coffee...honestly, I could go on and on. One of the characteristics of microromance is its fleeting nature. The best examples of microromance I have are pure moments, usually simple pleasures. 

Macroromance, in contrast, is a collection of these huge, moving concepts; the kinda shit that can really get you in trouble. Happily Ever After, (HEA), marriage, growing old together, the word "forever," cohabitation... Obviously, these are not fleeting things. No, these are the biggies!

Now, of course, I am damaged goods and all that; a guy that was married for 25 years and opted to change his life. My marriage wasn't horrible, I didn't hate my wife, none of that stuff. But being married for 25 years and raising a couple of boys will change a fellow. Here I sit, changed. Changed, and tainted. You see, I am a huge fan of microromance, but you can keep that macroromance--it's not for me.

When I was younger, I was a world class romantic, and a complete idiot. I REALLY believed the whole enchilada. I connected with the macroromantic ideals in a profound and now, embarrassing way. Seriously, imagine the front row at the premiere of the new Twilight movie: scoop up all those young chicks and smash them together. I was worse. It makes me laugh now, but I blush, too. I was such a lamb.

There are those who would be tempted to wrap their arms around me and say, "There, there, Little Puttum, life has changed you." You could do that, but please don't. You see, I don't think life has changed me as much as educated me. If I am corrupted, I want to stay this way!

Okay, before I go into the soul-crushing myth of HEA, let me say that I do believe in Westley and Buttercup. Yep, I can't deny it, there are some freaks of nature who experience True Love. (Note the caps). And like Miracle Max, it's a tough thing to admit when you see it. But like Miracle Max, I think True Love is INCREDIBLY rare. Incredibly rare and usually involving being dropped on your head as a child. Okay, maybe that's a little mean, but they have True Love, so it's okay to make fun of them.

The thing about True Love: it's not for me, (and probably not for you, either). Why? Because the circumstances that would allow something that incredibly rare do not live inside me. Even if they did, they have to simultaneously live inside the object of my affection. And then there's a timing and circumstance element to the whole thing. Holy crap, it starts to make buying lottery tickets sound reasonable. 

If you haven't guessed already, the root of my issues with romance lie in the 4th dimension, Time. Actually, I think the fourth dimension is more accurately described as duration, and that's a better way to put it. Romance is fleeting, and I'm fine with that. I try to live in the moment, and there are so many wonderful little things to acknowledge. Are they romantic? I have trouble distinguishing these simple, pure moments from microromance sometimes. I love candlelight, for instance. I burn candles very often, and mostly when I'm alone. Is that romantic? It is sensual, I love the flickering light, the playful shadows throughout the room, the subtle scent, the way the light changes the colors of everything. B-b-b-but, I'm alone! For me, romantic. Burning candles with people around, also romantic, (usually). I think I'm just going to paint with a big brush and call all of these things romantic.

If you want to get into trouble, try too hard to hold onto fleeting romance. If a romantic, candlelit dinner was magical and amazing, why shouldn't we experience them every night? Well, because familiarity breeds contempt. Would the sixth dinner in a row still be as magical? Hell no. That doesn't mean one magical dinner has ruined you for the rest of your life. No, it's about moderation. 

And Macroromance is not about moderation. It's about trying to hold onto something fleeting. 

I like the fleeting. Dinner, sailing, candle light, the full moon.