Sexy Man in Glasses

I called this post 'Sexy Man in Glasses' because I'll get more hits on Google that way.

I took Mark over to Warby Parker yesterday for some new glasses. It is one of the easier stores with which to do business. They're fast and efficient with real nice kids working there. However, while waiting for Mark to finish his eye exam I sort of got involved in a discussion with the help. I'm not sure how it started, but it went something like this.

Somewhat older staff member: "Blah, blah, blah, blah Orson Welles... "

Barely twenty year old gay staff member: "Who?"

Somewhat older staff member: "Orson Welles."

Barely twenty year old gay staff member: "Never heard of that person."

Somewhat older staff member: "He was a director and actor...  umm..."

That's when I jumped in. "War of the Worlds, Citizen Kane."

Crickets and the look of newly hatched birds on the faces of the three young staff members standing across from me.

Barely twenty year old gay staff member: "Those are movies?"

Barely twenty year old woman staff member: "I think I heard of War of the Worlds. It had that old guy from Scientology in it... "

Barely twenty year old staff member with a wisp of a mustache: "Tom Cruise."

Barely twenty year old woman staff member: "Right, that's the one."

I think I figured out why these young people are so uninformed and unaware of things that are general knowledge. It's the books, the books right there in that store. They have shelves full of books all around that store and I don't think anybody has read even one of them. They're categorized by color, not subject.

Somewhat older staff member: "Yeah, I think there's a book about him up in the orange section."

The Plural of Aunt

I just don't get it when people have personal phone conversations in public, especially where I can hear all of it. One of the worst places to do that is in your doctor's office waiting room. Last Thursday I went for my follow up visit to the dermatologist. The waiting room was moderately full so I took a chair next to a non-threatening older lady. They're usually quiet and don't bother you too much. A few minutes into the wait, a middle aged woman came into the waiting room and sat down two seats away from me. She was blabbing away on her phone through a blue tooth she had in her ear. May I just say that even though those things have been around for quite awhile, I still think people are talking to themselves. Anyway, I picked up on the conversation as she sat down.

"I think it would be nice to have at least a memorial at the grave site...."

I could see her lip curl and knew tears were just a moment away. I hate seeing other people cry because it usually triggers the water works in my eyes. I have no control over it, I just start watering up. Sure enough, she started to sob. When she recovered from her sorrow over whoever died, she had this to say.

"You know he loved his auntses. I think we should invite the auntses if we have a graveside memorial...."

Again, her eyes started to water up. But what the hell, auntses? I never heard that before. I don't think that is a Chicago thing. I grew up knowing the correct plural of aunts, and of uncles. What blew my mind even more was when she was through with that call, she called somebody else and went through the same routine all over again. The idea of a graveside memorial, the choking up and crying as if on cue, and then she said it again, auntses. Aunts-es, like that. Although, by the third call, after she went through all that shit, she did start laughing. But it was not the laugh of a normal person. I mean, who sobs one moment, says auntses, then starts laughing? Like I said, I don't get this thing about personal phone conversations in public. Especially in front of me.

Klowns Inc

Originally published, November 27, 2007

For most people clowns were an amusing distraction until John Gacy created an image problem. We all grew up watching Bozo and before Bozo there was Clarabell on the Howdy Doody Show. To this day McDonalds is still trying to put a clowns face on it’s unhealthy food. In our house we learned early on that clowns weren’t always funny. It didn’t take John Gacy to wake us up.

My dad and three of his buddies from the Knights of Columbus, started a little clown troop back in the 1950’s. The reason given was to entertain children, but I think it was a way to get out of the house and knock back a few beers while they ‘rehearsed’. Sometimes for adult parties they would do a skit dressed up as gorillas, and other times they would dress up as women. I distinctly remember trying on my dads falsies that he kept in his clown trunk in our basement. (For the young people, falsies were what women used before silicone implants.)

My dad and his clown buddies would provide entertainment at various functions like parades, Christmas parties, picnics, and children’s wards at hospitals. Before he would leave to do this, he’d put his makeup and costume on at home. Because we didn’t put a hold on our bad behavior while he did this, often times he would have to mete out discipline while in full clown makeup. There is nothing scarier than a clown in big shoes chasing you around the house with a belt. What really bothered me about my dad being a clown was that he would be really nice and funny to all these strange kids, and they would laugh and be having a good time. I just wondered, why couldn’t he be that funny at home? The answer of course is that if he had spent more than a few hours with those kids he’d be chasing them around, cursing at them, and probably blow his big clown-hair wig.

I do have to admit that he and his clown buddies did throw pretty good parties. They just never had any clowns at them.

Zippy Goes Shopping

I am not a fan of shopping. I have never understood the people who actually enjoy going to a store. Mark mentioned to me that Bed, Bath and Beyond was going to be closing a lot of their stores. "How could that be?" I asked him, "Every single time we're in that store, it's full of women and gay guys buying crap." Mark then explained to me that half of those people are buying things. The other half, minus the shop lifters, are returning the crap they bought the day before. Apparently it's a thing with some people. Buying and returning things. Then Mark explained that a lot of them will buy nice towels, nice dishes, nice things in general because they're either having a party or having visitors and want to impress others. As soon as the visitors leave or the day after the party, they return all that stuff. And then there are the real sickos who simply love the rush of purchasing shit and when buyer's remorse sinks in, they return it.

I especially hate shopping with Mark. He has no plan when he goes into a store and no list, just a general idea of what's on sale. He gets into one of those electric shopping carts and takes off, leaving me in his dust. I spend most of the shopping trip trying to catch my breath as I run after him. Up and down the aisles, first on one side of the store, and then while I'm not paying attention he zips clear across to the other side. I've started standing in one spot near the center of the store and calling him on the phone every once in awhile to check on him. It saves me from sore feet and if he needs me, I'm close enough. I used to try and out think Mark by picking up those things I knew we needed. This always backfired, because he would still zip on over to the aisles I just had come from. I seriously hate shopping.

It Feels Springy

Just a little over one week ago, we had a snow storm. It snowed all day that Sunday and inches of snow lay on the ground by Monday morning. This Sunday it was seventy five degrees out and on Monday the thermometer in my yard read eighty one degrees. Chicago, you have to love it or you'll go nuts. I love it. So anyway, those warm temperatures and sunny skies helped the leaves to start popping on the trees. I noticed the green tinge as I drove down the street. It made me happy. In my back yard the tulips were lured out for a glorious display yesterday morning. The dogs lolled in the grass for a long time and I even noticed that it might need mowing by the end of this week. So I took a chance. I believe in my heart that the temperature will not fall below freezing again until November. I transplanted my babies from the basement. Since February I have been growing flowers in a window in the basement. Nasturtiums and marigolds. It was the nasturtiums that I planted along the fence in the backyard, with the marigolds going in later this week. So I seriously do not want to see any more snow or freezing temperatures. You hear that Mother Nature? No more goddamned snow!!

Nasturtiums

Skin

About a month ago I went to the dermatologist to have some "Beauty" marks checked out. Not so beautiful. One came back positive for basal cell carcinoma. So yesterday I went back to have the offending spot removed. It was very creepy. I was laid out on the table with a piece of blue tissue over my face, with a hole in it so the doctor could get to my forehead. I was appropriately anesthetized, but I could feel and hear him cutting away. Kind of a gentle crunching sound. I could see blood seeping across the blue tissue so I closed my eyes. Then came the sewing. Five stitches that seemed to take forever, but it was the first one that got to me. When the doctor pulled that first stitch through, I could feel my eyebrows pull closer together.

"Hey, you're not giving me a uni-brow, are you?"

Laughs and giggles from the two nurses, and a reassurance from the doctor that he hadn't sewed my eyebrows together. I do love an audience. In fact, before the doctor even started sewing me up, I heard him say "cauterize". This was the cue for a nurse to turn on some kind of heat gun and aim it at my forehead. Once again, I couldn't resist.

"Is that grilled steak I smell?"

Giggles and a laugh along with the doc informing me that, "Yes, and you're the steak."

When it was all finished and over with, the doctor removed the blue tissue and the nurses proceeded to patch me up with a bandage. The spot that was removed was 0.4cm. A sweet pea is 1cm across, so this was less than half as big across as a sweet pea. Of course going in for this bit of flesh removal I expected maybe a dime sized piece to be removed. When the nurse put a mirror up for me to check out their work, I was kind of surprised. I had a giant patch on my forehead. It looked like I had been hit in the head with a baseball bat. And now that many hours have passed, and all the anesthetic has worn off, it does feel like I was punched very hard in the forehead. In fact, I'm kind of sorry I declined the nice pain killers the doctor had offered to prescribe.