6/30/10

I would venture to guess that, among my social circle, I watch less television than anyone else.  I watch Wheel of Fortune and Jeopardy with my father whenever I stop by to visit and I watch various sporting events whenever the opportunity presents itself.  Aside from these examples, I really can't think of anything that I make it a point to see.  It's not that I have a serious aversion to television or anything.  I'll download and watch episodes of this and that, in order to kill some time, whenever the mood strikes me.  I just don't get that much enjoyment out of the medium.

Given what I've said above, it should come as no surprise that I'm not all that enamored with the prospect of HDTV and 3D and all the rest.  My television is an old 27" model from Curtis Mathes.  I bought it with the last $150 that I had to my name, the day after my ex-wife finally moved out (and took all of my belongings with her).  That was over eight years ago.  And that old television is still kicking.  About the only use that it gets these days is from my buddy playing video games, but it works, by golly.  As long as the picture on the screen reflects whatever the broadcaster wants me to see, I can find no reason to buy something bigger and better.

So, this morning, I came to the realization that I was going to have to do some laundry.  My laundry bag with dirty work clothes was lying next to my hamper with its own share of dirty 'home' clothes.  Something had to give.  The washer and dryer in my apartment building each cost $1.25.  After digging around the couch cushions, I found that I had three quarters.  The usual routine would be to drive down the street, grab some cash from the ATM, buy a candy bar from the party store on the corner to break a twenty dollar bill, stop by the car wash next door and use the change machine, then wash my clothes.  The usual routine wasn't going to work today though.

When you have seventeen dollars (which is less than $20) in your checking account, the story necessarily changes. The ATM option wouldn't work, so what was left? Go to the bank and write myself a check for ten dollars? Transfer some money from savings to checking so I could use the ATM?  Yeah, sure, either of those choices would take care of the situation, but I went with a third option. 

My youngest brother was laid off from his construction job a few weeks ago.  He moved back in with my parents to save money.  Apparently the folks in Michigan didn't get the memo about Recovery Summer or something.  Anyhow, shortly after my little brother got his pink slip, my father stepped off a ladder at work and hurt his knee.  Since he is a cement finisher and thus works on his knees most of the time, Dad is now headed for a knee replacement and an early retirement.  So... the crew working at the local oil refinery had an opening to fill.  And so my brother got his job back.  Funny how life works out sometimes.

Since my brother is working now, he's out of the house during the day.  Since my father isn't working now and my mother is taking vacation time, they're at their place up north for the week.  Sounds to me like someone has a washer and dryer just sitting there, waiting to be used.  Beauty.

After tossing the first load of laundry into the washer, I fired up my brother's television to see what was on.  During most days on the road I listen to the CNBC broadcast on my XM Radio.  I'm a greedy capitalist pig by nature, so I like to stay informed about the financial world and such.  On the radio, I've always enjoyed listening to Mandy Drury.  She was filling in for Melissa Francis while Ms. Francis was on maternity leave.  A smartass attitude and an Australian accent are A-OK with me.  Until today though, I never knew what she looked like.  Ms. Drury anchored today's broadcast.  Yeah buddy.  (Honorable mention goes to Trish Regan on the same show.)

So then I had a little bit of reason to question my ambivalence toward HDTV.  That's just a financial network though.  I certainly wouldn't decide whether or not to watch (or listen) based on the dames.  After a couple of loads of laundry made their way through the washer and dryer, I pulled up the programming guide to see what was coming on next.  I do get a kick out of Erin Burnett and her quirky humor as well, but I thought that I had heard enough financial chit-chat for today.

Lo and behold, Los Tigres had an afternoon game in Minnesota.  At the start of the day, the Twinkies were only half a game in front of Detroit.  I still had several loads of laundry to do, so it was time to hit CVS for a six pack and then watch the ballgame.  Summary of the HDTV broadcast - I don't hate it.  Probably not gonna rush out to Best Buy any time soon, but I can see what people like about the technology.  After all, I'm better off not seeing shit like this, right?





After the laundry was all done, my brother came home from work and we had a chance to kibitz about the upcoming weekend's fireworks display. It looks like we'll be launching from my aunt's place along the edge of Lake Huron.  It also looks like we'll need to procure enough plywood to provide launching stations and perhaps enough wood to build catwalks along the lake bed.  The water level may or may not be high enough to cause access problems.

Now, if you'll excuse me, the Mythbusters are about to figure out the fastest way to cool a six-pack.  This is required viewing... you know... for people with cable.

6/29/10

Being an over the road truck driver can impact one's life in various ways, either positively or negatively.  Most of the negative aspects of the job are discussed ad nauseam by people inside and outside the industry.  One significant negative about the job is routinely overlooked, however, and it's time that everyone was made aware.  Being an over the road truck driver will do terrible things to your golf game.  As tends to be the case with every round of golf though, I did manage to hit enough good shots to make me think the next time will be better.

It was a beautiful sunny day and the temperature wasn't too high, so an afternoon on the links was just what the doctor ordered.  Now the evening appears to be all set up for a couple more James Bond flicks.  I've fallen behind the necessary pace to get them all watched before I leave town again.  Time to get back to work.

6/28/10

My secret agent training fell behind schedule today.  While I should have been watching a few more James Bond movies, I wound up going through a couple of seasons of South Park instead.  I'll have to get back on track tomorrow.  I know that the world is counting on me.

6/27/10

The bulk of my day was spent helping a friend out with an event that he had been planning for months.  His granddaughter, a recent high school graduate, is a very talented classical musician.  She plays five instruments and most recently taught herself to play the bassoon.  I'm told that this is very difficult to do.  My friend's father, on the other hand, neither plays an instrument nor recently graduated from high school.  He does, however, like to watch the classical musicians on PBS.  Since he's approaching his one-hundredth birthday, quite a bit of his time is spent watching television, as you might imagine.

So my aforementioned friend came up with a pretty sound idea.  He would buy tickets for his father, his daughter, his granddaughter, and his son-in-law to see André Rieu tonight at the Fox Theatre in Detroit.  I would ride to Mexicantown with the two old guys, where we would meet the others for dinner.  Then, after the meal, we would drop everyone off at the theatre.  The two of us (my friend and I) would take the two cars back to his house in Lincoln Park, then return to the theatre when the show was over.  His daughter's family would take their car back up to Clarkston, where they live, and the rest of us would roll back down to LP in the other car.

As far as plans go, this one played out pretty effectively.  I stopped by my friend's house this afternoon and shot the breeze with his father for a while.  We drove up to Detroit and arrived at El Zocalo right after the heavy rains had moved through.  Dinner was quite good and everyone had an enjoyable time.  Even my friend's father seemed to be yukking it up quite a bit.  This was a change of pace from his typical demeanor since the passing of his wife not too long ago.  Good deal.

Aside from providing an extra body to transport the second car back and forth, I suspect that I was recruited for this evening's mission because I know my way around town.  Apparently nobody else was familiar with the lay of the land.  For an amateur, it can be easy to get thrown off course when moving from Mexicantown to the theatre district.  For a pro it's not a problem.  I am a professional driver, technically speaking, but I'm more of a pro when it comes to ballgames and the dinners that follow them.  The Fox is right across from Comerica Park, so there you go.

Across the freeway on Vernor, past the abandoned train station (an impressive sight, even in it's decayed state), up past Michigan Avenue, onto I-75, back off of I-75, over Grand River, and up to Woodward, no problemo.  We pulled up in front of the Fox and let everyone out, then took the cars back to my friend's house.  After he and I headed back out and did a little running around, we settled in and waited for 9:30pm to come around.  The show was set to end at 9:35pm, so we figured that everyone would be back outside a few minutes after that.  Aside from having to battle some tour buses for position in front of the theatre, this part also went quite smoothly.

My friend and his father got in the car that I was driving, the others took their car, and we all were happily homeward bound.

Now, I told you that fairly mundane story to set the foundation for this observation - dementia is a motherfucker.

I happen to know, from numerous conversations, that André Rieu is a favorite of my friend's father.  Between the old man's stories of killing Japs in the Pacific, he occasionally takes time to talk about beautiful violin concertos and so forth.  Since his wife died, however, he has become convinced that his son is plotting to kill him.  As many of you with elderly relatives probably already know, there are some days when things are a little better and other days when they're a little worse.  My friend went to great lengths to make this a day when things would be a little better.

First of all, he lied to his father and said that the daughter's family had bought the tickets to the show.  Since the idea supposedly came from them and not from my friend, it was a great idea.  Secondly, as far as the old man knew, I was the one who decided to buy everyone dinner tonight.  For some reason that will never be fully explained, I'm held in very high esteem by that guy.  If I offer to buy him anything, there's no way he can be disappointed.

So all of the bases were covered and everything went according to plan.  On the way back to Lincoln Park, after we made our way out of the traffic, my friend asked his father how he liked the show.  Apparently the show sucked, the Fox Theatre is a nightmare, there were nothing but old people at the show and this pissed him off, the restrooms were too far from the seats, he doesn't like that kind of music, etc.  You can see where that conversation was going.  The only positive thing that he had to say was that the usher was a fellow WWII veteran and he moved the four of them to front row seats.  Of course this part didn't actually happen, but he told the story with such conviction that one couldn't help but let him believe it.

My friend is a retired minister who spent several years providing hospice and bereavement counseling to families.  He has seen every step along life's journey from an objective viewpoint, so he'll tell you that this is just one of those things with which he has to deal.  There's no way you can be completely objective when it's your family though.  I'm only partially perceptive, part of the time, but even I can see that this is wearing on him.  He bends over backwards to take care of his father, never receiving as much as a single 'thank you' for his efforts.  He spent two months plotting every last detail of this evening and, as far as anyone knows, his father had a miserable time.  That, as the kids these days like to say, sucks ass.

You know who never seems to have a bad day?  My buddy Sjoe.  I might be starting to understand why.