Writing

I don't like to write. I like having written.

When I'm writing, I usually don't like what shows up on the screen. I'm too close to it. There's the idea of what I want to say, then there's the inner critic that wants to jump in and fix things like grammar, style, and structure. To write well, I have to stifle the critic and be willing to write lots and write badly. The name I have for it is spilling my thoughts onto paper. Editing is for later.

Content is hard to come by. For me, it has to be stream of consciousness, or free writing. I have to be willing to write a lot, a lot of which may get deleted, to see where the writing is going and to see if there is any substance or value in it. I don't like that it works that way, but I've come to terms with it and I still get enough out of it to continue writing. And that surprises me.

Writing is very hard work. But I like reading what I've written. Before I can enjoy reading my own writing, I need to have some distance from it, and that means time. I need to let it go for at least a week. Then I can enjoy it as a reader and not read it form the perspective of an author or editor. I'll still edit it. I need to do that from a reader's perspective. When I'm writing, I know what I want to say and I usually think I've said it well. But I'm too close to it then. I need to lose my familiarity with it so I can see if readers will understand what I was trying to communicate. I know what I meant, but do they?

Once I get it right, I'll read it four or five more times just for the pure enjoyment of reading it. I'll still tinker with words and structure. But I'll know it's finished when I start rewriting things, then rewriting them back the way they were.

When I haven't written for a while, I long for that joy and I write again.

Getting Some Zen

I got an 8GB Creative Zen when it went on sale at Future Shop for $180 from $220.

My wife has a 4GB second gen iPod Nano. She got it for $220 a couple weeks before the third gen was announced with the 4GB model priced at $149. Figures.

I like the Nano. It does everything well. My only complaints are that the screens on the second gen models are too small, iPods are priced at a premium, and Apple seems insistent on deliberately leaving out features. So I tested the Creative waters.

So far, I'm happy with my Zen.

Likes:

• Price.
• Small size.
• Big, crisp 2.5" screen.
• Looks cool.
• Nice interface.
• 25 hr. battery life.
• SD slot.
• FM radio.
• Voice recorder.
• Video.
• Photo.
• Podcasts.
• Bookmarks.

Indifferent:

• Syncs with Outlook.

Dislikes:

• The navigation buttons are okay, but a click wheel would be better.
• The firmware is a bit buggy. Creative probably rushed the Zen to market for Christmas.
• Days after I made my purchase, Creative reduced prices and released a 32GB model. Figures.
• It doesn't worked with iTunes.

Since my music library is organized with iTunes, I tried using iTunes Agent. It's a free utility that allows iTunes to recognize non-iPod devices. Unfortunately, it didn't work for my Zen. iTunes Agent and other utilities that do the same thing require that a player be assigned a drive letter when connected to a computer. Many players get a drive letter assignment. Alas, the Zen does not.

I then tried Windows Media Player 11. It's a good jukebox, and it syncs with the Zen, but it really hates Apple and started moving music out of my iTunes directory and into My Music. Hey Bill, hands off my data!

I repaired my music library and tried Winamp 5.5. After the install, all my desktop icons had been shoved into columns at the left of my screen. Argh! Winamp works well, but when displaying content on the Zen, it only displays the music library, playlists, and video. It doesn't display the photo, voice recordings, and other folders. I'm not using them right now, but when I do, I'd like to be able to manage them all with the same software.

The Creative Media Explorer software that came with the player is very 1997. It puts a startup page in Windows Explorer with options like Browse Media, Manage Playlists, etc. It manages media by file and folder, exactly the same way Windows Explorer works. It's very cumbersome for managing a media library. It doesn't have a "smart" playlist function.

So, I'm up and running. I like the player. But the word's still out on media management. For now, I'll use Winamp. I've got my icons back in place and Winamp has behaved itself otherwise.

Ikea Product Names I'd Like To See

Whenever I go to Ikea, I always wish I had some product cards that I could put on the displays. The trouble is, I always think of it when I'm there, never before I go.

FLIMSY
WOBBLY
RICKETY
SKEWED

FRUMPY
BOXY
FLOPPSY
WIDGET

DORK
SPUD
DOOFUS
LOCO

Randy and Burton and Candy and Liz

Slowly over the last decade, Randy Bachman and Burton Cummings evolved into the Sweeney Sisters.

It was like one of those 3-D illusion pictures where you look at it, look at it, look at it ... then Bang! It's the frickin Sweeney sisters!

The first time Bachman and Cummings did something together after years of estrangement, it was unexpected and great. We just couldn't believe they were performing together again.

Then they started doing the occasional special event as The Guess Who. We couldn't get enough of them.

Then they started telling stories about the old days and how songs came to be. We loved it.

Several years in, I got off the bandwagon and starting asking, Why do people still get excited that these guys continue to play together?

Then it happened. They became Bachman & Cummings. They released a CD. They did a concert for TV. Burton's youthful black hair was a stark contrast to his geriatric skin. Their stories about the good old days became lounge-act banter.

Then they showed up live in the studio at WNED, the Buffalo, N.Y. PBS station. They talked to the host and played live during fund raising intermissions of their TV special. They nattered about how much they enjoy PBS television while the camera panned between them and the volunteers taking pledges on phones.

I have nothing against PBS or fund raising. I like The Guess Who, BTO, and some of Cummings' solo material. It's just that their transition to elder entertainers has been more caricature than graceful.

Guitar Theory

One of the early guitar-like instrument makers or players really blew it. Why do we learn to play using our dominant hand to pick and strum? Fretwork requires much more dexterity and precision. Wouldn't we be better musicians if we learned to play other-handed?

I doubt we could relearn to play other-handed to any measure of success. Too much brain training would have to be undone. But, learning from scratch....

I can't think of any instrument, that doesn't have strings and a neck, where the dominant hand doesn't take the dominant role.

Brutal Structure, Delicious Action

I hadn't played poker in months, so I went to Fallsview last Friday. I love Friday nights at Fallsview. Gamblers come out to play and vacationers arrive for a weekend of fun.

I played in the 1/2 no-limit Texas Hold 'em game from 14:30-01:30. The buy-in for the game is $40 min. to $100 max. That's pretty small, 50 big blinds for a max. buy-in. The opening raise was usually to 10 or 12 with reraises going to 35, so a $100 stack isn't really enough to play a raised pot. The house takes a session fee in this game of $5 per half hour instead of raking the pot. At the ten player table, each player paying $10 per hour to play, a buy-in is taken off the table by the house every hour. That is hugely expensive! But the game has so many loose, bad players, that it's still profitable. And because players are there on vacation or just there to gamble, they usually don't mind losing and it ends up being fun to play.

I was card dead until about 21:00. I kept topping up to 100 so I could get a nice return if I got involved in a hand. A new guy who had been at the table for about ten hands made it 12 under the gun. A loose, but fairly solid player with a big stack called. A player to my left held his cards in a way that I knew meant he was going to play the hand, so I got great odds and called with QcJc. The flop came QQT giving me trip queens. It was checked to me. Now in this game, if you make three of a kind on the flop, it's pretty much written in stone that you check to hide the strength of your hand. Which is exactly why I bet 10. Poker is all about counter strategy. My opponents would reason that if I bet, I must be representing a queen and don't actually have one. And only betting 10 into a $51 pot, well that shows incredible weakness. The guy to my left folded. The original raiser called. The other guy folded. The turn made the board QQTK. My opponent bet out 35!

Okay. So the guy raised preflop UTG which meant that if he was a half decent player, he had a quality starting hand. Because of the way I played my hand and the level of thinking that was going on in this game, he probably thought I had a T. This meant he thought he could either beat a pair of tens or could make me fold a pair of tens. Therefore his likely starting hands were AA, KK, JJ, TT, AK, or AQ. I didn't think he had TT because if he did, he would have checked to me to let me bet again. He probably didn't have AQ because people hadn't been playing that hand aggressively in this game. If he had KK, I expect he would have made a probe bet on the flop instead of check/calling. I could beat the rest of his likely hands. My estimate was that I was about 70/30 or better to have the best hand. There was $106 in the pot. I had about $80 in front of me. I clearly had a +EV situation. I raised all-in. He confidently called and turned over AA. I turned over my QJ and he sighed. He didn't hit his two outer and I finally had some chips to play with.

Bluffing wasn't really an option at that table because it was difficult to get players to fold. I continued to wait for +EV situations, maximized my return when I had a winning hand, and kept the pot small when I wasn't sure. I continued to be card dead.

My best starting hand was AsKs. My best pocket pair was JJ. A solid player with $30 in front of him raised to 15. It was folded around to me in late position so I raised to put him all-in. He turned over QQ to beat my JJ. Oh, well. I managed to bob and weave and stay ahead of the session fees and go home +$58, plus a day out, plus a whole lot of fun, plus a lot of energy drink abuse. Oh, yeah, and I also got to use my murse. It worked great!

Glossary

+EV: Positive expected value.
A: Ace
K: King
Q: Queen
J: Jack
T: Ten
Trip, Trips: Three of a kind.
UTG: Under the gun. The player who is first to act.

Also see Wikipedia for their Poker Glossary and more about Texas Hold 'em.

I've Got Stuff to Carry

I've gone and bought a murse. No, not a male nurse. A man purse.

Sometimes I just need to carry more stuff than will fit in my pockets. Not often. Just those times when I'm out on an urban day trip or out for a day at the poker room. Then I need to carry my meds, Altoids, glasses, sunglasses, pen, notebook, maybe a book if I have time to kill, maybe a bottle of water, maybe a snack. (I have blood sugar issues.)

I got it at Eddie Bauer. It's about 9x6x4 inches. It's close in size and design to the canvas kit bag my dad was issued in WWII. I wish he still had it. It would be so cool to use it.

I looked online to see what was out there and this one from Eddie Bauer fit the bill. I went to the store to check it out and while I was looking in the compartments and convincing myself it was a very manly bag a nice older woman came over to help me. I told her I wanted something to carry stuff that wouldn't fit in my pockets like a paperback and my glasses.

She said, "You need a murse."

Well, that comment told me that the bag I was holding was definitely not a murse and was therefore very manly indeed.

I said, "I'll take this one."

The tag calls it a Small Guide Bag. That sounds about right. The Web site calls it the Expedition Small Bag. Yep, you bet. I will make an expedition to the Fallsview poker room on Friday to try it out.

Things That Sound Dirty But Aren’t

Back in this post, I mentioned my friend Teeb who collects words and phrases that sound dirty but aren't. The list has been kept in our heads for decades and our failing mental capacities have jeopardized the completeness and integrity of the data. In order to record the list and protect it from further deterioration, I'm going to keep it here and add to it as needed.

• Bonafide
• Back end processes
• Insertion order
• June Cleaver: "Ward, weren't you a little hard on the Beaver?"
• Stimulus Package (Courtesy of George W. Bush, 2008)
• Hard six (A type of bet in craps.)
• Entry-level position
• Philatelist
• Executrix
• Polishing my Oscar
• Pictorial
• Live Circus Acts
• Full frontal
• Big pink eyesore
• Flopping the nuts (Poker jargon from Teeb.)
• Live straddle (Poker jargon from Teeb.)
• Munchkin (Thanks Sass!)
• Balzac
• Goblin

Pariah Dogs and Wandering Madmen

I saw Rush at the ACC on September 19th and 22nd. I went with S, another man's wife. It's okay. He knows. Neither of our spouses are Rush fans, so we have a standing date for dinner and a show every time the tour comes to Toronto.

My wife, V, is obsessive about accumulating Jack points. It paid off. The morning of the Wednesday show, I learned that she won tickets to the Saturday show. She was very happy for me and very proud of her radio contest prowess and that her obsessive compulsiveness had a positive outcome. The seats were in section 108, about centre ice and fifteen rows up. My seats on Wednesday were in section 101 at the back of the arena, nine rows up with a direct stage view. On Wednesday I watched the video screens a lot. On Saturday I was close enough to watch the band. S joined me for the second show. She wore her Presto tour shirt. My Farewell To Kings shirt hasn't fit since the Presto tour, so I was out of luck, vintage-shirt-wise. We had a blast.

On stage behind Geddy Lee were three ovens the size of large vending machines. They had glass paneled fronts and were filled with rotisserie chickens. I love their humour and inner-weirdness. They are three guys who would surely be misfits in any other situation.

Sometime in the '90s I stopped paying attention to lyrics. If a song had tragic or idiotic lyrics and a beat, I would bop to it. I just got tired of bothering with lyrics because most of them were fluff. In the last year I started paying attention again, at least enough to notice which were worth it. I think Alanis making fun of Fergie might have been the trigger.

I looked through Rush lyrics to find a title for this post. My god, most of them are depressing. They're very well crafted, but most deal with struggle, conflict, and oppression. Neil has issues. I don't remember that from when I was an obsessive fan in the '70's and '80's. I remember finding the lyrics intelligent and insightful. But I was at an age then when struggling, conflict, and being oppressed were standard issue and were badges of honour. Even a song like The Spirit of Radio that is upbeat and energetic, lyrics included for the most part, concludes with:

One likes to believe in the freedom of music
But glittering prizes and endless compromises
Shatter the illusion of integrity

And yet I still feel good, get a rush (sorry) and bop to it whenever I hear it. How do they do that?

I noticed an interesting thing while reading dozens of Rush lyrics: the music of their songs gets much of its complexity from the way the lyrics are written. The rhyme, the meter, the length of lines and stanzas. The music has to be written to accommodate all that.

The show was three hours long with a twenty minute break. Not bad for a bunch of old guys, much of the audience included. They had plenty of lights, lasers, pyrotechnics, and videos. It was a great show. They kind of have to have all of that going on because the three of them are so busy creating all that sound with their hands and feet that sometimes they don't have the freedom to be animated on stage.

A Bob & Doug McKenzie video introduced The Larger Bowl. A South Park video introduced Tom Sawyer. Other videos featuring band members were shown to open the concert, return from the intermission, and close the show after the encore.

The people with floor seats stood for the whole show. The people in the stands stood for the first three songs, for favourite songs, and for the three-song encore.

Once during each set, a crew member came on stage in a chef's hat and apron to baste the chickens. When this happened at the show on Saturday, eight guys in row 1, centre floor, put on chef's hats. It cracked Alex and Geddy up!

Big Al's Babes are a bunch of Barbie doll groupies around the gear at the base of Alex's mic stand. A search landed me at 2112.net which explained that roadies set up the babes so they hold Post-It signs that say things like: My Mom Thinks Your Hot!, I'm Only Doing This To Pay For College, Freebird!, and I Thought ZZ Top Had Beards.

Rush has always attracted fans who are musicians. Their music is usually complex, requiring precision and technique. They also attract individualists and independent thinkers. Their lyrics are smart and thought provoking and generally deal with protagonists who go against the grain. They have occasionally had songs make the charts, but they have never set out to write commercial songs. A lot of their appeal comes from the fact that they have completely disregarded music industry axioms. The rebellion and nonconformity are part of the attraction for their huge core following.

The excitement of the shows re-sparked my enthusiasm, so I started poking around the Internet to see what was out there about the band. There are a lot of fan sites and picture galleries. Wikipedia has a lot of information and it was there that I found a link to Durrell Scott Bowman's PhD. dissertation Permanent Change: Rush, Musicians’ Rock, and the Progressive Post-Counterculture. How cool is that? I'm only 25 pages into the 331 page document, but so far, it's a great read. Thanks Durrell!

An Open Letter to Jerry Bruckheimer

Dear Mr. Bruckheimer,

Your movies and television shows have entertained me for decades.

I share your disappointment over the cancellation of Justice. I hope it can be resurrected. Victor Garber was excellent as a psychopathic lawyer. I enjoyed the show very much.

I continue to be a loyal viewer of Without a Trace and the CSI franchises.

Last season I was disheartened to see that Detective Calleigh Duquesne, played by Emily Procter on CSI: Miami, began dressing appropriately to perform ballistics tests. Although Ms. Proctor is delicious in a lab coat, and the lab coat adds credibility to the show, I think we can agree that credibility is not a standard to which CSI: Miami aspires. Surely you do not intend for Lieutenant Horatio Caine, played by David Caruso, to start being credible with respect to his dialog, inter-personal relationships, body language, or affectations with his sun glasses. Similarly, Detective Duquesne should return to performing ballistics tests in a tank top.

Picture the following scene performed by Ms. Proctor in a tank top versus a lab coat:

Detective Duquesne assumes the Weaver stance. With the camera at pistol height, we see her from the front and slightly to the right. She aims. She fires. Her head remains stationary; her eyes open. Her pectoral muscles flex to brace against the recoil, resulting in movement about the chest and shoulders.

Clearly, credibility in this case is at the expense of the premise of the show and quite possibly at the expense of Ms. Proctor's celebrity. As a fan of both you and Ms. Proctor, and on behalf of the viewing public, I ask that you consider returning to your original choice of attire for Detective Duquesne performing ballistics tests.

Your loyal fan,

Rex

Smoking Is Cool

I don't smoke. I've heard it's bad for me. But there's something about smoking I find appealing. Not the smoking that happens in shirt sleeves in the winter outside office buildings. That's just depraved. The kind that happens in movies. The kind that used to happen in bars and cafes—except when smoke drifts into the smoker's eyes and he squints because it hurts and he has to move his head out of the cloud. That's not cool. That's just an ugly addiction. But, but, if the smoke didn't drift into his eyes, if it wafted upward and a little to the side in a languorous blue ribbon, then, then you'd have cool. See how that's cool? And suppose he had a glass of scotch. In a thick lowball glass with a heavy base. On the rocks. But just three rocks. Rocks that are transparent and solid, their surfaces washed smooth and clear with just enough dents and curves to give them character. And he's casually leaning back, arm cocked at the elbow, the cigarette looking like it's part of his hand. And his face is relaxed, mouth hinting at a smile. He's about to say something important. Maybe he's listening intently to a friend. Or maybe he's alone and just enjoying the moment. Turning the glass slowly to look at the reflections and refractions. Or gazing at the small fire he controls at his fingertips. See how that's cool? Sometimes I wish I smoked.

The Enchanted Beach Which Can Be Used As a Table

My parents-in-law no longer own the condo in Indian Shores, Florida. It’s too bad because it was a great place on a great beach. Driving across Ulmerton which becomes Walsingham to get from Tampa Bay to the gulf beaches was a drag though. The road was wide, the traffic bad, and there was no scenery but strip mall after strip mall. I always pronounced Ulmerton and Walsingham the way Steve Martin pronounced Dr. Hfuhruhurr and Anne Uumellmahaye in The Man with Two Brains. The drawn-out sigh of pronunciation fit the drive.

The condo was beachfront on the second floor, which was actually the first floor of units. The ground level was open parking with a break wall in case the ocean became unruly. Sitting on the balcony was almost as good as sitting on the beach.

Every year we got a week there in return for V doing the taxes. It was the early to mid ‘90s, before V had chronic back pain, so we were able to golf, swim, and walk for miles on the beach. We had done a lot of traveling to different places, but the condo was the first place we returned to again and again. We liked that instead of being an adventure vacation, it was a relaxing vacation where we knew the area and all we had to do was enjoy being there.

I’d get up in the morning, start coffee brewing, and mosey downstairs to get the St. Petersburg Times—excellent entertainment for a quarter. I’d take my coffee and paper out to the balcony and enjoy the morning.

Being a Canadian on vacation in the US, I’d look through the ads in the paper and marvel at how inexpensive things were, especially liquor. There’s a great wine store in Tarpon Springs about 45 minutes from the condo called B-21 Fine Wine & Spirits. I got some excellent bottles there over the years like 1977 Dow's Vintage Port, 1989 Chateau de Beaucastel, and great California cabs from the late ‘80s like Mondavi, Sterling, Caymus, Mayacamus, and Silver Oak. That was the thing about B-21, you could get older vintages. One time I got a bottle of Opus One. On the way back we went through the drive-through at Checkers and got fries. I cooked striploins and we had a great dinner on the balcony watching the sun set.

In October of ’94 I read an article about a guy in St. Pete’s who writes the blurbs on the back of baseball cards for Topps. The article mentioned how cards from years where production was low were worth more as collectibles years later. I’m not a sports fan, but even I couldn’t miss that the players were on strike in the fall of ’94. I figured the fans were probably sour on the game because of the striking millionaire players, so there probably wouldn’t be many cards issued. I went out and bought a complete set. I still have it in its unopened box. It’s tucked away and I would have forgotten about it if I hadn’t been reminiscing about Florida. Someday when I’m cleaning house to move into the seniors’ home, I’ll come across it again and maybe I’ll be able to sell it for enough to finance a trip back to Florida.

My favourite restaurant is Bern’s Steak House in Tampa. In the early '90s their wine list was hardcover and was the size of the Hamilton (Ontario) phone book. They'd print new editions once every five years, so depending on where they were in the cycle, you might see white-out or edits in the list based on inventory changes. The prices didn't change though. If you had shown up on day 364 of year four, you'd pay the same as you would have on day one of year one. Now I see their wine list is online and it's updated quarterly. Are you curious to try a wine from the year you were born? You can probably find one at Bern's.

They have a cellar at the restaurant (ask for a tour) and two more cellars across the street. Their inventory is maintained at around 500,000 bottles. Every year before going to Florida, I would spend hours with the Wine Spectator's Ultimate Guide to Buying Wine, making a list of wines I'd look for at Bern's. V would wait patiently while I indulged in my guilty pleasure for twenty minutes with the wine list. Then dinner would begin.

The décor is busy and gaudy, but in a way that works. The waiters spend a year in training. They have to train at all stations in the restaurant and work on the farm where Bern's grows their herbs and vegetables before they can serve tables.

The dessert room is upstairs, separate from the dining room. There is a dance floor and a pianist. Each table is in it's own private booth made from a huge wine cask. The booths that don't have direct views of the pianist have televisions so you can see him play, and telephones so you can talk to him and make requests. We always requested Linus and Lucy, the Charlie Brown theme!

The list of dessert wines is amazing. I once had a glass of sherry from 1900. It tasted delicate and fragile and had a faint flavour of hazelnut. As I tasted it, I thought about all the history that had passed since the bottle was corked. Both world wars, the first flight, the moon landing. It was more than just a drink. It was an experience. I had a Dow's vintage port from 1963. And I had excellent coffees (roasted daily at the restaurant) and desserts.

I love ocean waves. I love the thick, frothy sound of them. To me, fresh water waves sound like the kitchen tap dripping or a garden hose spraying a driveway. The sound of ocean waves washes over me and gives me a happy sense of wellbeing. I love it when the waves get big. That’s when I like to go in the water and just let the waves push me around.

Every day we would go for a long walk on the beach before lunch. The only decision was north or south? Flocks of sand pipers were always scurrying around the water’s edge, looking for food washed ashore by the waves. It was like they were kids chasing the waves out, then running back to avoid getting wet when the next wave rolled in.

I’d collect shells (I know, I’m way to old for that.) I’d take some small ones (about the size of a nickel or dime) home and take them into the office. Months after my vacation I would do things like drop one in someone’s boot, pocket, or pencil holder, or put one under a stack of papers on someone’s desk.

Sometimes I would just sit on the beach, scoop handfuls of sand and let it fall between my fingers. What is it about sand running through your fingers or skipping stones that feels so good?

One trip, I noticed a guy with a metal detector. He would come around early in the morning and scan the sand around the lounges looking for treasure. I wrapped some quarters in paper and wrote things on them like, “You’re getting close,” and, “Elvis was here,” and, “Oh my God, you’re right on top of it!” I buried them by the lounges near the balcony. The next morning I went to the balcony with my coffee and paper and watched as the guy came scavenging. He came so close. He was within six inches and his detector didn’t beep! Dude, if you’re reading this, get yourself a better metal detector!

I was a member at the Dali museum in St. Petersburg. I wore a Disintegration of the Persistence of Memory watch for years. I bought it at the museum for about $40. The crown eventually fell off but I still wore it even though it hurt like hell to set the time. I went through four or five watch bands. The face eventually faded to a pale yellow so the picture was barely visible before I finally stopped wearing it.

Many of Dali’s paintings are illusions. He would paint one thing that could appear as something else, or sometimes as three different things. The Hallucinogenic Toreador is a great example. (To see the toreador, look at the green wrap on the Venus. It’s his necktie.) It hangs in the St. Petersburg museum next to The Discovery of America by Christopher Columbus. Both are about 3x4 metres. I was awestruck the first time I saw them. I don't know how long I stood there staring at them.

I’m not religious, but I like Dali’s paintings of Christ and The Last Supper. They’re beautiful. I also like his paintings of Gala. You can tell how much he loved her by the way he painted her.

Dali had a remarkable mind. He was able to conceive of extraordinary, complex things and put them on canvas. I sometimes wonder what he would have created if he was an architect or scientist.

It saddens me to look at the paintings he did the last ten years of his life. His health, sight, and skills were declining. When I look at them, I think that if they were done by any other artist, I would consider them great paintings. But when I compare them to his own earlier works, well, it just makes me sad.

Americans at Loblaws

So I’m in the packaged meat section shopping for bacon. I push my cart off to the side and step closer to scan the selections. Bacon’s bacon as far as I’m concerned. Some has less salt, some is just non-accessorized bacon. So it really just comes down to price point for me. A good lean cut at a good price.

I start to move toward what looks like a promising pile of packages and hear in a mid-west bark, “Over there, dear.” I look over and there’s a casually dressed 60s-ish couple. The shorts-wearing James Cromwell guy is leaning on the cart with one arm and pointing to the bacon with the other. Mrs. Cromwell, lets call her Trixie, is quite something in her yellow top, pink capri pants, and rhinestone thongs. Her blonde hair is sprayed and poofed in a Beach Blanket Bingo 'do and the bangs are separated from the bulk by a black hairband. She must have been a real looker before 8-tracks. I swear I saw her in commercial during a first run episode of Bewitched hawking harvest gold appliances.

Trixie draws a bead on the bacon and barges in front of me. “’Scuse me, hon.,” she says as she bends in and starts rifling through the packages.

“No problem,” I say as she gives me a view of what I’m sure she thinks is her best side. I’m not up on the barging etiquette of suburban Indiana, so I wait it out.

Trixie says to the bacon, “I like the one with less salt,” as she pokes through the reduced salt packages.

James says, “Maybe the Canadians don’t measure that.”

I wait it out.

He speaks up and says, “I guess the Canadians don’t measure that.”

I’m not sure if that’s aimed at me or Trixie, but Trixie is distracted enough to look up at him and move out of the way. She’s dislodged a good looking package from the pile and I grab it while I have the opportunity and make a hasty retreat.

There’s a cart jam in isle 6. A guy is overwhelmed by the selection of salsa while a woman is waiting to get some and everyone else is reduced to one lane to squeeze by.

As I approach, the guy says, “I moved to Toronto from Phoenix, Arizona, (he actually says the city and state) and I gotta tell ya, you got better salsa here.”

The waiting woman starts to respond but the guy speaks up to talk over her, “The Mexicans make it in Arizona, but what ya got here is better.”

I take my turn to squeeze by and see that he’s choosing between Old El Paso and the store brand. The woman realizes it’s not a two way conversation, so she stops trying and leans on her cart until she can get to the shelf. The guy’s face turns sour and he says, “Guess they don’t have the hot,” while he continues to ponder his options.

What’s the deal with American visitors? I was on vacation in Michigan for a week last month and people were polite and friendly. I had a great time. Some of my best friends are American. But the one’s who come here (at least the ones who make themselves known) seem to think that they’re the show and we’re the audience. And I thought it was just their president.

A Stroll Through Oak Park, Illinois

My Albatross (Part 1)

I have social anxiety disorder. It’s not who I am or what I think, but it drastically limits how I’m able to function with people. It’s sometimes called social phobia. Like all phobias, it’s an irrational fear of something harmless.

Do you know anyone who has extreme anxiety or panic attacks over things like heights, flying, spiders, snakes, enclosed spaces? It happens to me in crowded places, when strangers approach, dealing with authority figures, job interviews, or having to speak at a function or meeting. The thought of going to a party sends my anxiety soaring.

When I tell people about this, they usually respond, “What? You? No way!” I've gotten pretty good at hiding it most of the time. Outside, I’m calm and have a quiet, strong demeanor. Inside, I’m wound tight and am consciously controlling my breathing and relaxing my muscles. It’s incredibly distracting. It makes it hard to concentrate on what’s going on around me and what people are saying. And if I miss what’s going on, I can’t participate effectively, then my anxiety rises and I have to consciously control … you get the picture.

What’s the long term solution? Well, my fight-or-flight response somehow became associated with harmless social interactions. It doesn't matter how at this point, though it’s probably largely hereditary. The solution is to change the association. I have to learn to associate social activity with pleasure instead of fear. I want to enjoy being social.

The short term solution is medication. I take Paxil and lorazepam every day. I take additional lorazepam if I know I’m going to need help dealing with a situation. They have helped, but not without cost. They have raised the bar so that I’m reasonably functional in public. But lorazepam is a tranquilizer. And though it’s a godsend to have some relief from anxiety and to ward off a flat out panic attack, being tranquil takes the edge off things like ambition, motivation, mental acuity, and joy. For the most part it’s a good trade off. The trouble is, the short term has lasted ten years so far. It turns out that changing psychological associations is extremely difficult.

Best Fishes

A high school classmate contacted me on Facebook this week and asked, "Remember me?" She's married, so she gave me her maiden name which sounded familiar, but I wasn't sure.

I found my memorabilia box with yearbooks in it and flipped open 1979. A large photo dropped from inside the front cover. I picked it up and Steve Martin smiled in a white suit with a fish sticking out of his jacket just above the top button. The autograph reads, "Best Fishes, Steve Martin." It was an insert from one of his albums. Remember that? That was awesome!

I saw Steve Martin once playing poker in the Mirage poker room in Las Vegas. He was on a break during the filming of Sgt. Bilko. He was in a seven card stud game. There was a list a mile long to join Steve's game. He wore a red baseball cap with his head tilted forward so the brim gave him privacy. No one was bothering him.

When I finished playing, I racked my chips and headed to the poker room cashier. As I walked by his table, his head tilted and the brim of his cap rose to reveal his face. He looked straight at my eyes. His face was deadpan. He showed no emotion. Maybe it was his poker face. I knew of him as a comedian, so his blank faced stare was extra creepy. I felt like he was daring me to annoy him. I left him alone and continued on to the cashier.

In one of those wish-I'd-thought-of-it-at-the-time moments, I wish I'd smiled and said, "Cheer up. It's a game!" and continued walking without intruding.

Best Fishes Steve.

I found my classmate's picture. I remember her being in some of my classes, but we weren't in the same social groups. It makes me wonder what I did to be memorable to her.