While Watching "Singles"

I'm twenty minutes into one of the greatest period pieces about the 1990s. This has always been one of my favorite movies.

When I first saw it, I rushed home and decided to move to Seattle. I wanted to meet the characters that Cameron Crowe created. I wanted to be the characters he created. I loved the U-shaped apartment building with the fountain in the middle. I loved the conversations and connections that were made in cafes and underground rock clubs. And I loved the soundtrack. God, I wanted to be there then. It was like a city full of clubs like The Icon. (If you don't know/remember this Buffalo staple, you are missing out!)

But that was twenty years ago.

I never did move to Seattle. I never moved into a U-shaped apartment building. Instead I lived in Rochester and Buffalo. I lived in houses converted into apartments. But I did make connections and have conversations in cafes. Life gets in the way. Things don't work out the way you plan. Plans get ruined.

And I just realized something: these characters are all in their twenties. I am a thirty-something. My twenties have come and gone. Does that mean I'm past my prime? Have my best years already happened? Does Seattle even look like that anymore?

This movie makes me want a time machine.

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Where's My Bat?

I swore I wouldn't do this. I swore I wouldn't use this blog as a place to vent and complain and be annoying. I hate complaining. I rarely complain outloud. But things have been going off kilter a bit as of late and I need somewhere I can get this off my chest. If I don't get this out, I may punch a baby. Or worse.



I hate money. With a passion. I wish I didn't have to rely on money, but I do. It's the necessary evil that makes this world go 'round. But I despise it. But I need it. And I wish I didn't.
My winter jacket has a goddamn paper clip on it so I can zip it open and closed. My shoes are slowly falling apart. My couch at home needs some repairs. My phone is starting to work against me because it's over due for an upgrade. But I can't do anything about any of these things. I have bills and car payments hanging over my head.
I applied for a few jobs over the past couple months and a couple of them actually called me for an interview. But did I hear anything back after that? OF COURSE NOT. Why would anyone actually call me after the interview to let me know if I got the position or not? That would be the nice thing to do. No, instead I sit here waiting and waiting for something-- anything-- to happen. I send thank you emails and I get no response. I follow up an interview with a phone call and I hear nothing back. JUST HIRE ME. You will not be sorry. I am a hard worker and a good worker. I can do this! I don't care if it's a job as a teacher or a cashier or a farm hand at this point. I swear to God I will shovel manure for money.

People ask me what's wrong and I say "Nothing. I'm good." Nice lie, chaz. Yeah, I know. But I don't like bothering people with my problems. They don't want to hear about so-and-so who is getting on my nerves or what happened in class the other day that really ticked me off. They want to vent out their own problems. They want to get their issues off their chest. And I am more than willing to listen. But when I listen, I want to fix the problems. Nine times out of ten the person complaining to me doesn't want me to give them a solution, they want me to empathize. But I can't do that. It's physically impossible for me to just sit and say, "I understand how you feel. I'm sorry." I want to tell them what they should do or what I would do in their shoes. And recently, since I have had all this other stuff bottled up, all I can picture is taking a baseball bat to whoever is giving my friends or family a hard time.

Don't get me wrong: I'm not talking about killing anyone. Just one good shot to the kneecap will do me good. It's been a while since I've been able to physically take my aggression out on someone or something. I'm too old to fight, so I just drive really fast in my car or turn my music up loud or drink too many beers or go over to my creative outlet and write something biting. In my younger days I would take my anger out on someone else. I can't really get away with that anymore.

Writing helps. Having a beer or three to calm my nerves and get my mind off things would help too. But right now I'm a responsible adult. Right now I'm working this job that doesn't pay me enough. Right now I'm trying my hardest to just stay on my two feet.

Eulogy

I needed to take a few days to compose myself before writing this. It's sad to say, but I have half-written this in my head months before my best girl passed away. She was sick for a long time, but we kept fighting. We kept paying trained professionals to run tests and diagnose her ailments. It seemed as though it was something different each time she would go in for a check-up. But we kept fighting. The last half of her life with me was a bumpy road, to say the least. She would shake and shit at the drop of a hat. And she hated the Buffalo winters. Some cold days she would almost refuse to leave her home. But we fought. We were a good team, she and I. But at one point she had had enough. We said our goodbyes and then she was gone. Forever. It's going to be hard to go on without her, but I will push on. It's what she'd want me to do.

Farewell, Blue Lady. I will miss you.

When I first met you, you reminded me of my very first teenage love. You were so similar, sometimes I thought I was still inside her when I was inside you. I know you knew. I know you knew I was thinking about that other girl. But you didn't seem to mind. You would drive me around my old stomping grounds and play Nirvana and all the rest of the great grunge music I love just like she used to do. We would drive around and I would reminisce about the old days. I will miss those rides we used to take. Remember how everyone thought you were the police? It was usually at night when they couldn't see you very well, but people would always slow down because they just weren't quite sure. Then we'd go flying past and I bet they felt like idiots! Good times. But then you started to get old and you started to get sick. The first time I noticed was when you refused to drive the speed limit on the highway. You never had any problems with it before, then suddenly you would shake and grunt and sputter. Then you refused to warm to my touch. I would talk to you and push your your buttons just the way I always did, but nothing would work. I would hydrate you and feed you, but still nothing. I got used to providing enough heat for both of us.

The trips to get tests done and have procedures completed just got to be too much. For both of us. I think you had given up way before I did, but I just didn't hear you. I just didn't want to let you go. But now you're in a better place. The last ride we took together was a bitter sweet one. I was glad it was a mild winter day and it wasn't too cold for you. And you knew where we were going. But you didn't say a word and you didn't complain. You just drove silently. I was probably more nervous than you were! But in the end everything worked out, didn't it? We said our goodbyes and off you went. I swore I wouldn't cry. And I won't. I swear i won't!

You'll be happy for me. I found someone new. I know you always wanted to be with someone younger than you. I didn't want to hear it when we were still together, but I can see where you were coming from now! She's so smooth and quiet. She's doesn't know all my eccentricities like you did, but she'll learn. We'll be good together. I hope you don't mind that I call her my new Blue Lady. If you're watching over me as I hope you are, take a look at a picture I took of my new girl:

Farewell, Blue Lady. I will miss you.

New Car Anxiety

I'm going to look at new (to me) used cars. The Blue Lady (my 2001 Mercury Sable) didn't pass her inspection last month and she's not worth the $600+ it will cost to repair her.

It's time to put her down.

I'm excited to have a car of my own again and I'm sure my wife would love having her car back again. But I'm nervous. If you've read any of my blog posts in the past year you know that I am not in the best financial situation. A new car (even a used one) means another monthly bill. Sure, I'll use a bit of my tax refund as a down payment and I'll trade in The Blue Lady to cut down on what the new car will cost, but I'm still going to have to pay every month for it.

The other thing is I haven't talked to my boss in over a month. Strike that. My boss hasn't spoken to me in over a month. I've sent her emails but she doesn't respond or answer my questions. She sends emails to my coworkers and I, but she never responds to MY emails. This stresses me out. Is she purposely avoiding my questions? Is she going to let me go? Are my hours going to be cut even more? Is this all in my head? Am I just being pessimistic?

If I lose my job I am SCREWED. Especially if I accrue another bill.

Oh my God I hate being a grown up.

So suffice it to say I'm a bit stressed. I have some anxiety going on over here.

Some good news would be VERY welcome right about now.

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Coffee Scents and Caffeine Dreams

The sense of smell is a powerful thing, isn't it?
Just a small whiff of something can bring you right back to another place.

I walked past the coffee beans in the market two days ago and I was immediately transported back to my days as a barista. I remembered the evenings of grinding coffee and filling coffee filters and drinking copious amounts of the evil stuff. At one coffeehouse in particular one of the end-of-shift duties was to grind the beans into portion-controlled bags to make it easier for the next shift to quickly brew coffee. The house blend was a combination of Mexican and Colombian beans. This blend made for the perfect cup of coffee in my opinion. It was not too bitter that you needed to cut it with hot water or milk, but it was also strong enough that you knew what you were drinking. It was smooth and strong. Kinda like me.

I hadn't thought about working at the coffeehouse in years. I had almost forgotten about it. It was a tiny little place in shopping mall that time forgot, tucked between towering office buildings. The owner used to roast the beans right in the shop. You could smell the aromas for blocks and blocks.

Just when I thought I was finished with the scent-induced flashbacks, I was hit again. Yesterday I picked my wife up from the caffe and as soon as she sat in the car, I was sent back to my days behind the bar. Certain places have certain scents, am I right? This smell was undeniable. If it was the other way around and she had picked me up somewhere, I still would have known where she had been for the last three hours. I still would have remembered all of the cafe mochas I made, topped with home-made whipped cream. I still would have thought about that one customer who used to spend hours in the caffe and who never drank coffee. He only ever wanted fresh brewed ice tea. He would spend afternoons there conducting business and flirting with the female baristas I worked with. Some weekend evenings he would bring his dates to the caffe just to show off that everyone knew him and that he got his drinks for free. Then he would spend the rest of the evening talking the poor girl's ear off.

I have never experienced any other smells that reminded me of any other past jobs before. Maybe it's just coffee that does that to me. Maybe because I worked in so many coffee shops and cafes and coffeehouses, the caffeine scents just stick with me. I rarely visit coffee shops any more. After I lost my last barista gig, I stopped going. It was too hard for me. I know I can do so much better than who ever is behind the counter. I know I could create a better quality product and I know I could create a better atmosphere for the customers.

Any time I visit a locally owned shop, I know for a fact I could do it all better. I also stopped drinking coffee, so I really have no reason to step foot into a cafe. Maybe that's why coffee sets off my flashbacks like it does. I have been separated from it for so long that it's calling me back. It misses me. And if I'm honest, I miss it too.

Loud Talkers

Why do people talk so loud?? Seriously. Can you just lower the volume a bit? It sounds like you're trying to talk to someone on the other side of a train station. It sounds like you're trying to talk to someone while a metal band is performing.

Seriously.

I find if you talk at a lower volume people will actually make more of an effort to listen to you. If you talk softer, people won't try to talk over you. They'll actually lean in and listen.

Imagine that.

Maybe instead of trying to talk over who ever you're talking to you talk softer or-- GASP!-- you stop talking and listen.

Seriously.

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...Sometimes The Bear Eats You.

Yesterday was definitely One Of Those Days. I'm sure we've all had them. Nothing is going right, nothing is working out, and there's nothing you can do about it. That's how my yesterday was.

It started out fine. I got to work in record time and started making some copies to prepare for my first class. But then I checked my email. My boss told me I can't get paid for time I'm not teaching a class. I told her the other couple hours I put in for each day was my planning and prep time. "You can't get paid for that" she said. Huh. Interesting. So I get paid for teaching a class but I can't technically plan or prepare for the class? THEN HOW AM I SUPPOSED TO TEACH IT?

The back and forth on the email just put me in a bad mood. If I had another job, if ANY of the jobs that I've applied to would just call me back and hire me, I would leave this job. I can't deal with ANOTHER job based on grant money and/or small budgets. I thought this job would be different since it was at a community college, but it's not. It's just like working for a not-for-profit.

Whenever I get pissed at my job or my work situation, I fly off the handle (in my head) and try to find a quick fix. This time I did not do that. This time I decided to use my energy to do something more productive: work on my PhD application. I sent in my writing sample and I faxed the letter to Niagara University to have my transcripts sent over. Then I got on the GRE website. I had to take my GRE to get into Niagara, so I was happy I didn't need to take that test again for UB, even though it is one of the requirements.

Not so fast, chaz.

I logged into my account on the GRE site and I clicked on the "Request Copies" of my test scores. If I could just have them send the scores electronically to UB, it would make this process that much easier. When I clicked on the drop down menu to select the year I took the test, it only went as far back as 2006. I needed it to go to 2004. I tried to type the date in. No go. So I called the 800 number on the site. They told me, after being redirected four different times, that my scores were no longer in their system. Once a test is over five years old, it gets purged from the system. WHAT?? "Our computers automatically do that, sir." The computers. So a teeny tiny electronic file that is composed of my name and address and four triple digit scores takes up SO MUCH room that you purge it forever? "Is there anything else I can help you with, sir?" Um, no. Thanks for nothing. "Did I answer all of your questions, sir?" Yeah, I guess. Not to my liking, but you did answer them. "Do you have time to answer a customer service survey?" I don't think that would be a good idea today.

Luckily I still have the print out of my scores. Not that they'll do me any good. My go-to person in the office at UB told me to send in the scores, but they may ask me to take the test again. Awesome. just what I need: To take a test that costs over 100 dollars just to sit for. If I have to re-take, then my application will take that much longer to be complete. Which means I may be SOL when it comes to a fellowship or scholarship or something.

Sometimes you eat the bear, and sometimes the bear eats you.