Sorry, dear friend

"Hey, look," Delta pointed out the other day. "Someone's commented on your blog."
I peered over in curiosity. No one, but no one, comments on my blog. It's my little monologue into cyber-space. Me thinking about me, me writing about me. For no reason at all that I could fathom, except that I quite enjoy writing, and if I didn't have myself to write about, I'd be stumped at a loss for topics.

So you can imagine, I was a bit surprised to find a question posted on my blog.
"Do you twitter?" someone asked.

And I'd hate to disappoint my one lone commenter, but I don't twitter. I don't, I can't, I couldn't fathom being a-twitterized. My thoughts simply cannot synthesize themselves into little nugget-sized phrases. It doesn't sit well with me to to spell "great" as "gr8", or "later" as "l8r". It creates some queasiness in the cockles to drop all the conjunctions and prepositions. Come to think of it, even if I could wrap my head around those insurmountable challenges, the sad truth is, I have to concede, I don't actually have new thoughts often enough to uphold the mantle of a Tweetmeister.

In short, sorry, dear friend, but I have no twoots to tweet, no twots to twit.

The cause of the downtrodden

When you're walking with strangers for several hours a day, as we did when we were hiking in Peru, you end up ruminating over a lot of inane topics. And one such topic of much discussion was undervalued punctuation.
"The poor semi-colon," one chap had said, "no one ever seems to use it. No one ever even seems to know how to use it. It's the unloved step-child of punctuation."

And since then, since I heard someone put it like that, I've harboured a secret soft spot for the semi-colon.

So the other day, when I was drafting a long newsletter email for the company, I insidiously inserted a smattering of semi-colons. I mean, what's an HR bod to do in life if not to protect the downtrodden puncts, right?

Three semi-colons, nestled snugly in the email. If Richie Rich notices, I hope he doesn't mind (too much).

In any case, I suppose they should just be happy I hadn't taken up the cause of the colon or the ellipses.

An encounter with (modern) gawd

It was a horrible rainy, grey and freezing day outside, which meant an indoors day for me. Move over, Queen Jaffa, and get used to my company for the day.

I pottered about all morning, constantly doing things, but the kind of little things that you have nothing to show for at the end of your time. Soon enough however, the doorbell rang - the delivery guys were here with the new bed. The new bed! I was beside myself with excitement.

Of course, QJ, lapped up all the petting the two delivery guys were willing to bestow upon her, but then decided she didn't actually like the bed. It didn't have the corner that she used to always scratch, and no amount of me explaining about the wood and colour and other fun features was improving the situation. She wasn't having any of it with this new bed. A bit ironic because she's the reason we bought the thing in the first place. But oh well, there's cats for you.

By afternoon, the steady rain had turned into snow. The yucky, sleety, psuedo-snow that instantly melts as soon as it touches anything. But snow all the same, and after all it was the first snow of the year, so I decided to emerge from my hibernation and give the world outside a peek. Strategically accoutered in all kinds of protective gear, I headed downstairs to take a tentative step outside the building (Derek the doorman looked at me like I was mad, and although he's too polite to say anything, his eyes popping out of his head said it all).

I walked around the neighbourhood for a bit, savouring the first snowfall of the year, and then dropped in to the supermarket on my way back. QJ was running low on catfood, so I needed to pick up a can or two. Ungrateful cat though she be, didn't seem reason enough to starve her.

I had just picked up the catfood when I heard a loud voice booming right behind me.
"WOULD YOU LIKE SOME ADVICE?"
I jumped out of my skin and almost dropped all the catfood on the floor (I'm the kind of person that doesn't take a basket because I think I'm only picking up one thing, but then one thing leads to another and before I know it my arms are precariously juggling cans and bottles and packets and vegetables of all sorts).

So when the voice startled me, I nearly dropped everything to the floor. I spun around in alarm, but there was nobody there. Looked up and down the aisle, but I was all alone. But the voice had been real. Very, disturbingly, real.

G-g-gawd?

I thought stammeringly, looking upwards.

But (as usual) it wasn't gawd. It was a hidden microphone with a motion sensor, that activated when I passed. Yet another triumph of modernisation. So I walked back to the spot where I'd been before I jumped out of my skin (there was my skin, still lying on the floor where it fell off. Felt pretty good to put it back on).

"WOULD YOU LIKE SOME ADVICE?" the voice boomed again. Curious, I listened on. Turned out to be an add for some drug or another (probably to cure depression or ED, if I'd stayed to listen).

Man, I'm ok (kind of) with advertising and all, but do we have to scare the bejeezus out of me?

My lot in life

Two months ago, Delta and I bought a new bed from the DoorStore. Our current full-size bed, while quite snuggly and comfy, just wasn't enough for Delta, me and Queen Jaffa. Especially when QJ started dominating the space.
"Look at that!" Delta used to exclaim. "QJ has half the bed and you and I are squashed in the other half. Why are you letting her push you around?!"
"She does it when I'm asleep," I was forced to explain sheepishly. "She waits till I'm at my most vulnerable, and then keeps prodding me so I keep moving over in my sleep. I can't help it!"

And so, because of QJ's dominating ways, we were forced upgrade our bed.

And when I say we bought a new bed, I mean we went into the store and paid for it, only to be told it would be delivered in three weeks.
But three weeks came and went with no bed. When we called the store to find out, we were glibly informed, "oh it's been delayed by a week, you'll have it next week."
But the next week came and went with no sign of any sleep support system.

And the same the next week. And the same the week after.

My tether is only yay-long, and very quickly, I was at the end of it. So last week, I marched into the store in a bit of a harrumph.
"Oy, mister, you sold us a bed and you haven't delivered it." That's me and my tough talk. No beating around the bush. No time for games.
But the fella behind the desk was so nice, and so apologetic, and promised me it would come this weekend, and ... so I relented and accepted his word.
"It better come next weekend," I told him, insinuating that I wielded warnings and threats which I couldn't quite articulate.

So imagine my absolute irritation when I woke up this morning and there was still no call from the delivery guys about the bed. A whole week later, nothing. The more I thought about it, the more irritated I got. This guy had given me his word. Didn't that mean anything anymore?

And I mulled over it more and more until I'd worked myself into a tizzy of boiling blood. Finally, having waited till past noon, I decided to head over to the store myself and give the sales guy a serious talking to. That's it. I had had enough of this nonsense and I would give him a piece of my mind. I'd share my thoughts on how badly we'd been treated. I'd demand recompense. I'd -

And just as I was about to enter the store, all riled up, my phone rang.
"Hello. It's the doorstore delivery team, we're calling to schedule your bed delivery for tomorrow."
The timing was just typical. I would normally have been elated, except I'd worked myself up into such a huff that this quite took the wind out of my sails. Suddenly there I was, a deflated balloon.
I wasn't built to switch gear so quickly. My emotional radar didn't quite know how to jump from irate to ecstatic, so it ended up somewhere in between in a heap of emotional confusion.

Slunk back home, and there was QJ curled up on the couch, demure as ever. Emotional as I was at the moment, I couldn't help myself, I rushed over to her and smothered her little head with kisses.

Roused from her sleep, she slowly roused her head. Looked me in the eye. And emitted a loud cat burp of emotional satisfaction.

Yes, folks, that's what I get for my effusive kisses. A catburp.

But one has to be appreciative of the hand life deals. And if my lot in life is a deflated balloon and a catburp, who am I to complain.

A dangerous accessory

I'd been thinking to myself that what with the upcoming holidays and all, we should probably invest in a new speedlight for our camera. One never knows when one will want to whip the thing out to take some pics - and in today's world of HD, if you're in a pic, you want it to be with flattering lighting. Ask the movie stars, they'll tell ya.

So on the way home from work the other day, I found my legs wandering me into a camera store. Now, the people who work in the camera stores in New York are a creature unto their own. They are so passionate about photography, that any perversions or dilutions of the sport are considered outright offensive, and worthy of only derisive responses. Passion like that is to be both respected and feared. Especially feared.

There was a guy in front of me, speaking to the sales agent, so I waited patiently behind him.
"I'm looking for the kind of camera that's a point and shoot, but also takes HD video and is tiny and light."
Sounds reasonable, right? Too gimmicky for the sales guy, apparently.
"Kid, you shouldn't be in a serious photography store like this. For that kind of sh*t, you need to go to Circuit City or Best Buy. Don't waste my time."
"But... but...."stammered the poor fella, taken aback.
"When you're ready to take some serious pictures, and you aren't focused on video and being tiny and light, come back to me."
And that was that.

So you can imagine the trepidation which siezed me when it was my turn to go up. Coweringly, with much hesitation, I approached the counter.
"Excuse me, sir, I'm looking for a new Nikon speedlight. I was thinking the SB-600..." I let my voice trail off.
I flinched (inwardly) and cringed (outwardly), waiting for his response in the deafening silence that followed.
But he surprised me (again).
"That's a great speedlight! You'll love it," he said, taking it off the shelf and handing it over to me. "Works best with the Nikon D-90, you should think about it if you don't have one already."
And he gave me a radiant smile.

I was so relieved I almost peed myself right there and then.

Somehow, I had made it through the camera store sans major mishap. And now, just in time for Turkey Dinner, we have a brand new speedlight to make all our subjects look like movie stars.

The tryptophan exculpation

In typical McDelta Thanksgiving fashion, we have committed the fraudulent act of ordering our Thanksgiving meal online. Yes - that's what city people do. An online Thanksgiving. Because the oven's too small, the apartment would smell of brussel sprouts, and we just don't have time. And the Fresh Direct guys, they deliver with a smile.

On the other hand - before you mock - I can assure you that all our guests will be a eating a considerably tastier meal than if I'd cooked it by hand. So there. It's a win-win, no need to turn in your graves, original pilgrims.

As we did last year, Delta and I are cuccooning together all our "orphaned" friends who have no family nearby to visit. It will be a merry affair, resplendent with decadence and tryptophan - our little group of friends who have become our family at home - and both of us await it excitedly.

Of course, the mention of tryptophan had me googling where else one might find it, and per Wikipedia:
It is particularly found in chocolates, oats, durians, mangoes, dried dates, milk, yoghurt, cottage cheese, red meat, eggs, fish, poultry, sesame, chickpeas, sunflower seeds, pumpkin seeds and peanuts.

Basically, tryptophan, which makes me drowsy, is found in everything I eat!

I ask you, Gawd, how am I supposed to make it in life, when tryptophan stands against me? No wonder I can only bring myself to wake up at 8 each morning. I thought it was me being a lazy b*tt. But no, it's the tryptophan in my diet.

From here on out, I am exculpated of all crimes that result from sloth. Just so you know.

The DNA test

I was on my way to meet Nooj for dinner this evening, when I got temporarily distracted by the conversation between the two women walking in front of me.
"You know what I did," one woman stated to her friend proudly, "you know that guy I went on a date with the other day? I got his DNA tested."
"WHAT?!" exclaimed her friend, (rightfully) surprised. "How?! Why?!"
"I got a brother-in-law who knows someone who can do it. And it's so easy to get someone's DNA, you know how it works."

There was a pause in the conversation, I can only assume her friend was as shocked as I was. But also, apparently, wondering the same question. Luckily, she asked it, before I inserted myself right into that conversation.
"But... why?!"
"Because you never know. If he's got something wierd-like, I'd rather know right now after the first date, right?"
I was horrified. Go on, friend, tell her off, I thought to myself, silently urging the friend to set this woman straight.
"Wow. You're the smartest person I know. I wish I could do the same."

That's actually what her friend said.

I did what, sadly, we have to do far too often in life. Just shook my head sadly and moved on.

The cost of toned abs

Two years ago, the fitness ball I used to use in place of a chair burst, and I hadn't quite got around to replacing it yet. But in a little spurt of inspiration yesterday, I headed over to the local sports store and picked myself up a new one. Of course, there was (as there always is), a snag in the plan. I hadn't thought to measure the height of my desk. So when I found myself staring at a wall full of fitness balls (35 cms, 45 cms, 55 cms, 65 cms), I was admittedly floored.


My first hurdle of course, is trying to conceptionalise what a number like 45 cms high actually means in real life. Up to my knee? Up to my hip? And then to try and imagine how this guestimated height would compare to my best guess of my desk height. As you can see, there was a lot of ballparking going on in my mind.


Which might explain, perchance, why I happen to be sitting on a ball today, that's, erm, somewhat shorter than I would have ideally gone for.

Bill the tech guy popped his head into my office yesterday afternoon. Once glance at me, and he shook his head in disbelief. "You're crazy," he said, hastily moving on.


Well, Bill, let's see who has the last laugh when I get my toned abs, eh.

I suppose the Developers, they must have their fun

I was quite excited about going to the gym today. So excited infact that I might have over-decked myself for the event. "Nice headband!" Eddie the doorman smiled appreciatively as I left the building.
"Thanks! Helps me bike faster," I rejoined, but mostly I was just a bit embarrassed that he had noticed I'd actually put effort into dressing for the gym. For the gym.

Why all this excitement, you ask?

They've introduced these new bike machines which, instead of the standard TV screens, are attached to video game portals. So you can choose your difficulty, choose your racetrack, and suddenly you're part of a bike race. Nothing like a bit of competition to give me the kick in the posterior that I need.

As soon as the race started, I surreptitiously glanced at the others on the bikes beside me. I wanted to make sure it wasn't one of those networked gaming systems that allowed me to compete with the guy next to me. I mean, losing to a computer might be ok. But losing to the eighty year old guy sitting next to me - less easy to deal with. So I started my bike race. I can't begin to tell you how much of a difference it makes to your effort level, the minute you know it's a race. So there I was pumping away furiously at the pedals, heart beating wildly, mind intent on beating the other virtual chappies I was competing with.

Also - the fancy scenery wasn't lost on me; I was intrigued by all the detail in the cliff sides and meadows I was biking by. And then I suddenly noticed a horse galloping through the meadow, parallel to the road. Running along, right beside me.

Oh. Faster than me. Overtaking me. I was just wondering about it, when suddenly the horse veered sharply onto the road and bumped right into me. What the ... ?!!

I might have been going a bit slow, and maybe a bit distracted by all the exciting scenery, but seriously? A horse ran right into me? And - judging from the "WORKOUT OVER" message that flashed onto my screen - apparently the horse ran me over and killed me.

Eh. I'm all for video game workouts and all, but do I have to die?

Well, I suppose the developers, they must have their fun.

A whole new world, right next door

Last weekend, we were at a loss for a defined plan, and the weather was just so beautiful it beckoned for us to be outdoors, and we still had hiking on our minds... - and it suddenly occured to us - hmm wonder what hiking might be accessible on public transport from NYC!

Thanks to that internet thing; all it took was a bit of nifty googling to find what we were looking for - hiking trails and public transport. So Delta and I, caught up in a burst of impulsive excitement, donned our hiking attire and jumped quickly onto the train.

We were there in less than an hour. I'm not sure what I expected in terms of hiking trails close to the city. Exercise and fresh air, certainly. Woods, definitely. But I was totally - entirely - unprepared for the huge mountains that loomed before us. Or how quickly the people dispersed, and suddenly there we were, just Delta and me, by ourselves.

Roaming through forest and wood. Glen and glade. Holler and berm. Just Delta and me, as though we were the only people in the world.

As though we had just stumbled, entirely unprepared, through a closet into our own little narnia. And all this, so close to home.