TheRamblingsPage

I'm a little worried that i never spend any time with people anymore, or even talk to people. I mean, i talk to people all day, but that's work-related, and generally excruciating. When i do it on my own time, it's no less so - even though i'd like to have conversations with people, maintain normal familial and social relationships, it just requires too much energy to force myself to do it, energy which i've expended by 10 or so each morning with the ever-ringing office phone.

So this Periodic Ramblings page is sort of a stab at staying in touch with people. Sure, they don't get to tell me their problems and funny stories, but they get to listen to mine, which is what's really important anyway. And the fact that these are on the web allows me to pretend i'm actually talking to somebody, instead of myself. It's all very therapeutic bullshit.

For the last 2 weeks, my wife's 4-year-old cousin has been staying with my in-laws. (Actually, we celebrated his 4th birthday during his stay. At Chuck E. Cheese's, of course, where we learned that the US hasn't actually minted enough quarters to meet a 4-year-old's needs.) The boy's (that's the cousin-in-law) brother (who is, naturally, also a cousin-in-law) was at summer camp, and their mother (the aunt-in-law) was the camp nurse. So the CIL came up to stay with his Auntie B (the MIL), and be cute and silly. And, because he lives in another state and we rarely get a chance to visit with him, we were offered various "opportunities" to join the in-law fun... and help keep the little monster from burning down the whole village.

Now, don't get me wrong: He is cute. And silly. But these are completely eclipsed by the fact that for, estimating conservatively, 99.44% of the time, he's the spitting image of Satan himself. I postulated last night, while the silly little cutester was tormenting a frog he found in the yard, that one of his parents must actually be the devil, giving him an obvious birthright to his nerve-wracking behavior. But i don't think now that that's the case. No, he's not actually (not necessarily, anyway) descended from pure evil, nor is he the result of bad parenting or MTV or violent cartoons or too much sugar. It just comes naturally: he got that way simply by being 4 years old. And one day it'll wear off.

On other fronts, it was not a great week at work. I spent the latter half or so of the week in playin' the I Suck So Bad at My Job I Should Just Crawl into a Hole Funk. Which, despite its fun-sounding name, is not actually a fun tune to play. It makes me tired. Tired of dreading going to the office. Tired of nearly panicking when facing impending human interaction. Tired of alternately whining about it and pretending to be stoic about it. When things are going well (maybe that's not the right word, let's substitute okay), this is much less of a problem. But if i start to feel like i can't keep up, then i'm distracted by the fear of the phone ringing, which makes all the work take longer, which makes me more distracted, which etc etc etc.

<Slap> Buck up, ya fuck-up. Take a deep breath, snap out of it, get to work. If i have a good Sunday, then i've got an okay chance on Monday. So put together that workbench. Clean the car windows (whose inside surfaces are dirtier than the outside of the car). Watch some tennis. Keep away from children. Don't do drugs. Stay in school. Eat your vegetables.

Let's go back the munchkin for minute, if you don't mind. 'Cause last night's frogscapades highlighted for me one reason i know i wouldn't make a good parent (father, in my case, to be more precise). Witness your pal Cuzn Ed trying to reason with a 4-year old. "The poor frog was minding his own business, just trying to get some dinner, and you come along and put him in a box. That doesn't seem nice. What'd the frog do to you?" No response. "How would you like it if someone you don't know put you in a box, huh? Then let you go, then put you back, then let you go, then put you back? You wouldn't like that, would you?" No response. "You know, a frog isn't actually a toy. You have lots of toys you claim to like. Birthday presents, no less." No response. "Look, just LEAVE the FROG ALONE!!" Did i really expect the tot to say, "You're right, i hadn't thought of that way" put the frog down, and find something less evil to do? Yeah, actually, i did, is the sad thing. By the time i'd made several unassailable arguments in favor of the frog's reprieve, i found that i had to physically restrain myself from whomping the kid upside the head. Clench your fists, Cuz, but keep 'em in your pockets. Count to ten. Think: How can i bend this oblivious person to my will? I know, another logical argument!

There's some real irony here, i think. When the Reds finished "only" 4th in the EPL last year, everyone blamed their Frenchy manager. By the BBC's accounts at the time, Michael Owen was vocal in his support of sacking Houllier and bringing in Spanish manager Rafael Benitez, whose Barcelona team had so roundly drubbed Liverpool in the Champions League. Rafa comes in, hires on a bunch of Spanish players, and sends his best English players - yes, even Michael Fucking Owen - off to anywhere else. Owen was, in a roundabout but very real way, the instrument of his own departure from the club to which he'd been signed since he was 11.

What bugs me most about this is just that, in their ravenous quest to win more trophies (and cash), the Liverpool club has dispensed with everything connecting it to Liverpool - or England, for that matter - except the fans. And for whom are the Liverpool fans cheering? What's the point of singing the fight song and choking up with pride, when the club that represents you is just a bunch of mercenary migrant workers?

Alan Smith, though, now there's a footballer. Smith really impressed me in his last year at Leeds United, with his willingness to play just about any position (though i'm pretty sure they never tried him in goal...), and excelling wherever they needed him to. Not enough to keep Leeds from being relegated to "The Championship", but a valiant effort all the same. And he can't be blamed for requesting a transfer once the home side were sent down: this is a player who clearly does not belong in the minor leagues.

He can be blamed for insisting that he be transferred to Manchester United. Arch-rivals since before Alan Smith was born, the supporters of the two clubs are not at all fond of each other. Just last year, when asked if there were one club for which he would never play, Alan answered Manchester United without hesitation. A Leeds boy born and bred, working up to the first team from their youth program, Alan Smith has himself hated ManU with the very fiber of his being for his entire life. (Up to now, that is.) So Leeds fans can be forgiven for whatever bile they direct at him: he did, after all, betray them, as they say 'round these parts, "bigger'n shit." He may as well have broken the heart of every single Leeds fan's sister. So i'm glad i don't live in Leeds.

Since i live in Tennessee, i can say that Alan's move to Manchester United is a football wet dream. He will play alongside some of England's (and that means the world's) greatest current footballers. He will receive passes from Roy Keane and Paul Scholes and Ryan Giggs and Ole Gunnar Solskjaer (though not right away...), and turn them into gorgeous goals. After the match, the BBC will ask the losing goalkeeper how he feels about the game, and he'll say, "Well, i'm gutted, obviously, we really needed this win, not only for the 3 points in the standings, but also for the morale of the squad. And i thought we played well, but it wasn't meant to be, i suppose... But, blimey, did you see the goals tha' bastard beat me wiv? Bloody 'ell, tha' bugger's 'kin brilliant!" And, any day now, Cristiano Ronaldo will return to the lineup, and that pairing, folks... O. My. God. Tell you what, when the fantastic (and dreamy, if you ask my wife) Ruud van Nistelrooy recovers from his hernia operation, he'll have a helluva time getting into the starting team. What i'm saying is, Smith's move to Manchester is good for fans of good football. And the struggling club at Elland Road did get £7m for him, so the management aren't crying.

It's also good for me personally. Let's face it, a Tennessee boy doesn't get to see a lot of European football matches. I have to buy the most expensive package from my cable company and stay up 'til 1 in the morning for the kick-off. And i'm still only going to see 1 or 2 matches a week. Naturally, these are limited to the most high-profile teams. If you're a baseball fan around here, you'd better be rooting for the Braves or the Yankees, 'cause that's all they're gonna show. Likewise, if you're a "soccer" fan, you'd better hope you like ManU. So now i'll get to enjoy Alan's skills a lot more, because he plays for a club that my cable company has heard of. Unlike that fucker Michael Owen.

This morning a strange thing happened as i was preparing to mow the lawn. I had a hankerin' to listen to the Bee Gees. This will happen every so often, which is why i own their two-disc Greatest collection. Sure, it doesn't actually include all of their greatest hits (the collection ignores the vast majority of their career), but all of their hits on RSO Records, so all the disco stuff. Now, i know what you're thinking: "Gee whiz, Cuzn Ed, i thought you were... i don't know... cool...... 'til now." Sorry to let you down.

Thing is, the Bee Gees did produce some truly fine pop music, before and since, but particularly in the 70s. Neither important nor completely meaningless, just pure pop. It's good music for mowing the lawn, when i'd rather not really be thinking about anything. But one song today did strike me, and i know you're gonna scoff, but i don't care. The song is "Too Much Heaven," and today it just really got me. I was surprised that this perfectly fluffy love song didn't make me think of my wife. It made me think of the one with whom i share the purest, most genuine, basic and simple love: my dog.

Well, it's been four-and-a-half months since my last ramble, and i'm sure you've been on the anticipation-to-anxiety-to-depression-to-anticipation roller coaster ever since. "What is going on in the world and the fevered mind of my distant cuzn Ed?" you've been chanting to yourself incessantly while rocking back and forth, chewing the fingernails of your left hand down to the knuckle as your right hand abuses the F5 key.

First, please allow me to apologize. Honestly, had i had any idea what a total freak you can be sometimes, i would've... i don't actually know, but i would've something, you can rest assured. I'd like to respectfully suggest 2 things. Firstly, your new mantra should be, "It's not a blog, it's Periodic Ramblings. Chill. Chill." Secondly, get off my back already. Geez.

A couple weeks ago i had my first annual employee review, since joining this company to sell commercial-grade doors. There's a form my boss is meant to fill in and pass up the ladder, rating me from 1 to 5 in a plenitude of areas that tend to not actually apply to my work. My boss' super-fantastic innovation (yes, i know everyone's doing it these days) was to have me fill in the same form, and then we'd meet and compare. This was excruciating. "Hmm," quoth Boss, "You gave yourself 5's in this area, but i rated you lower, and i'll tell you why," not realizing that his reasons didn't really apply to the area in question - his reasons in fact applied perfectly to an earlier section of the form, where i'd rated myself low and he'd rated me high. Like all of us, he meant well, but...

Anyway, i said all that to say this next bit. He'd added essay questions to the bottom of the evaluation, one of which was, "What do you like least about your job?" My response, "Talking to people. Ironic, no?" was more honest that it should have been. His Bossness now has a mission to make me Supersalesman by forcing me to improve my social skills. He's right, of course, but... Well, this is me we're talking about.

Give you an example. I used to frequent a discussion group, built around a shared appreciation of the "prog-rock" band King Crimson. We didn't just talk about Crim, of course, we talked about all kinds of music, and whatever else interested us. We became very much an online community, with a shared affection for each other. Then one day last spring, i just couldn't go anymore. Like a switch had been flipped, from "Enjoys Others' Company, at Least Online" to "Hides in Corner." And i really enjoyed this place, the cool people and their wildly varied tastes, the good-natured ribbing, the little diary areas maintained by various members (including myself), the charming and terribly-cute webmistress: if i passed a computer, i'd check to see if anyone had posted, no matter how many times i'd checked that day. But i just couldn't bring myself to face them again as this scaredy-cat little boy i'd turned back into, who realizes he doesn't have anything to say, who desperately wants to be clever and isn't. And that was just the start. Since then, i literally can't think of a single person i've talked to, even briefly, that i didn't absolutely have to. How can this person possibly spend his days selling doors to general contractors? Answer: not particularly well.

Since that evaluation, i've had days at work that were almost effortless - i knew what i needed to do and just slotted right into it, phone calls and all. From those days i took considerable encouragement. I thought, "Yeah, i can actually do this." Since Bossguy had suggested i force myself into social situations away from work, i figured step 1 should be re-establishing the social connections i used to have. Read that as: Get my ass back on that Crimboard. This morning, it almost worked. But, fuck, if i can't make myself do this, what can i make myself do?

Not too long ago (2 years?), in a diary far far away, i posted what essentialy amounted to a diatribe against my own name. As that post and the site where i made it are both lost to the great yawning webvoid (oh darn), i'll give you a quick summary for background.

And that pretty much gets you up to the present epoch. Cuzn Ed has been a fun way to represent myself, as i always thought it fit me (or who i wanted to be) much better than did my legal name. And, yes, i did contemplate changing my name to Ed. But given my mother's reaction to that ("only half-serious," as i explained to her) post, it's a good thing i didn't make any formal declaration. I actually did decide that when i moved to someplace far away where nobody knows me* i would introduce myself as Ed. Go to a job interview, simply say, "Yes, that's my name, but you can call me Ed, everybody does." Hey, it's worked for Toms, Dicks, Harrys and Bubbas throughout the ages - why not me? Here's why not: i've tarried too long in Nashville for that half-pathetic scheme to work. Because now i have what can only be described as a <shudder> career - i am known within my small field by a particular name, so a change now becomes pathetic by another half. Pooey. I've got a bad feeling that this realization played a major role in my recent year-long tailspin. Because i just could not figure out how to reconcile my self-image with the one that my unshakable name projects. But now i have.

I was surprised when it occured to me, because it's so simple and obvious. It's a process that i'm guessing every person goes thru, but many years earlier in life, and without even noticing. Because all i had to do is accept that i am who i am, and get on with the business of (criminy, this is painfully obvious) being who i am. I've been so busy trying to project Cuzn Ed to the world that it became a bit unhealthy. I'd go to work and just cringe all day in anticipation of the next time someone would call me... you know.

How much better would my work be if i was concentrating on it instead of this? And then, how much better would my day be? And then, how much better would my life be? Would that bring The Total Life Turnaround? Probably not, but it would certainly be one less layer of self-loathing, and that can't be a bad thing. The key to drastically increased sanity has been in my hands all along. But could i really just let go of a 32-year grudge against myself?** Well, we're all about to find out. 'Cause i said all of that to say this: <gulp>

* We've been scheduled to move to New Mexico, ever since The Missus made her first visit to Santa Fe and Taos. The initial schedule was, as i recall, "Right Fucking Now", but eventually became a Five-Year Plan. It's been several years now (double-dog-darn it).
** And, how many questions can i cram into one overcrowded paragraph?

	You've met Cookie, of course, back in September. But Moxie is making his first appearance on these pages. We keep that lattice at the top of the stairs to keep them out of the bedrooms when we're not home. What could possibly happen to the bedroom had the dogs unsupervised access thereto, you ask? You just let me worry about, m'kay, Mr. Smarty-pants? "Thereto." Geez...