When the lights go down in the city

Until last week, I'll bet most of you were willing to admit that you were a Journey fan before you admitted you were a Michael Jackson fan. But if you look at the timing of their biggest stuff, it was about the same time. "Off the Wall": 1979; "Infinity": 1978. And "Thriller": 1982; "Escape": 1982. And, for me, the music of Journey was a bigger deal than Michael Jackson.

Sure, Steve Perry: not a face for video. In fact, I would argue that MTV killed Journey. MTV was made for Duran Duran, who sounded good but looked  so pretty. Steve Perry, not only not-so-pretty, he had that twitchy way of singing. Yeah, that's not a video you need to see over and over. They almost got it with "Faithfully" where they didn't show much of him actually singing, but no one can do the videos like MJ. 

Go through that Journey catalog. If you're about my age, you'll be singing more of those songs than Michael's. "Pretty Young Thing"? "She's Out of my Life"? Even "Thriller"? Please. If I'm in the car and "Open Arms" or "Lovin', Touchin', Squeezin'" comes on, I am singing at the top of my lungs. And I'll bet you know more words to "Don't Stop Believing" than "Don't Stop 'Til You Get Enough." 

I'll stand before the Lord of Song

I wish I would have written this before Friday, but, seriously, I've always felt Michael Jackson was overrated. I'm not saying he wasn't a star; sure, absolutely, he was a star. But was he really this great influence on music that the media and others are claiming he is? Maybe he influenced dance, maybe he influenced folks on how to be a completely whacked-out celebrity head case, but his influence on music? Not so much.

Do you have any Michael Jackson music on your ipod? Okay, maybe you do, but do you have any music because you genuinely feel it's great music or do you have it because "Beat It" reminds you of high school? I love pop music but I have exactly one song with MJ ("ABC"). That means I have as many songs by Hanson as I do Michael Jackson. Yes, he sold a ton of albums,but that doesn't mean I need to hear any of it again. It feels, well, dated to me. Yeah, the videos were awesome, but we're not doing those much anymore. And how many of those albums did he sell because of the videos? I think we all forget how much MTV ruled the world in the mid-80s.

He was a celebrity. He was a media event and played that as much as he could. He clearly did not have a normal life. He was obviously out of his mind and may or may not have committed various crimes. He was interesting to the media, but not because of his music (unless it was because he couldn't make or sell albums at the same rate these days.) The media was there because most stories about him involved the phrase, "oh, you're not going to believe this one." 

I go back to, yes, he was an influence on dance and mixing the dance with the pop music. He set the bar high for the number of records sold, but, no, not an influence on music. 

As I walked to work this morning, Leonard Cohen sang "Hallelujah" to me, and I thought that if I had to choose between all of MJ's music (yes, including the Jackson 5) and this one song, this one song wins, every day of the week. 

Leaving Pennsylvania

Yesterday the house was packed up and I left Pennsylvania. After over 20 years, I am no longer a resident of the Keystone State. Moving is always hard, but this was especially bad because it's not just leaving a house, it's leaving a whole part of my life. It's leaving so many parts of my life: my early adulthood, my marriage, my grad school, my first job as a scientist, as a writer. 

I spent a lot of time yesterday, just walking around the house as it was emptied. I remembered when we were making plans for the house, picking out paint colors, all those little things. I remember being happy. I remember laughing a lot. I remember wondering what went wrong, when it happened. I was thinking about how we were so close and now we are separate. I walked around the house, and it was so real, knowing that it is all over. This chapter of my life is done.

When the house was empty, I did one last walk through each room. I cried. I felt like there should be something more I should do, but I couldn't think of anything. I put my keys in a drawer, got into my car, and left Pennsylvania.

Packing it up

Today the house gets packed up. Well, the stuff that is mine -- the former Mr. HP has already moved his things out. The house is both empty-feeling and cluttered. When I arrived, I walked around, just looking at what was left. Yes, I did cry. I don't think there was anything that specifically made me cry, but seeing only half of our things (well, I guess it's now my things and his things), well, I couldn't help it.

Most of yesterday was spent dividing up the little things with TFMrHP. It was amazingly civil. We joked around. ("Take a muffin pan." "Will I ever make muffins?" "Maybe not, but I don't want you saying, 'That bitch didn't even give me a muffin pan.'" "Well, that would be worth it.") (He later found some muffin mix and decided that, yes, he should have a muffin pan.) He had too much stuff for his car, so he packed up my car as well, and we went to his new house. It was definitely odd to see the furniture in a new setting. To see his new life. While I was there I took one of the sprinklers.

I'm still crying on and off, but not too much. Little things trigger it. Last night it occurred to me that he has very few pictures of me. I was always that one taking the pictures (or my mom). The wedding photos are in a small pile in the family room. I should give him some of those pictures, but which ones? Does he want a picture of me? So, yes, I am crying.

I wonder what he thinks about all of this. I guess that's the problem. I can predict his behavior but I have no idea as to what he is thinking, what his emotions about all of this are. Is he sad, is he relieved, is he moving on? I look at his house, and, yes, it is exactly what I would have predicted. It's not the house I would have wanted. (But, it occurs to me, that I would have yielded to what he wanted. If we would have found that house in Maryland, I would have said okay.) I want him to be happy but I don't know if he knows how to do that.

Oh, this is just rambling. It's time to sign off for now.

The beginning of the end

In a few minutes, I am heading up to Pennsylvania for what should be the last time for a while. The last time as a resident, at any rate. I am putting it off, but it needs to be done, that last trip. 

I have lived most of my life (hard to believe sometimes -- I do think of myself as an Ohio girl) in the Philadelphia area, and it's hard for me to believe that I won't have a place up there anymore. The next time I visit, I will truly be a visitor.

I really do love the Philadelphia area. Sure, there are things I don't like so much (the people could be friendlier, the refusal to put up street signs), but it's really become a part of me and a part of my life. I know I will be crying plenty the next few days. And, believe me, it will be over stupid stuff ("oh, an Acme! sniff!")

I am dreading seeing the half-empty house. I am already braced for what that will be like. (At least I think I'm ready, but I know the reality will be much more upsetting.) This may be why I am doing this now: can't blog and drive, so this will put it off just a bit more.

No, it is time to go. Time to face it and say good-bye. 

No Sound, Just Fury

My temper, in case you were wondering: not good. It's generally not under control and goes off, just like that. I try, God knows, I really do, to keep it in check. Unfortunately for those close to me, I spend so much energy keeping it under control at work and in other social situations, I tend to let it fly when I'm at home.

I see myself doing it, losing control, and I hate it so much. I hate that I can't keep that monster in. That I would say those things. Such awful things. Who does this to the people they care about? Well, I do, apparently. And I wish  could just pull that part of myself out and destroy it.

No, it doesn't come to any good. No, it doesn't help "clear the air" or reach an understanding. It hurts other people. And, of course, I can really hurt the people I'm closest to. Sure, I know exactly what to say to make it cut deep. And, unfortunately, when I can't control my temper, those awful things come out.

What I would do to take back some of those things I've said. I wish, I wish I could just be the better version of myself. I really didn't mean it. But I have no idea how to stop myself from doing it again.

With their voices soft as thunder

At night, I worry. I can't help it. If you talk to me at 3 in the afternoon, all is well; I have it under control. Catch me at 10 at night, my life is falling apart. I can't help it. It seems to be when it all crashes in (although 3 a.m. can also be a good time for a freak out as well.) 

I worry about everything. The thought pattern can be something like this: I wonder if I'll ever find a house. Maybe I'll never find a house. Maybe I'll find a house and someone will outbid me. Maybe I'll move into this great house, but the roof will cave in and since I've been mortgaged to the edge, I can't afford to fix it. Ever. Maybe I forgot to pay my Visa bill and my credit rating will be shot, so I won't get the house to begin with. Maybe someone has stolen my Visa number. Maybe someone has stolen my car. Did I see my car today? Did I leave the windows open -- that sounds like rain outside. Maybe it's not rain; maybe the pipes are leaking. Maybe that ceiling fan (yes, the one that has been there for 4 years) will suddenly come loose and gut me in my sleep. 

Yes, all very rational.

I can't seem to not worry. Sometimes I can hold it off for a bit, but then it just shows up a bit later. Sometimes the best solution is to give it to it, not sleep, then crash a few days later. But those can be rough days, the ones with little sleep.

I know there are people who can not worry. I envy them. My old boss Big Red was one of those people. I'd go to him, all up in arms about something, he'd shrug, "What are you gonna do? These things happen. Let's get lunch." So jealous. He probably sleeps like death at night.

Silver Lake

Mr. Higgy-Piggie and I used to walk almost every night. It was a walk through the neighborhood, sometimes varied slightly, but we always went to Silver Lake Park. Silver Lake Park is a very tiny park on the edge of Newtown, at the end of the Newtown trail. It's so tiny and insignificant that when I called the Newtown Parks and Rec Department, they didn't know it existed. ("I don't think there is such a park," she told me. I wondered if perhaps my imagination is better than I thought.)

The park is really just a bridge over a creek, a couple of fields (no picnic tables or anything; just field), and a very short path to a small body of water that someone very generously called Silver Lake. It's a small, stagnant pond which we just called "Goose Poo Pond" as, well, lots of geese without a lot of water movement. They installed a fountain which ran for one year, and it actually seemed to help, but the next year, no more fountain, so we figured the funding must have run out.

For a small park, there was a pretty good diversity of animals. Geese, obviously, the occasional duck, one swan who would give us the stink-eye as if we were invading his space (who we referred to as "Belligerent Swan"). We would occasionally see beavers, who, one night, gnawed down all the little trees, then seemed to disappear. Big bull frogs, who always scared the hell out of me. Bunnies, squirrel, deer, that sort of thing. We could stand on the bridge and see the fish and turtles.

The last walk we took was the day we had our "big talk." We needed air, to get out of the house, so we did our usual walk, ending at Silver Lake Park. As we walked down the path, almost to the lake, I saw something in the path. It was some animal that had been dead a short while; I have no idea what it was. But it was awful. Other animals had clearly gotten to it. This horrible thing, there in the path. 

We quickly turned around. That was the last walk to Silver Lake.

Nothing else matters here

Today GM declared bankruptcy, which is a shame for a lot of people. They're closing a bunch of plants, which just adds to the number of folks who have already lost their jobs. I'm reading about where these plants are located: Ypsilanti, Columbus, Pontiac. It really is sad. 

But there was also this this article in the New York Times about car dealerships closing. Which, I'm sorry, I just don't have the sympathy for the car salesmen that are out of jobs. I'm sure there are some perfectly nice guys (and women, but, really, mostly guys) that are car salesmen. But, you know, most of them: pain in the ass. 

I'm okay at the haggling thing, but the idea of it is just annoying. I hate that you might get one price one day, another price a different day. That if you crack too soon, maybe you're out some cash. I hate, hate, hate, the little tricks: "this would be your monthly payment" (but how much is the car, exactly?) "this is the price of the car (minus your trade-in)." Of course, what I hate the most is the way they treat you. I've had salesmen question what I could afford, wonder why I'd want a stick shift, and get annoyed at me because the color of the car wasn't the most important thing to me ("but you're a girl!" I swear to God, that's what he said.)

I feel bad when anyone is out of a job, but car salesguy, not as much.

It's starting to wear me down

I'm sick of house hunting. Really. I'm just fed up with the whole thing. I want to crawl into bed and wake up three months from now, magically moved into a new house, with my stuff unpacked. Heck, I'll even take keeping it in boxes -- I can unpack it myself, thanks.

I find that even looking at listings of houses is making me a bit tired. Another crappy kitchen. Another boring shower. They're starting to look alike. Have I seen that fireplace before? I think I know that purple bedroom.

I want my house to magically appear. I got to redfin constantly, hoping that it will be there. I'm afraid that I'm getting so tired of this whole process that one day I'll see a house and just throw up my hands go say, "Fine, let's be done. This one will work." That I'll settle. And there's a part of me that thinks, well, would it be so bad? It would let me get on with my life.

But I don't want to settle, I want to love it. I'm just getting impatient, you know.

Walking away

Well, apparently I was too insulting. I put in a bid for the hot mess of a house and they were like, "yeah, we're not even going to answer that." So, yes, I am still available, if you know a nice place that will treat me nice.

This is probably not a bad thing. The house really is a mess. It would probably just lead to heartache. I mean, what would I do with those crazy holes in the ceiling anyway? Maybe they're just there to let out the bad spirits -- patching them up may only mess with the feng shui. Even the "good" rooms, the kitchen, the family room, they had issues. Yes, I must remind myself that it's for the best.

I am getting anxious. Of course, the rational side of me knows that there is a house out there for me. I'm starting to get sick of waiting. I'm sure it will all work out, but there are days I'm searching for the fast forward button.

Anyway, I've convinced myself that the hot mess needs an owner that is not me. I will miss the phone by the toilet.

My Latest Love

I may have found a house. I know, it took me long enough. I did have, well, complications, which is a big part of why it has taken so long. But, today, I put in a bid and now it's cross-fingers time.

Let me tell you about it: it's a hot mess. And, yet, I can't stay away. I first saw this house months ago. The good: glorious kitchen (a 15-foot island!), a lovely yard, good location, a glorious kitchen (oh, yeah, it's really [potentially] beautiful). The bad: wacked out master bathroom (with bidet -- ugh!), weird holes in the ceiling (yeah, we're looking at a pretty intense home inspection), missing kitchen cabinet doors, inch of dust on the ceiling fans, lots of little things that make you wonder, "Are they actually trying to sell this house?"

It does scare me. It is quite possible that these people have done no maintenance on it. (Why, yes, those are the original air filters on the furnace, is that a problem?) Here's one: the fan in the one bathroom is missing -- what the hell? Or, here's a better question: what the hell am I thinking buying this house? But the place draws me in. It's got personality.

I have been looking at smaller, more reasonable houses. But those houses will always be starter houses. The house that you hope to move out of someday. This house, while a bit of a mess, could be cleaned up, fixed up, and really be awesome. I can see wanting to stay there. Plus, this house, it fits me. It has things I want (good kitchen, nice but minimal yard, nice family room). Some of its weaknesses (only three bedrooms and one really small one, no real dining room) just don't matter to me. I just hope that they actually want to sell it. We'll see how negotiations go (although I did put in a really insulting offer...)

But, seriously, there's a phone right by the toilet. I mean, what the hell?

Count one to ten

There are times I wonder what might have happened. What would have happened if Mr. Higgy-Piggie would have gotten that pair-programming job in DuPont Circle? (I guess he's technically still Mr. HP, at least for a while longer.) What if he had gotten that job that was in Germantown? What if we had sold the house right away, or had loved a house down here? Would I be doing what I am doing now, I wonder. 

I can always point to things that cause the changes but what about the things that don't happen that cause those changes? I remember being excited about when Mr. HP was coming here, what our life would look like. There are times I look at the houses we were considering and I think, if we lived there, would we have been happy? And it really wasn't so long ago.

Right or wrong

Every week I read "The Ethicist" in "The New York Times" and it almost always pisses me off. Not that I disagree with some of his conclusions or advice (although it's almost always cutesy and a bit random: "Return the ball but keep the bat" or some nonsense like that.) But it does make me wonder: how does someone practice ethics for a living? What qualifies someone as a professional in the ethics department?

When I was in grad school, it was a requirement that we take a bioethics course. It was taught by that media whore Arthur Caplan. (Oh, you know who he is; you've seen him giving his opinion on CNN, MSNBC, all those places. I'm sure you have. I don't think he ever turns down an opportunity to flap his gums.) This was a 3-day course and all I can say is that there's three days of my life I'll never get back. Here's what I learned: (1) Nazis: not ethical (2) Tuskegee Study: also not ethical. Hey, thanks Caplan!

Seriously, if, for one split second, you think Mengele was conducting research in an ethical fashion, a few days with Arthur Caplan will not be changing you. I guess that's the question: can a course change your ethics? Can a few talks keep you from submerging kids in ice water? "Oh, now I get it! That's wrong! I'll stop that now."

(Although the course was held in the beautiful auditorium of the Archeology and Anthropology Museum, which almost did make it worth the three days. It is seriously stunning and the seats were comfortable.)

The thing that pissed me off the most was that there are some real ethical issues to discuss. The ethics of who owns research (I'm looking at you Watson and Crick, and how you screwed Rosalind Franklin), the ethics of not allowing a grad student to graduate because you want another year of his/her work in your lab, how to determine which data is just "outlier" information, etc. These are the interesting questions. These are questions that a lot of folks have to deal with, not the obvious abuses of human life.

But, back to the original question, what makes someone an expert on ethics? Seriously, I want that job. I want to be the person who dictates, yes, this is good; this, not so much. Of course, since I'm a scientist, I have shady ethics (as anyone familiar with Frankenstein knows.) (An aside that pisses me off: IRB boards are required to have a "non-scientist," as if that "non-scientist" raises that ethics bar. [And, seriously, what makes someone a "non-scientist?" I would argue that an MD is a non-scientist.] Do publishing houses run books past scientists to be sure that they are doing that job right?) But, I think I'm ethical; can I be a bioethicist? Can I go on CNN and tell the world that this or that genetic engineering is right or wrong? Because I really think I could handle the job.

Now I'm off to inject children with mysterious chemicals. 

Spoiler alert

I read spoilers. I can't help it. If someone knows what's going to happen in a show and they post it on-line, I'll be trying to find out. Yes, I do want to know who will be voted out, who will be killed in the season finale. It doesn't really ruin a show for me. I know it would for some people, but I just like knowing ahead of time a little bit about what will happen. 

Lately I have been wondering about my own life. If I knew there were spoilers out there for my life, would I read them? Would I want to know what is going to happen? These days, I'm not sure what I would want. I would like to think, yes, I welcome the surprises, those unexpected things that happen. But there is also a part of me that wants just a little peek into what is going to happen.

Lately, my life has had lots of changes. A lot of people would think that it would be stressful, which, yes, it is, somewhat. But it's also been exciting. It's been good. Really. As nutty as it may sound, I've been enjoying the crazy. There are times I think I should be more stressed out, but these days I can look at what is happening with a feeling that it will all be okay.

But there are days that I do worry a bit. As I sit in this "temporary" housing for the 7th month, I look ahead and do wonder what the future will bring. Yes, I am enjoying the surprises, some of these unexpected things that have been happening. I know I will find a place to live, I will settle in, I will meet people and start to find those places to go. But on these days when I worry, I really want that peek.

Cross fingers

We may have sold the house. We have a contract (we got screwed, in case you're checking on that one, but we expected that, it being a buyer's market). Now we just have to get through the inspections and hope that no other issue raises its ugly head. 

I just would like to say, these people have been jerks. I am sure they will continue to be jerks. I don't have a problem with negotiating a good price. Yeah, that's to be expected. But you don't have to change the settlement date (the date that we made perfectly clear to you a number of times) at the last minute. You don't have to see the house 20 times. You don't have to make, then cancel appointments. You don't have to demand things just because. 

I can't stand these people. Fine, it's a buyer's market. Feel free to jerk us around. But, you know what, we're still living in your house. Yep, that's right. We still are hanging out. So, maybe the house won't be as clean as you might hope when we leave. And maybe we won't point out that typo in the contract. Because you have given us absolutely no reason for us to help you out. In fact, I gleefully welcome any opportunity I have to screw you over. If I can make your life a tiny bit more difficult, I am a bit happier.

I may not be a nice person. 

Sunday Randomness

When I'm staying at Mom and Dad's, it's hard to grab time to write, let alone pull the thoughts together to get a "whole" post anyway. Plus, during the visit, there have been those little random bits that may not be a post, but are still interesting. Here's your list:

* Saw an old ad for the Fonz arcade game, which is silly and 1970s to begin with, but my favorite thing about it was what Sega called themselves: "The Quartermasters." 

* Tried to help Mom clean out her closet. She wouldn't get rid of one dress because she said it would be nice for a funeral. Her funeral. Or maybe she'd want to get buried in a nightgown -- she hasn't actually decided.

* Every time I get a manicure I swear I'm going to get them more often. But then I only seem to get one when my sister talks me into getting one.

* Mom really hates horse racing ever since she saw that filly die last year at the Derby. But she was happy that a long-shot like Mine That Bird won.

* While shoe shopping with Mom, the word "bondage" came up. From her. Not enough therapy in the world.

* For as long as I can remember, my parents have sworn by tea. "Coffee? Bleh!" This visit (in conversations separate from one another): "Sometimes I drink coffee now." Who picks up this habit in their 60s?

* Tried to teach Mom about her ipod touch. It was quite the challenge. She did successfully download a bunch of apps, but then went pack to the pool game she plays all the time (although she doesn't know the rules.  At one point she asked me what "ball in hand" meant. When I explained to her, she said, "Well, I didn't have all the advantages you did growing up?" When is knowing the rules of 9-ball an indication of a privileged childhood?)

* What Mom thinks is funny: "Maybe your next boyfriend will have 5 children and you'd be a stepmother to 5 kids." She couldn't stop laughing.

I'm sure there's more to come. We have all day today.

Skill set

I think we all have things that we're good at, the things that just come easy. We also have things we struggle with. "I can't dance." "I can't balance my checkbook." "I've never been able to juggle." When you say things like that, everyone nods and comes up with their list. I'm not sure why, but yesterday I was thinking, I wonder if I'm good at love.

I think it's a legitimate question: can you be good (or bad) at love? Some people are naturally funny, some people are generally bitchy, so there's a good chance that some people will naturally be good at love. That they would know what to say, how to behave, without even thinking about it. They know what the other person needs and they can just give it to them. Me, I'm prickly. I'm kind of a pain in the ass (as Mom has pointed out.) I'll forget your birthday. 

It's a skill set I need to work on. Unfortunately, there are no classes at the local community college.

A Letter

Dear Maryland Drivers,

I know that we haven't known each other very long and this may be a bit forward, but I feel I've waited long enough and I must share this with you: you suck. Yes, every one of you. I know it seems harsh and some of you may wish to argue, but I'm feeling pretty confident in that statement. 

Now, it's not all bad. I think you have hope. It's not like you're a Georgia driver! I think if you follow a few basic tips, you would be at least tolerable:

1. It is generally accepted that, when you drive on a major interstate (I-95, for example), that you drive at least the speed limit. This is especially true when you are in the left lane. Here's a secret: in many parts of the country, when one drives in the left lane, they often drive faster than the speed limit (gosh, I hope no cops are reading this.) I know you may not be comfortable with all that speed. That's fine; that's what that right lane is for. Yes, a whole lane for you. Enjoy.

2. If you pass a truck, you don't have to slow down when you pass it. It actually makes the job harder. Think about it. If you want to go 54 mph and the truck in front of you is going 50 mph, yes, you want to pass (you have all this speed!) But, as you pass, if you slow down to 40 mph, it will be a challenge. Keep up those 54 mph speeds; trust me, it will work out better for you.

3. That wet stuff coming from the sky: rain. Don't be frightened. It shows up now and again. You don't have to start driving 40 mph. Especially if it's so light, the windshield wipers are on intermittent. If it really is that scary, maybe don't drive those days?

4. Just because a cop has his flashy lights on on the side of the road doesn't mean you have to slow down and see what is going on. And, when you see that there's nothing there ("hey, where's the accident?") don't slow down more, just to really check out the scene.

I do think you have potential. Your roads are pretty nice and much better marked than anything you'll find in Philadelphia. I'll try to work with you. I think we can both be happy.

The spirit is willing...

I want to blog every night. I really do. And most days I have many, many thoughts (and, oh, in my head, I am so clever. Such thoughts!) I seem to have so many ideas when I am just walking home and thinking. But some nights I pull up that blogger dashboard and just stare at that empty space. Tonight is one of those nights. 

How can I not have something to write about? So many things are happening, not just with me but with the world. If I was at dinner with you, believe me, I would not shut up. Have I got a story for you! I would be saying. You would be hiding the wine thinking, that's enough of that! 

Of course, lately, there have been days when I've had the thoughts, the ideas, but this is not the place. Not yet. I am such a tease, but soon. (maybe.) Maybe you need to take me to dinner.