To Blog

My mom, on a quest of reason to determine how the word blog may be derived, came to the following insight:

Blog:

(v) to log one’s blah-blah’s.

(n) a blah-blah log.

Jersey City, NJ

I think Nietzsche called it the ‘eternal return.’  I just know that as Amanda was driving me to the airport in New York, all of a sudden, the sign said Jersey City with some dastardly crooked arrow signaling pointedly into a muddle, and we were lost in the dirty city again.

My last adventure began this way and I am beginning to fear how Jersey City might sneak up on me the next time! 

Our (Jersey City and me) last encounter involved a case of six German wines.  The U.S. government stole them from me right out of the mail; held them hostage in a wherehouse down a tortuous, stop-lighted road in a vacated, numbered lot; and charged me two dollars to retrieve the care package that was sent to California in the first place.

Our (Amanda and me) time in Jersey City was mostly spent photographing streets with names like ‘Vroom’ and the undersides of the freeway from dirt roads that we came across in the multitudes of circling and where-the-heck-are-we’s we did around the dirty city.

Luckily, this time Amanda maneuvered free of the dirty city’s grasp with an ingenuous U-turn, obvious and round—an artless move that would insult the craftiest of ugly concrete mazes.

Yes, I am expressing triumph.

Halloween: Pittston, PA

The streets were quiet, but potential, while Amanda and I snuck out with her grandmother to the Olive Garden for dinner on Halloween night.  Leaving a note for the candy hunters on the door, telling them when we would be back, seemed more dignified than my effort the past year.

Although I learned many things in school, I do feel academia sheltered me from any exposure to these lil’ ones who are so potent and lifelike.  This became clear to me as I answered a knock on my door in San Jose last year: two trick-or-treaters.  With a shocked look on my face I greeted the dashing beasts with an “Is today Halloween?” and before they could reply asked them to hold on.  I closed the door and turned to Silvio quickly telling him to help me search the house for anything sweet and giveable.

After a little sweat and a twice over of the cupboards we returned to the door with the option of a banana or canned garbanzo beans.  Already halfwaydown my walkway the little beasts politely declined my offer and scampered off for a chance a sweeter plunder next-door.  Silvio and I quickly turned the lights out and hid in the backroom until we established a plan and proper escape route from our cornered situation.

Despite being in a State with arguably less youth, the return from the Olive Garden this year went a bit smoother—the neighbor greeting us to tell that the streets were quite calm this year.  “Not to many Haloweeners,” he said.  I quietly let go a sigh of relief, currently disregarding the fact that they refer to ‘trick-or-treaters’ as ‘halloweeners’ over here (I guess it is more appropriate for their average size). But Amanda’s grandmother wouldn’t let go so easy. 

This halloween I witnessed the type of compassion they don’t teach in academia.  Within minutes she was out on the porch with the candy bucket yelling at kids who looked like they might be passsing without getting the generous handful of sweets they were due: “Hey, come ova here!” she yelled to the ghost.  “I’ve got candy for ya!” she yelled to the zombie.  With plenty of effort she emptied that basket, mostly on the neighbor who also got a few extra handfuls to give to friends, though an eloquent bout of pro-active halloweening.