41 posts tagged “personal”

I looked at my latest car payment statement.  I only owe $660 more on my car, so I'll be finally free of car payments by the beginning of the year.  It's been a long time since I've not owed on a car and I'm looking forward to having more money at my disposal for other things.  I just hope the car doesn't fall apart once I get my title in the mail.

I hope to use some of the money I used for car payments each month to go towards paying my credit cards down.  I'll start with the one I owe the least on and concentrate on getting it paid off, then move on to the next one.  I'm sure I'll be spending money on car repairs, but at least I won't have to come up with the same amount of money each and every month.

Getting this particular car loan paid off is a victory of sorts for me.  I was only a year into the loan when I was fired from my last job.  My first thought as I left that job for good was that I was going to lose my car.  But despite six months of unemployment, followed by having to take a job that paid less than half of what I'd been making before, I've still got the car and I'm about to own it free and clear.  I almost feel like driving  by my former place of employment to thumb my nose at them as a symbolic way to show them that despite them kicking me down, that I was far from out.

For most of my life, I’ve had recurring dreams. These aren’t dreams where every detail is exact, but the key points are present in the theme.

One dream I used to have fairly often as a kid involved me walking out onto a deserted beach. I’d come upon a huge glass bubble/dome. I’d go to the door and there would be a big slot where I’d have to insert a penny the size of a manhole cover in order to get inside the bubble. Once inside, there were doctors everywhere performing operations. But they weren’t operating on people. The “operations” were amorphous blobs of various sizes; the larger the blob, the more serious the operation. After seeing everything, I’d wander out and start walking away from the ocean. As I’d come upon a big round pit in the sand, I’d hear the sound of motorcycles approaching. The doctors were riding the motorcycles and they’d circle round and round the pit several times. Odd dream that I’ve not had again in adulthood.

In another dream, I was at the very top of the Chrysler Building in New York City late at night by myself. The entire inside of the building had been totally gutted, except for the railings from the stairways. I’d look down 77 stories of what amounted to a gaping hole, wondering how I was going to get down. I’d carefully jump from railing to railing, slowly making my way down, always afraid I’d make a misstep and fall into the hole. Again, I haven’t had this particular dream in a long time.

One dream that I still have from time to time involves tornadoes. The details always differ, but the theme of the dream is a tornado coming and I’m trying to find shelter. I always find somewhere to hunker down, but just before the tornado strikes, I find something about the shelter that is vulnerable and inadequate. Nevertheless, the tornado never gets me and I always survive.

Feel free to share your recurring dreams in your comment.

Like most people, I’ve had several embarrassing things to happen to me in my life. What I am about to relate, however, is probably my most embarrassing moment.

One evening in the early nineties, I decided to drive thirty miles to a larger town to visit a bookstore, bringing my then preteen son along with me.

Not long after we arrived and my son had gone off to look at the kids’ books, I was hit by severe stomach cramps. I tried to ignore it, hoping it would go away, but the pain only increased. I knew that I had to find a bathroom -- fast!

The store had a public restroom; a single toilet bathroom meant to be used by both sexes. And I got to it just in time. No sooner than I’d sat on the toilet than I was hit with extreme diarrhea. I sat there for several minutes, not wanting to get up until I was sure I was through. Several times, I thought I was done, but had to sit down again for another wave.

Finally, the stomach pain abated. I wiped, then flushed the toilet and moved to wash my hands. But I never heard that “glug-glug-glug” sound a toilet makes after a successful flush, so I turned to see what the problem was. To my dismay, the water in the toilet was rising rapidly and it overflowed as I watched. And kept overflowing until the water and unmentionable stuff was two inches deep on the bathroom floor and was flowing out the bottom of the door onto the sales floor.

Normally, in such an instance, in the usual public, multi-stalled restroom, I’d just quietly slink away from the scene of the crime, as no one would know who’d done it. But in this instance, I was trapped. I’d asked a salesclerk where the bathroom was, so they’d know who’d done it, if I simply slunk out of the store. And because I wanted to be able to come back there again to buy books, sneaking out wasn’t an option.

And I didn’t want to leave the bathroom to search for a salesperson to tell them what had happened, as another person could have gone into the bathroom and found the mess while I was doing that.

Looking around the bathroom, I saw several rolls of paper towels, so I cleaned up the nastiest part of the mess as well as I could, stuffing their trashcan full of dirty towels. I did all this with my stomach still on the queasy side. However, there was still the water and some residual nastiness to deal with after I’d used up all the towels.

I poked my head out the door and got the attention of a passing salesclerk, asking him to bring me a mop and a bucket, explaining that the toilet had overflowed. After it was brought, I cleaned it up as quickly as I could.

Finally, I came out. The manager thanked me for cleaning it up, and mentioned, offhandedly that they’d been having that problem with the toilet for some time. More than a little put out, I asked why hadn’t it been fixed and why wasn’t there a sign in the bathroom warning people of the problem, as I’d have run next door to the Burger King to use the bathroom had I known their toilet was malfunctioning. He mumbled some sort of an excuse about their budget, but said he’d put up a sign.

I left soon thereafter, and it was over a year before I went to that store again.

Feel free to share your own embarrassing moments in the comment section.

Among other instruments, I learned how to play the French horn in high school, starting when the band director asked for volunteers, as we only had one horn player.  I taught myself to play it over the summer, which wasn’t that hard to do, as I already knew how to play the trumpet.  I took to the horn well and eventually went to college to major in Music Performance.

Today, I thought I’d give you a pictorial tour of the horns I’ve played and/or owned in my lifetime.

The first horn I used was a one of the school’s old battered Olds Ambassador F single horn models:

Olds Ambassador

It looked pretty much like this one — even down to the big crinkle in the bell.  Still, it was built like a Timex watch and was quite playable.

My next horn, was the school’s Conn 6D, which was quite a step up, as it was a semi-pro double F/Bb horn.  I got this horn passed down for me when the school bought a new Reynolds for the first chair player.

Conn 6D

I loved this horn.  I progressed quickly on it and it had a nice, fat sound to it.  I remember the band director, whose main instrument was French horn, that between him and I, the two of us could drown out the rest of the band.  I remember that I cultivated a trombone-like tone to my playing, which worked well when playing pieces that featured the brass sections.  When we did Kenton’s Malaguena, I learned the trombone solo by ear, and played that, rather that the boring French horn part the score called for.

I made All-State band playing this instrument and it carried me the rest of the way through high school.

The band director owned a coveted pre-war Conn 8D, which he brought to school and let me play a few times.   The 8D, first introduced in 1937, was considered the creme de la creme of French horns at one time.  Along with the 6D, introduced in 1935, the 8D is still produced to this day, and they are both still well-respected choices.

Conn 8D

When it came time for me to go off to college, I got a French horn as a graduation present.  My father thought the 8D was too expensive, so I ended up with a Holton H177, which was quite popular at the time and, like the Conns, is still in production.  I think I was partially influenced by the fact that my favorite jazz musician at the time, Maynard Ferguson, played and endorsed Holton brass instruments.

Holton H-177

While, this was a good horn, in retrospect,  I have to say that the Conn 6D was my favorite of the bunch.  I kept this horn until the mid-90s, when I sold it during some lean times.  I’m kicking myself in the ass now, wishing I’d kept it, as there’s no way I could afford to buy another one now.

However, I’ve been browsing Ebay, and from what I’ve seen, I might be able to find a mechanically sound used 6D some day for under five hundred dollars.  In fact, an older horn, approximately of the vintage I played in high school, would likely be preferable, as it’s generally accepted that the older horns were better ones.  One day, maybe.

While looking on Ebay the other day, I saw something I’d never heard of before: a piccolo French horn.  Apparently, this is something that has been invented in the last couple of years or so.  I went to a site where they had a You Tube of someone playing one — and I waited the 45 minutes or so it took to download on my crappy dialup — and it didn’t sound half bad.  It played in about trumpet range and has kind of a flugelhorn tone quality to it.  I wouldn’t mind having one of these to mess around with, as they’re not that expensive, but currently there are only two Chinese-made versions available.  At present, Chinese-made musical instruments don’t have a very good reputation, so I’d be quite leery of buying one now, though this rep could very well change in the near future.

Piccolo horn next to standard size French horn

I'm an occasional shopper on Ebay  Most of the time I prefer to use the "Buy It Now" function if the price is right, so I don't have to dick around with others trying to get the same item.  Sometimes, however, I'll bid on an item without the Buy It Now feature, knowing that others will have the opportunity to outbid me.

Usually I will try to confine such bids to those items that will end when I'm home and able to monitor the final moments of the auction.  This is especially true when the item seems to be a popular one with a high chance of being outbid.

My bidding strategy is to wait until the very last moment to place my bid, entering the maximum amount I'm willing to pay for the item.  With a popular item, this has to be timed just so, in such a manner that another bidder has no time to outbid you before the auction closes.  Too soon and you'll be outbid.  Too late and the auction will close before your bid registers and you, again, lose the item to someone else.

A couple of days ago, I went to bid on an item that I'd placed on my "watch" list.   It didn't seem as if I was going to get much competition for it, as there were no bids until the last hour of the auction.  I lost the item because my maximum bid was too low and I'd bidded late enough that I didn't have time to raise it any.

Today, a duplicate item was about to close, so I signed into Ebay about an hour before it was about to close to monitor the countdown.  As before, the bids began to appear within that hour.  I also monitored the bid history in another tab, which also keeps track of automatic bidding.   About five minutes before the end of the auction, I entered my maximum amount, but did not press the button to make the bid just yet.  As time grew shorter, I closely watched the bidding history.

Biding my time, I pushed the button to enter my bid when the auction had 29 second to go, allowing for the slowness of my dialup connection.

Long story short, I won with 7 seconds to spare.  Stealth bidding.  Lurk beneath the surface until the last possible moment, then make a sudden strike.   It's worked pretty well for me in the nine years I've been buying from Ebay.

Ever since I was a kid, I've considered the last four months of the year as "the holiday season".   Starting with Labor Day, the holiday season includes Halloween, Thanksgiving, Christmas, and ends on New Year's Day.

Despite the fact that the beginning of September also meant the beginning of a new school year, I looked forward to the holiday season every year.  I still do now, especially because the holiday season means the end of hot summer weather, which is yet another reason to celebrate.

Many people lament "rushing the season", but I always cheer up in late summer when I see Halloween items appear in the store, knowing that summer will soon be over.  And, like a little kid, I still like seeing the first Christmas decorations on people's houses, though they appear earlier and earlier every year.

And this year is the earliest yet.  I saw the first house with Christmas lights on September 1st.  That's right, September 1st.   Within a week, I saw a second house similarly lit.   But even though it's amusingly early, I still smiled to see it.  After all, it's my favorite time of year.

Thoughts?

Lately, I’ve been turning to the library to fill in the gaps in my music collection. I’ve been borrowing CDs to take home to upload into my Windows Media Player and will, at some point, load selected songs into my MP3 player.  Money is tight right now, plus I’ve noticed that the places I usually buy CDs at have drastically reduced their selections for some reason.

I didn’t have anything particular in mind, so I just browsed the stacks.  After looking through the jazz selection, I ended up with a Dave Brubeck CD, “Time Out”, which included the track “Take Five“.   It brought back a lot of memories, as this was a song that I discovered when I was around 11 0r 12.

I began taking piano lessons when I was ten years old, and started in band the following year.   At that time, kids in the “band culture” of my school were exposed to a lot of jazz.  So, while most kids my age were listening to rock, pop, and the like, I was listening to jazz.  Though I like rock music now, my first choices in music when I started getting my own albums were in jazz.

“Take Five” was one of the first jazz songs I got into, and I was fortunate to hear Brubeck, along with Gerry Mulligan perform this song in the summer of 1972 at the Newport Jazz Festival in New York City.  I was also lucky enough to meet them after the set, and I think it pleased them that someone as young as I was at the time was getting into their music (I was 14),   In next few years, I also saw Maynard Ferguson in concert twice and participated in a jazz workshop with Stan Kenton at my high school.  At that time I wanted to be a jazz musician myself (and I’m sorry I didn’t fulfill my dream now).

The CD I borrowed was the original recording with Brubeck and alto saxophonist Paul Desmond (who wrote the song).  I was surprised to see that this song was originally recorded in 1959 — at the time I first got into it, I’d assumed it was a recent recording.   But as I listened to it in the car on the way home from the library, it still had all the original electricity that attracted me to the song in the first place and in no way sounded as if it had been recorded 50 years ago.  It sounds as fresh now as it did in the summer of 1959 when they recorded it.   And it still has sufficient power to make me feel the feelings all over again I had as a teen in the early 70s when I first wanted to become a musician.

I live very close to a set of railroad tracks, which runs along the back of my property and passes close to the eastern entrance of my street.  I am close enough to the tracks that if a train passes at night, I can look out my kitchen windows and see the lights from the locomotive, even through the pine trees.  It was rather disturbing to live so close to railroad tracks when I first moved in here more than two decades ago, but neither the rumbling of passing trains, nor the sound of the horn bothers me in the slightest.any longer.

Late the other night, when I was coming home, I turned onto my street at the eastern entrance and noticed the lights of a train about two hundred feet from the crossing.  I stopped, figuring it was better to be safe than sorry, considering how close the train was.  But after a moment, I realized that the train wasn't moving.  Still erring on the side of caution, I turned my radio off and let the windows down to listen for the telltale rumbling of a moving train.

Not hearing any rumbling and in the absence of a warning horn, I proceeded across.  No sooner than I'd cleared the tracks than I heard the horn sound signaling that the train had finally begun to move.  But I'd already pulled into my driveway by the time the train actually passed over the crossing, as my house is only five or six houses beyond.

As I got out of my car and listened to the rumbling of the train heading up the tracks toward town, sounding the horn several more times along the way, my mind traveled back to an incident that happened several years ago when I was still on the police force.

At that time, an old man made the same turn I did the other night, except he did not take the time to look and listen before crossing the tracks.  He was hit by the train, which pushed his car quite a ways up the tracks before it was able to finally stop.  The man was dead on impact, which was obvious to those of us first on the scene responding to this call.

It was noted at the time that crossing gates and signals were needed for this intersection, considering that the northern approach to the crossing was screened by trees, obscuring the approach of a train from that direction.  Plus, someone listening to the radio and running air conditioning with the windows up could easily miss the sounds of an oncoming train.

Nothing has changed, however, in the nearly 20 years since that old guy was killed by a train.  There are still no gates and no signals, and the trees lining the tracks are even bigger.  I've always been careful when crossing over the tracks there; I suppose what happened to the old man has stuck in my mind all these years. 

But as I walked into the  house as the receding sounds of the passing train still reached me, I thought that I could have easily missed noticing the train if had been daytime, as there would have been no lights to quickly call my attention to its presence.

As busy as my street is, I'm surprised there haven't been more such accidents at that crossing, which is why, I suppose, they've not bothered to add gates and signals..

Your result for Your personal Learning Styles Inventory Test…

The Great Communicator

63% Visual, 63% Musical, 75% Linguistic, 25% Kinesthetic, 38% Logical, 50% Interpersonal and 67% Intrapersonal!

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