Because there should be a word: Eco-nesia

This happens to me a lot when I’m grocery shopping, usually when I’m approaching the check out lanes:  I remember forgetting something essential.  No, not a shopping list item, but my shopping tote.  I’ve either left it at home or in the trunk of my car.

And I tell myself that I have to get in the habit of remembering my tote bag.  Must remember tote bag…must remember tote bag….tote bag…must remember….

But today it happened again.  This time at Trader Joe’s.  I was standing in line, holding my five items, when I noticed the woman in front of me putting her purchases in a Hello Kitty tote bag.

By the time I got to the register and saw the checkout guy peeling off a plastic bag, he might as well have been whipping out a penalty flag.

Why is there this continued lapse in my eco-consciousness?  I recycle.  I compost.  I strive for energy efficiency.  Heck, I’ve even had an tote bag made from the denim of my old worn blue jeans.  But if I shop organic, the purchases usually go into a white plastic bag.  Or maybe I should call it what it is: a non-degradable pouch of petroleum-based shame.

And that’s why I believe there should be a word like “eco-nesia,” to define moments when you forget the green habits that you normally (or at least intend to) practice.  For instance, accidentally tossing something that’s recyclable in a trash bin, or forgetting to turn off the plug-in electronics and appliances you’re not using would both be moments of eco-nesia.

It’s either that or start calling these brain farts “mental greenhouse emissions.”

My Urban Garden 9-22-08: Two Praying Mantises on Limelight Hydrangea

My Urban Garden 9-21-08: Butterflies

Dreams: Haircuts, books, bikes and bad movies

I dreamed I was driving around one of the plazas by the Dayton Mall.

I’m listening to a radio show, and I’m not sure if the person being interviewed is serious.  He’s talking about the history of Schwinn bicycles, and claims they were called Schwinn because of a misunderstanding.  Supposedly the founder of the company was an immigrant, trying to promote his brand of bicycles, but his German accent was so thick that when he’d tell people that if they rode his bikes they’d go as fast as the wind it would come out sounding like, “youz villz goes fastiss liken da schvind,” and what sounded like “schvind” became known as a Schwinn.

I’m supposed to get a haircut, but I’m early, so I walk around and notice the Half Price Books store is being renovated.  They’re expanding.  (Looking back, it seems ironic for a Half Price Books to be doubling in size.)  Anyway, I go in and find a beautiful book about Greek mythology with great illustrations.  I try to remember the name of a female character.  I flip through the pages thinking it will jog my memory, but it doesn’t help.  It isn’t until I leave the store that I remember the name is Penelope, from The Odyssey.  Why I would want to look up that name or its significance is beyond me.

Anyway, I head back to the salon, but I can’t find it.  I come to salon after salon, but not the right one.

Then I woke up and watched a couple programs on my DVR.

When I went back to sleep I’m back in my Indiana hometown.  It’s winter and I’m trying with increasing difficulty to ride my bike over the snow and ice.  I look down over the handlebars and realize I have leak in my front tire.  Then this car pulls alongside me, and this bald black man with shades rolls down the rear passenger side window and tells me he plans to steal my bike eventually, and to get used to it because there’s nothing I can do.

Instead of heading south where my mother’s house is, I push my bike north.  In the dream my logic is that if I’ll go to an unfamiliar part of town I’ll get lost and somehow the bad guys won’t be able to find me.  If I don’t know where I’m at then neither will the bad guys.

Suddenly, it’s summer and I don’t recognize the intersection I’m at.  And it’s just not two streets intersecting horizontally and vertically, but there are other streets that come in from a diagonal direction too.  I still have the bike and the front tire is still flat.  I’m trying to figure out the traffic lights and which green light indicates when I’ll be able to cross the street.  Eventually I just take a chance and cross the street when I think it’s appropriate.  Once across the street, I walk down steps and into a park with a paved path alongside a river.  It’s really a lovely place.

Then I’m in this run down apartment with old fashioned, brown wallpaper.  It’s strange, but this a movie.  But instead of watching it on a screen, it’s happening around me as if I’m on stage while a play is being performed.  And the thing is it’s an unfunny movie about fetishists.  It’s one of those bad comedies ex-SNL cast members make where the punchlines and situations are supposed to be outrageous and shocking but instead end up sounding and looking stupid and gross.  There’s this one scene where everyone confesses what they like to do and this sadist baker played by someone that could be Dan Ackroyd talks about strapping two cookie sheets to his ass and standing people up in his tall oven and farting on them.  And then there’s this woman who says she’s a prim librarian but she looks straight out of Sweeney Todd.  She talks about wanting to be treated roughly, the sadist baker takes out a whisk and thank goodness what happens next is out of my line of sight.  I just hear a lot of ridiculous noises and whooping.  It was being played for laughs; but I’m thinking, Why am I stuck in this movie?  When will this be over so I can wake up?

And suddenly I was awake.

The Sarah Palin Moore Show

A lot has been said about Sarah Palin’s resemblance to Tina Fey.  But ever since the Republican Convention in Minnesota, I’ve looked at the Republican ticket and members of the party as a bizarre version of the Mary Tyler Moore Show with Sarah Palin as an evangelical, right wing version of Mary Richards.

Seriously, next time you’re watching a news channel and there’s lots of Sarah Palin footage of her on the campaign trail, put the sound on mute and sing this song:

(to the tune of “Love is All Around”:)

Who’s the hockey mom from way up north

Who can take a nothing race

And suddenly make the right seem reformed

Well, it’s you gov, and polls reflect it

With church groups and every PUMA voter connected

 

Numbers upward bound

No need to vet you

Press will snoop around

But we’ll protect you

You’re just one heartbeat from it all

You’re just one heartbeat from it all

 

Just imagine Republican Party Headquarters instead of the WJM newsroom.

Of course, John McCain would be Lou Grant.  That one time he met with Sarah Palin, when he still wanted Lieberman as his running mate?  Something right out of the pilot episode.  (“Hey, you’ve got spunk.  I HATE spunk!”)

Joe Lieberman would be Ted Baxter. 

Rudy Giuliani would be Murry.

Cindy McCain would be Sue Anne Niven.

And Rhoda?  I’m thinking Sean Hannity.

Of course, I’m hoping this won’t be a long running sitcom and by November they’ll all be huddled close together, shuffling over as a group and reaching for box of kleenex.

Suddenly, there’s lots of available firewood in Dayton

Yesterday a powerful windstorm smashed through Dayton.  The Miami Valley has its fair share of intense weather, but this was unreal.  Far worse than a severe thunderstorm and more like a tornado.

Before the wind started taking a turn for the worse, I remembered the Colts were playing the Vikings.  The local station, however, was airing the Bears/Panthers game.  But I put the tv on mute and occasionally glanced at the rotating scoreboard while doing my accounting homework.

But I became so frustrated by the 0-9 score and the thought of a second consecutive Colts loss that I took my homework out to my car because sometimes I’m able to pick up an Indy AM station.

That low score turned out ot be a good thing because it wasn’t long before the wind started getting stronger.  Looking overhead, I noticed the high tree limbs bobbing back and forth as if made of springs.  Worried, I decided to pull out from under the trees, and minutes later a big catalpa limb crashed down where the car had been.

I’m so glad I had the trees trimmed months earlier because I’m convinced those mulberry limbs and branches that had grown out over the alley and into the power and phone lines would have collapsed taking down not only the lines but a lot of my back fence too.

(And I also felt good because eventually the Colts came from behind and won the game.)

It wasn’t until this morning while driving to school that I saw the extent of the damage.  It was as if a hoarde of giant monsters had stomped through the area, breaking and hacking off tree limbs or just shoving over the trees entirely.  Streets seemed autumny covered in leaves, except the leaves were still green and in shredded pieces.  Some streets and driveways were blocked off completely because of all the fallen timber.

My power had only gone out for a half hour and flickered once or twice after that; but neighborhoods surrounding Dayton were still without electricity.  By afternoon traffic lights still weren’t working in Oakwood and Kettering.  I couldn’t get anything at Trader Joe’s.  It and the entire shopping center were closed due to the power outtage.

My Urban Garden 9-13-08: Spider in the hostas

Laid off, with feeling….and gift carbs, not gift cards.

Someone from first shift left this and a few other signs for us second shifters.  Yeah, might want to keep those cardboard resumes around for yourself, buddy.  The factory will be on shut down for the entire month of December, and word is that production will stop for good by February.

The last week started out as a grind, but we were well fed the last two nights.  Thursday, at the beginning of the shift, the company had bagel and muffin platters set out in the breakrooms.  Then later they extended lunch by thirty minutes and treated everyone to a catered supper.  Tonight one of the departments had a pitch-in dinner, and there was so much food that they invited anyone to help finish off the leftover pizza and desserts.

In the middle of first round production, the plant manager stopped the line and gathered us together and told us what a good crew we were and how much our efforts were appreciated.  Because of our solid quality record, the factory had a better chance than others around the country of eventually producing another company product.

It was a nice gesture, but none of us are holding out hope for a return of second shift.   And then again, that’s why he gave his speech: because he knows he’ll never see us again.

And, likewise, that’s why suddenly these last couple days I’ve heard compliments and gotten hugs from coworkers that I’ve really only known casually.  And also why more people than I would imagine wanted to take my picture.  One woman wanted to make sure I smiled when she took my picture because I had, according to her, ”the most innocent smile she’d ever seen on a man.”

“Doesn’t Torgoman have a great smile?” she told the other women around her.  “It’s the dimples,” another woman said.  Then they all took so many pictures I had spots in my eyes afterward.  Apparently, my dimples had for years made an impression in the workplace that I was not aware of.

It’s not that I’m complaining, but this was way different than my first lay off exit in January.

I actually believe I’ll see some of them at school in a few weeks, enrolled in healthcare classes and transitioning into new careers.  

How they’ll manage to get by with less income is another question.  Last night a woman learned that the repo man was in the parking lot trying reclaim her car.  She immediately ran off the line, got into her car and refused to get out.  Eventually, after four police officers arrived, she gave up.   But it took them nearly an hour to convince her.

As for me, I’m relieved.  I’ll miss you, Mr. Five Hundred Dollar Plus Paycheck; but it’s time to say goodbye, for good.

My Urban Garden Photo 9-7-08: Hummingbird