I’m so glad you were able to call me yesterday. It was the one present I wanted on Christmas, but didn’t think I’d get.
Hang on. There’s something in my eye.
OK.
I’ve sent three letters to you at Navy boot camp, and you had the nerve to tell Gideon on the call that you really wanted letters from him and your dad.
“Not that I don’t love your letters, Mom,” you said.
Sure.
And yes, I’ll send plenty of pictures of Vince. That dog misses you, for sure.
I do too.
It’s crazy that so much has happened since I saw you for Thanksgiving.
I mean … so much. The Monday after Thanksgiving, you passed another PST, got your orders the following week, and shipped out about 10 days later.
To be a Navy SEAL is a difficult path, and few make it. You are stubborn, though, and will follow through if it is your idea and something you want.
“Do They Know It’s Christmas,” Band Aid. Nothing says Christmas like the “clanging chimes of doom.” Don’t listen to the lyrics. Just enjoy Boy George, Bono, George Michael, Sting and Simon Le Bon, among other ‘80s faves.
“You’re a Mean One,” Thurl Ravenscroft. The Grinch is the OG of holiday crankiness. I love him, but I don’t identify with him until his heart grows three sizes.
I’m a fan of them, in general, but they are not suited for the rental market for two main reasons:
Miles possible on a charge.
Availability of charging stations.
Time to charge.
Ok, so let’s discuss No. 1. I was told at the JFK rental counter that the Chevy Volt that was forced on me** would get 250 miles per charge.
Perhaps that’s true if the owner takes care of the car. But this Volt was a rental. I was told it was fully charged when the rental fellow turned over the keys.
It didn’t look charged to me:
It looks like it has just over half a charge, but what do I know?
So I went on my way to visit my father on Long Island.
That brings us to No. 2. Random charging stations are available here and there, but there are only a few plugs at a time. With more and more people driving electric vehicles, sometimes there is a wait to charge. There’s also the No. 3 issue. I’ll get to that in a moment.
I found a charging station six miles from my father’s house. It was in a parking lot near a fire station. Luckily, he was able to go with me to set the car on charge, then we drove around and had lunch.
What if that hadn’t been an option?
And here’s the biggest problem: Time to charge (No. 3).
We left the car charging for 2.5 hours. And that wasn’t enough to get it fully charged from a 65-mile drive.
2.5 HOURS!
I had to find another charging station on the way back. (Why? To avoid the $60 fee for bringing it back on less than 100 percent charged. Seems like you REALLY like that dollar figure.)
This time, I managed to find a fast-charge place by a mall. There were five charging units, but only three were working. I had to wait to get one.
I plugged in the car, and waited. Tethered like a teenager to TikTok.
The charging unit said one hour to 80 percent charge. The Volt said 34 minutes to full charge.
Can you guess the Volt’s problem?
My guess is battery health.
It’s not like these cars are cheaper or cooler to drive. And you still have to pay for charging, so there’s no major saving over gas.
Home use is a great idea. I borrowed my friend Marlane’s Kia EV over Thanksgiving, and it was fantastic. I set it on charge in the garage overnight once it got low.
But for a rental? No thanks. Bad idea.
If you won’t take my advice, please just make a note in my file that I never want to rent one again.
**I got the manager’s special rate with the best available car. The Volt is what was offered. I asked (read: begged) for a regular car. No, ma’am, unless I wanted to pay $60 extra.
Classes are over, though, and I earned my certificate. I knew I’d be fine in the Commercial Pyrotechnics course because I did well in the Stage Pyrotechnics and Special Effects course.
Demolition? Not so much.
At one point, I thought I was going to fail.
Not only did I not fail, I earned an A in the course — due in large part to the final project, which was a group project to create a bid to demolish the St. Louis Arch.
Three twentysomething engineering students and me. We spent weeks working on this project via email, Zoom and group chat. (Our group name: Arch Nemesis, Inc. — yuk, yuk.)
I needed a nearly perfect score to get an A. I had come to terms with getting a B. Then we presented our work. The professor had nothing but good things to say about our bid presentation.
Y’all. He gave us extra credit.
I am so proud of us. I’m proud of myself.
Maybe you can hire me for your next explosive event. Or not. I think I’m done with this chapter of my life.
Now that this semester is over, I may get back to writing regularly.
I mean, why else would straight, middle-aged me go to this?:
Lord knows that I am not the target audience.
My friend Wendy went with me. We were definitely the oldest people there by about 25 years. Two of a handful not in costume. And I’d bet a rainbow flag that I was the only heterosexual.
Not that any of this matters. It was a fun night. It was nice to get out, as my new job has consumed my life.
BUT we were there to see Big Freedia. And while I appreciate that you stepped in last minute when Freedia had a family emergency, I wasn’t really feeling your set.
I also wasn’t feeling the four bathrooms and two small bars for 500 people.*
I WAS feeling a new friend named Derek, though. Literally. He asked me to fix the garter buckle on the stockings of his sexy nurse costume. I was happy to help, and I ended up with what he proclaimed as my “new twink son.”
I just got back from a trip to China for work. I was in Zhengzhou and Shanghai. I had been to Shanghai before, so I kind of knew what to expect.
However, there were some surprises.
Things I did not have on my bingo card:
Sweet and sour popcorn fishWhat amounted to drinkable kerosene (106 proof!)A Rolls Royce golf cart for a tour of a university campusA campus that looked like Disney World mated with Las VegasA bowling alley inside the student centerA military parade featuring all 8,000 freshmenA welcome ceremony that rivaled the opening ceremony for the OlympicsLiberace’s furniture in my hotel roomA bathroom with a viewing windowDuck (I think) to go at the airportThe amount of full-on staring people did at our groupThe taxi ride from hell: snorting/coughing and texting driver who wouldn’t turn the air on but wouldn’t turn off the turn signal
It was an interesting and productive trip, but I’m glad to be home.
Oregon is an interesting place. The people are fascinating.
I’m used to eccentric people. I lived in Savannah for many years, after all.
But Oregon takes it to a new level. It seems like everyone I’ve met is some version of “different” — meaning not mainstream or like anyone I’ve ever met. (I know there is no “normal.”)
Like the lady who waxed my eyebrows while telling me about her life as an escort.
Or the collection of people I met on a recent Tuesday night.
I’m trying to build a friend network. My next-door neighbor invited me to a get-together billed as a game night.
It was not a game night — certainly not in the way I described my cards-and-wine night with neighbors in St. Louis.
Only one person — “James” — knew most of the people in the group. Most of the seven people were meeting for the first time at one woman’s house.
It was a disparate group.
The guests:
Amy: Neighbor. Identifies as gay and uses she/her pronouns.
“James,” formerly Jamie: Amy was certain the pronouns used are they/them, but James’ partner used she/her.
Charlie: James’ partner. No pronouns used. In transition, but it’s unclear which direction.
Francis: A midwife and psychic/medium who uses they/them. Also wears a turban to casual events. As one does.
Brielle: She/her. Was in a polyamorous relationship. Fell in love with a different partner. Now divorcing her husband to be monogamous with new man who lives in Chile.
K—-: I wish I could remember her actual name. It was so unusual with an unusual spelling that I couldn’t get a handle on it. I wish I could have written it down. (I’m old. I need to write things down.) Her house was the gathering point. Straight woman (she/her) with husband and kids.
Obviously, I like my neighbor. And Brielle and K—- seemed lovely. I couldn’t get a read on James.
Meanwhile, there was Charlie and Francis. I could happily live my whole life without seeing them again.
Charlie would ask someone a question, then start talking to James or Amy and not listen to the answer. Others were listening though. Then Charlie would jump back into the conversation and not know what was happening. Then ask more questions to which Charlie wouldn’t listen.
And here’s one of my exchanges with Francis:
Me: So when did you realize you were psychic?
Francis: A lot of people have asked me that question.
Extended pause.
Me: And?
Francis: My father was always very supportive.
Me: That’s great! So when did you know you had an ability others didn’t?
Francis: Well, I just had so much death in my life. I felt I could feel their energy.
Uh huh. So I call bullshit on Francis. I’m sorry, but if you had this gift, wouldn’t you be able to pinpoint the moment you knew you were differently abled? Am I wrong here?
Anyway, it was a weird night. Another adjective to use is exhausting.
Amy asked me if I had a good time. I can be diplomatic sometimes. I talked about how fun I thought Brielle and K—- were.
Amy: And the others?
Me: James seemed very quiet.
Amy: James is always quiet when Charlie is around.
Yeah, I bet.
Later, Amy told me Charlie asked if Charlie could be Amy’s roommate. That would make Charlie my neighbor too. It took every ounce of restraint not to scream “NOOOO!”
Luckily, Amy reported this week that the two of them met, and Amy’s place is not really the best option for Charlie at this time.
[Audible sigh of relief]
I’m sure Charlie and Francis are beloved by others. They don’t need me.
I’m working on other friendships.
Winery Wendy and I went to my town’s new beer fest last weekend. It replaced the annual Turkeyrama. (You know I would have loved to go to that.)
The beer fest was … underattended. I don’t think they advertised at all. Wendy and I were two of maybe 15 people hanging out in a hot-assed insurance company parking lot.
Unlike most beer fests where breweries set up their own stations, this one had two trucks with a bunch of options. Strange, but the outcome was the same: I got to try a bunch of local beer.
The music was good too. Maybe next year the organizers will actually promote the event.
Anyway, as you can tell, I’m fine: I’m meeting all sorts of people. And liking most of them.
MCMINNVILLE, Ore. — An Oregon woman who calls herself “Auntie Beth” emerged from her work/home loop Saturday to visit a Willamette winery, according to a source close to the woman.
“She’s lived here for more than a month already,” said the source. “We were about to do a welfare check.”
Lured by an advertisement touting “live music,” Auntie Beth arranged to meet up with a new Facebook friend. This friend, Wendy, and Auntie Beth were surprised and dismayed to discover that the music genre was jazz.
Still, they stayed until the event was over, then continued the evening at Lumpy’s Tavern a short distance away.
This dive bar featured many local craft brews on tap, a variety of interesting people, three pool tables and karaoke.
Auntie Beth arrived home safe at 1:30 a.m. — four hours past her normal bedtime. She and Wendy are expected to repeat the evening in two weeks.
