My Life is a Sitcom or a Soap Opera... or Both

I actually had a friend tell me that I should have a podcast about my life because ... well, I'm not sure there was a reason, but she was laughing like a maniac at the time. I think I had told her of my latest adventures including apparently removing a chunk of cornea with my contact lens, my children using my bra as a weapon, and dealing with a client who just can't make up his mind. I told her that my life is normal. She disagreed.

For now, I'll stick to blogging, I told her, because I can't even keep up with that, so adding a podcast would make me feel guilty about ignoring my blogs because when I'm writing blog posts I feel guilty about not doing laundry and that much guilt will require more meds and therapy than my insurance will cover.

In other words. I'm still here.

What Ever Happened to Village Gate Square? (Rochester, NY)

I've sent this to the local paper, but I doubt they will publish it. I will share it with you here, just in case, because the story should be told.

Today I took my son to Village Gate Square. You know Village Gate. The place where you say to your friends, "I'm going to Village Gate and they say, "Hey! Can we come with?"

We were looking forward to checking out Bop Shop Records, Ricky's Place, Far Out Vintage, and Comics, Etc. Three out of four were gone. In their places were construction cones and wilted caution tape. Active construction appeared to be going on with questionable safety.

When we wandered into Comics, Etc., a man in a white shirt appeared to be having a heated discussion with the men behind the counter. He was saying something about rent. I concluded that he was someone who might know what was going on, so when their conversation paused, I said, "Excuse me. What happened to Village Gate?"

He turned to me and smiled condescendingly. He told me that they were updating and would have many fine restaurants soon. He asked me who I was and I responded that I was a consumer who came to Village Gate specifically to find those shops that sold items not found anywhere else. It was home to artistic, creative, vintage, unique shops. Where had they gone? He smiled that smile again and spoke to me as if to a child, explaining that he needed his rent.  It occurred to me that he must be getting his rent if he could afford the major construction going on. He then turned to the men behind the counter and said that I must be a friend of theirs.

I could tolerate the condescension, but to say that I was expressing my opinion as a ruse? I got angry. Obviously, the men in the store denied it because I don’t know any of them. He turned to me again as I tried to explain why Village Gate had character and how it was a shame for it to be lost. He asked me if he should get rent. I felt an equally absurd question was in order so I asked him, “Are you an asshole?” To which he turned and stormed away saying he didn’t need to be insulted, which in Management language means, “Yes.” Was I wrong in calling him a name? Yes. I'm sorry I did it. But I wanted answers and was asking sincerely as a consumer and was getting blown off. Management should at least listen to what consumers are saying and be polite and informative. Asking if he should get paid rent is NOT a reasonable response.

Village Gate was home to the independent stores where you could find the unique and wonderfully eccentric – an extension of the artistic community. Now it will be aluminum and glass. How very sad.  

Bloggers Who Hurt

A friend of mine called my attention to a blog post that was incredibly hurtful to a certain part of the population. I refuse to give this blogger any kind of inadvertent promotion by telling you the subject or anything else about it. I just want to share something with MY readers.

Writing a blog post that is inflammatory, simply to get a rise out of people and draw attention to your blog is irresponsible and quite frankly, just plain mean. To then take the well-thought out responses of those who are offended and continue to debase people is inexcusable. 

Yes, we all have freedom of speech. Some of us use this power for good. Some of us use it to make others feel bad. Some use it for attention via stepping all over other people's feelings. I have some very wise advise to offer that Wil Wheaton lives by:

Don't be a dick.

Interview with Gene Doucette

Go check out my interview with Gene Doucette on the day of his new book release: Hellenic Immortal.

Fridge Update

Because I know you can't stand the suspense, I'll tell you that an adult technician came in, ran through a series of tests that were dictated to him over the phone from Frigidaire because they won't give the techs a hard copy, and concluded that the ice maker is broken. Um. Yeah.

Anyway, it needs a whole new board of computer software apparatus or something that will require them to pull out the fridge and probably be eaten whole by the dust bunnies that are likely waiting for him. They probably broke the ice maker for this exact reason.... Now I get it....

Technician Doogie 2

I forgot to mention that now my "new" refrigerator doesn't make ice (yes, it is supposed to) so they sent one guy out who had to call someone else to try to figure out what was wrong and guessed it was some part called a timberometerothingie or something and ordered it. Three days later, Doogie Howser 2, who was quite possibly 12 and may have needed a phone book on the van seat to drive, took everything apart, spilled water all over the floor, put in the timbealoinemimt, and went away. And my fridge still doesn't make ice.

So today a THIRD tech is coming over. Soon. And he will probably figure out that it's some other thingamajointer that will have to be ordered and we'll have to have a FOURTH tech come put it in... This is like the Twilight Zone. It's like a neverending loop.

Whoa.

Yes, I have been totally neglecting this blog, my personal one, to pay attention to my Mini Book Review blog and my business blog.

So, I'm back, or I'll try to be back, bringing with me news of why my life is a sitcom - and why I hate sitcoms.

Good Riddance

Today we took our Christmas tree out to the road. The aforementioned Poison Ivy Tree. And I'm telling you this even though you didn't post anything because I'm nice.

We donned latex gloves, pulled the Christmas tree bag up over the tree (I couldn't get Hazmat  suits from eBay quickly enough), tied it with string which promptly broke, and then duct taped the crap out of it. No poison ivy could escape that bag. Well, I suppose it could, but it would have to get through the plastic and duct tape. Oh, and all the stuff that I wiped with Clorox wipes including my own skin.

The tree is now at the road and my son took a photo of me flipping the bird next to it. Nice, right? I know.

Oh. Hi.

Yes, I've been a slacker in the blogging department. Suck it up. I'm here now with a story to tell that will make up for my absence. It's called: My Life is a Sitcom because my Christmas Tree is Full of Poison Ivy.

You know, the title tells it all. I wonder if anyone is actually going to read this. Maybe I'll wait and see before telling the story. If you want to hear it, comment or follow. So there.