Duncan's Blog

I never realized how protective I am of my professors. My two instructors are both foreign-born. Night classes at a community college can get a bit rowdy. I remember one instance in which a student wrote a story about his friend whom he called Douche-Bag. The Italian teacher had no idea what it meant. Later in the semester she asked if anyone had returned to a gelateria that we had gone to. One of the students said that he had, but that the owner was acting like a total dick.
"Cosa vuol dire DICK?"
Not so easy to explain... or maybe it was too easy!
I also come to terms with the fact that I am surrounded by some people both professionally and scholastically who simply have a narrow based vocabulary register that seems to have an overabundance of profanity. When I hear it I think that the person has either been in jail or that he associates with a more common denominator. My Mother used to refer to such peope as, "The Element!" "That's what happens," she used to say, "when the Element moves in."
I fancy myself a clean man.

I'm a big fan of Goldie Hawn. I think she's a serious actress who is capable of doing fine comedic performance. One of my favorite films of hers is OVERBOARD, in which she plays an over-indulged, spoiled woman who--after falling overboard from her yacht--suffers from identity amnesia. She is rescued by Kurt Russell who punishes her by telling her that she is his wife and has her live with him and his four wild sons.
It is one of many films with a similar theme. Find an insincere spoiled rich bitch, put her in a situation in which she is humiliated and--through introspection and reflection--watch her transform into a selfless and altruistic penant.
So what's the big deal about Paris Hilton? In Los Angeles there is the notion of two (or more) sets of law; one for the rich and one for the poor. So much for living in a classless democratic society! Since we don't throw Catholics to the lions in this country, and the allure of making black-and-white women-with-shaved-heads-in-prison movies is no longer in vogue, we opt for taking high profile women (Zsa Zsa Gabor, Martha Stewart, Paris Hilton) and making them sensational headliners.
Normally I wouldn't care much one way or the other, but given the fact that Mel Gibson recently had a scuff with the law, I begin to wonder about just how sorry these people really are. Paris apparently didn't have her ankle bracelet on when she was home (Shame, Shame, Shame! We all know your name!). Is she thumbing her nose at the judicial system, or is she simply mindlessly following the advice of her publicist, agent and/or manager?
I don't have any great love for a lot of the people who run aspects of the legal system. Local police, judges, lawyers... suffice it to say many of them have an agenda. I think a lot of the judges in L.A. want to become the next Judge Judy.
As for Paris... let her do her time in a private cell. Maybe she'll come out with the realization that nobody cares what medications you take. Maybe she'll also wind up serving the community and becoming a more positive role model. Or maybe she'll retain a private chauffeur.

Hmmm... Not too many folks ask me about my cars. I have two of them. One is a 1973 red Volkswagen convertible Super Beetle. The other is a powder blue 1964 Buick LeSabre sedan. Like Patty and Cathy Lane they are "...different as night and day!"

There's really not a whole lot to write about them. The VW came from a former co-worker of mine. It was the first and only car I had ever purchased on lay-away. It stayed in the owner's garage until my $3000 payment was finished ($500/month). I've had it for 15 years. The blue Buick was bought in 2002 online. The people who had it owned it from day one. It had low mileage and was kept outdoors in Klamath Falls, Oregon. I flew up there and drove it home.

Both cars have done the drive between San Francisco and Los Angeles. I've never dared take either of them to Palm Springs as neither of them has air conditioning. I also seldom drop the top on the convertible, however I must say that that car has probably done more extensive hauling than ANY other vehicle I have ever owned. Being able to drop things in from the top of a car makes packing a lot easier. I've moved sewing machines in their casements, Christmas trees, boxes during house moves and lots of groceries.

Most folks feel more comfortable in the Buick and are amazed that there are no shoulder belts. Seat belts didn't become mandatory until 1965. I think there is only one state in the USA that doesn't require seat belts. http://www.npr.org/templates/story/story.php?storyId=10378859

The Buick is a non-smoking car. The VW has a four on the floor. The German car fills up from the front passenger side. The American vehicle's gas tank is in the rear on the driver's side. The VW takes regular gas. The Buick takes the highest octane and also requires a lead additive.

Why did I buy the Buick? It was a family car of ours while I was growing up. It was around in my life from age 4 to age 12. Obviously I never got to drive it. I often wondered what the allure was about it. Now I've experienced it, but unfortunately it's just too big. I don't need to spend that much on gas, don't need that much space, don't like the hassles of parking it and worry about it getting scratched or dented. The VW is the true work horse. It ascends and coasts, it keeps up with traffic, it is cooled by air and it's cheap to fix. It's on its second engine and I never begrudge paying money to fix it because it serves me super well when it is running.

Thanks for asking about the cars. I generally don't think too much about them.

Every day in the morning on her way to the office
You can see her as she catches a train
Just a face among a million faces
Just another woman with no name
Not the girl you'd remember but she's still something special
If you knew her I am sure you'd agree
'Cause I know she's got a little secret
Friday evening she turns out to be
...
So she's back every morning to her work at the office
And another week to live in a dream
And another row of early mornings
In an almost never-ending stream
Doesn't talk very often, kind of shy and uncertain
Everybody seems to think she's a bore
But they wouldn't know her little secret
What her Friday night would have in store

I remember in the 70s we used to ask each other what our favorite ABBA song was. In the gay community DANCING QUEEN was always a hit. MAMA MIA became the name of a play. I always was a bit partial to Nina, Pretty Ballerina. In the days when I lived in New York City, I could remember riding a bus to a train and having this feeling of being totally anonymous. I wore relatively unexpressive clothing, kept my hair in its natural non-descript color and carried a cloth sac.
These days I drive around in a car that's 35 years old. Everyone recognizes me when I'm coming down the road. There's never a problem finding my car in a parking lot. Even my cell phone has the original factory ring (something that you only hear on TV shows).
This came to mind because that's how I sometimes feel when I am at work. I don't even bother to write my name in the hospital rooms' blackboards (they're not called blackboards anymore... I know).

We live in a world in which we generally expect product and service to go hand-in-hand. We look for it when we go to a salon (or a saloon), when we shop for clothing and when we seek medical attention.
There are so many times when I feel as if I am alone in my fight against the big, cold, heartless industrial giant. The giant will put up a front or a face and say, "We care what you think about us," but in reality the action taken is, "We're huge and we can do whatever the heck we want. If a competitor tries to tangle with us, we will crush it like a bug!"
This came to mind recently when I had a run-in with UNITED AIRLINES. First of all, any contact that I tried to make with this corporation was subdivided into to unpleasant options; I could either go online and deal with a website (offering me frequently asked questions... none of which was my question), or I could have my telephone call diverted to India, Pakistan or the Philippines where I would communicate with someone who was trained to be cloyingly sweet and dismissive of my stress.
My problem arose when I bought my ticket online from PriceLine. I was never told that I wouldn't get flight mileage credit. They added my mileage number to the reservation and it wasn't until after I had finished my trip that the news was given to me. I don't know why. It wasn't a free ticket. And add to that the airline had my funds MONTHS in advance.
On the way home I was trying to get to my seat. The stewardess had blocked it from me. I fought with her, begging three times. She crossed her arms in front of her. Turns out (when I ran to the toilet) that she had spread her stewardess ass out onto my assigned seat and the one next to it. Hmmmm....
So when I landed in Chicago I skirted over to a long line at customer service. Someone was going to hear from me, boy howdy! When I finally reached the desk, the clerk told me to go online to file a complaint.
I lost it. Losing it in Chicago is not pretty. "I DON'T USE COMPUTERS! I DON'T WANT TO DEAL WITH GETTING EMAILS THAT START OFF WITH THE SENTENCE 'DO NOT REPLY TO THIS EMAIL'. I WANT TO WRITE A LETTER TO A REAL LIVE AMERICAN HUMAN BEING AND TELL YOUR COMPANY WHY THE SERVICE I HAVE RECEIVED SO FAR IS HORRIBLE." The clerk searched frantically and found me a self-addressed postage free post card. "Give me two," I said, "My complaint certainly is not going to fit on a single post card!"
To date I have only gotten back DO NOT REPLY TO THIS EMAIL emails stating that the big, cold, heartless industrial giant was glad I had written and would investigate my claim. Have YOU heard from them? I sure haven't.
I have since told them to purge my account. I told them that I didn't want ANY TRACE of my ever having been there. I didn't want to donate my miles anywhere else. Every other day I go on line and every other day I see the mileage. I even wrote a letter to their so called service center in the metropolis of Rapid City, SD. No reply.
It's my day off from work, time to see if I can get an American online.