the smedley log - suburban scrawl

Bad company

Much to my chagrin, the neighbor upstairs has recently been indulging a karaoke habit. What makes it worse is that these sessions generally begin around 7 a.m. For those who aren’t me, let me explain that I am routinely at work past 3 a.m., so my normal sleeping hours are between 4 a.m. and 12 noon.

I’m sure there are many out there who know the frustration of having a neighbor who plays his music at an annoyingly high level during the most inopportune time periods. And perhaps there are even a few who know the horrors of the sunrise karaoke phenomenon (like that to which I’ve been exposed for several days now). For those not familiar with it, let me offer a snippet:

First, you hear the unmistakable tones of Bad Company wafting through the ceiling. It’s a bit loud, but you don’t mind the classic rock, so you think you might be able to bear it, even think of it as a lullaby of sorts. But then, as the vocals start, you realize this rendition of “Feel Like Makin’ Love” is going to be much different from any you’ve heard in the past.

As a voice lacking all modulation turns what was once a great song into the stuff of nightmares, you comfort yourself with the thought that the song will be finished in a few short minutes. Then it begins all over again. And again. Countless practice runs yield nothing closer to perfection than when the session began.

By the afternoon you’ve gotten maybe an hour or so of rest, and the neighbor upstairs has transitioned to “Smoke on the Water.” You’re just wondering how many other classic tunes this guy’s going to ruin for you before he gets tired of his new toy.

At least you hope he gets tired of it.

Thanks…

to all the folks who supported me in this past Sunday’s JDRF walk. I walked in Tyler State Park, starting at 10 on Sunday morning, and was finished about 45 minutes later. There was quite a crowd of participants there for the event, and while I apparently didn’t hit my goal, I did better than I expected to when I set out on my little mission.

One price I may have paid for my swift pace up and down many of the park’s scenic hills is a persistent pain in my right foot. I thought it was just sore at first, but I’m starting to wonder why it isn’t feeling any better yet. Hopefully it’s nothing serious, but I should know more when I talk to the doctor tomorrow morning.

A few days to go…

until I walk to cure juvenile diabetes. I wanted to thank all the generous folks who’ve either donated their hard-earned cash, helped spread the word about the effort, decided to walk for the same cause, or simply didn’t think me a shill for soliciting their cash online

It’s all appreciated. This post is just a reminder to those who haven’t contributed but have been meaning to do so. This isn’t to make anyone feel guilty; it’s just to remind a few folks who intended to donate but haven’t gotten around to it yet.

I have a feeling once it’s all said and done and they tally the offline contributions, I may actually hit my goal.

Related links:
JDRF.org
My walk page

A triumph of Goodwill

Yesterday afternoon, after hearing one of my favorite, under-the-radar bands at Starbucks, I went thrift store browsing for a few items I keep hoping to stumble across.

One such item is a good, sturdy, wooden chair to go with the ancient roll-top desk my parents gave me. The desk has been in the family since its creation several generations ago. I was pretty happy to get the desk, and it has become one of my favorite places to sit and write. There must be something about my creative urges that feed off of the character of antique furniture.

As I wandered through the Goodwill store on a Sunday afternoon, finding none of the other items I sought, I saw an old wooden teacher’s chair with a three dollar price tag on it. upon closer inspection, I noticed a small, round, brass plate on the back of the chair signifying its origin as not only American made, but also as being from Philly. Feeling incredibly lucky to have found it, I grabbed it and went straight to the checkout and then home.

So now I have a Philly made chair to couple with my Trenton made desk. A little cleaning and detailing and maybe someday I’ll be able to pass them both on to someone else.

A little help?

I’d like to start this all-too-rare blog post by saying to all my friends and co-workers who have been gloating presumptuously over the “demise” of Donovan McNabb: HA!

And then I’d like to ask for your help in a cause that both Donovan and I hold dear, which is defeating diabetes. On October 28, I’ll be taking part in a local walk to raise money for juvenile diabetes awareness and research.

If you happen to know me in real life and want to pass a donation along directly to me please feel free – I promise I won’t keep more than half for myself ;). Otherwise, you can go to my personal fund-raising page by clicking here and donating online. My fund-raising goal will be $500.00 this year. It’s a little on the ambitious side, but I know a lot of generous folks, so I’m aiming high.

Once again, if you’d like to help, get a hold of me in real life or click here. And if you’d like to enroll for one of this fall’s fund-raising walks (or rides), click on over to the JDRF website.

Thanks!

It’s the little things that kill

I’m one day into my moving week (yes, I took an entire week of vacation just to move).

What I’m noticing more than anything is how many expenses slipped beneath my radar when I was planning this adventure. They’re mostly little things, but they really add up. Fortunately, I have a great friend who’s pickup truck is sparing the pesky price of renting a U-Haul truck. So that’s one thing that won’t bring me to financial ruin this week.

I’ve already canned a Friday random ten post in case I don’t get back behind the keyboard for a while. Hopefully, I’ll be back online before October…

Helpless sharpshooters, elusive targets

“Alison, I know this world is killing you;
Alison, my aim is true.”
- Elvis Costello

Sometimes nothing changes until those who need help decide to seek it for themselves. And it doesn’t matter how desperately you wish you could make them see.

This is just a brief thought for those whose aim is true, and those who want nothing to do with salvation – at least not yet.

*
By the way, happy Labor Day. Don’t forget to appreciate the working folks you come into contact with today.

Oh, and happy birthday to my sister, who works pretty hard herself.

Really, I didn’t have anything better to do

I’m moving – as in physically changing my abode – starting on Tuesday. The upheaval in my life has opened up various opportunities, including changing many address profiles, packing things and transferring or setting up service arrangements.

One change I was contemplating was a switch from traditional phone service and DSL to the much vaunted Comcast Triple Play. So I wandered over to the Comcast website to try to alter my service profile. At a certain point in the process, I was pushed into a chat with one of their distinguished “analysts.” Here’s how it went: [Read more →]

One more area where stereotypes get in the way

When it was reported last week that Owen Wilson was admitted to a hospital following a suicide attempt, the semi-serious news talk circuit finally had something to discuss with real potential to help someone. And maybe the ensuing discussion has helped. But the lion’s share of comments I heard were from tabloid-worthy entertainment folks who went on about how happy Owen Wilson always seemed so happy.

That’s something we seem to hear often when someone commits or attempts suicide. Commentators, whether on TV, radio or the neighbor’s front steps, too often focus on superficial trappings to determine how someone should be feeling. Even in cases like that of Kyle Ambrogi, the star athlete from the University of Pennsylvania, where depression is a known issue to surrounding friends and family, people often wonder why people with depression or anxiety can’t simply count their blessings and be happy. [Read more →]

Doomed to repeat

“In many ways this is Rwanda in slow motion. The gods of history are looking down on us and, seeing our failure in 1994, decided to give us another chance – and we’re failing just as badly.”
- Eric Reeves

Pay attention, class – this is one course we don’t want to repeat (again).

Two century marks in one day

On a glaringly bright Saturday when my car thermometer once again hit triple digits, I found myself in South Philly helping celebrate the hundredth anniversary of my illustrious employer. Of course, I can’t take full credit for a century’s worth of success (only the last twelve years or so).

I only took a couple photos (and worse yet, with my phone’s camera), but I thought I’d post the above picture of a car on which the digital dashboard thermometer was not an option.

When your mind’s made up

“So, if you want something
and you call, call,
then I’ll come running
to fight, and I’ll be at your door
when there’s nothing worth running for…”

I only stumbled upon this video because I was obsessing over the lyrics above. I actually thought this was just a Frames song. I had no idea it was written for the movie.

This year’s Manhattan day trip

The past few years it seems like I only make it to New York City once or twice at best. I love going there, especially with the conveniently-priced NJ Transit option (which beats driving to New York by a nearly infinite margin).

Last week, in addition to satisfying my fixation on Central Park, I finally got around to visiting the Metropolitan Museum of Art.

Three hours spent exploring the museum on a beautiful Saturday afternoon, and I’m fairly sure I only saw 60 to 70% of the exhibits. Still a lot of fascination to be had. Click here for some photos.

Life made monkeys of us all

“How can you forget this feeling
of standing straight while the world is reeling?”
- Better than Ezra

When I was a young man, I worked in a restaurant. Among my co-workers I had a reputation of being able to remain collected and calm in the face of the most difficult customers and situations. I only became aware of this reputation after the first time a few of my co-workers witnessed me being, shall we say, slightly less than graceful.

One of my colleagues approached me on a lunch break and told me how shocked everyone was by my lack of composure. Given that I hadn’t really lost my cool in a way comparable to the spectacles put on by other employees, I wondered aloud why she found it so shocking. [Read more →]

When everything’s made to be broken

Things have been strange.

It’s as if certain moments have been interpretive re-enactments of the car accident I had almost two months ago. Some of those moments strike in real time; others seem to unfold in slow motion. Most of them seem filled with more meaning than I’m able to grasp before they’ve passed. So I’m left trying to glean whatever I can from them in retrospect.

Some lessons leave me feeling let down. I’ve learned what it’s like to be the person who could actually turn away from someone who’d do anything to help. I’d been on the other side of that many times, and this turn of the tables makes me feel like I now understand things I never wanted to. And that’s just one of many.

Some of the moments have been inexplicably jarring – either because of their fog-inducing qualities or because of the clarity they’ve brought. And many of those moments of clarity have opened doors to more confusion. Which leaves me hoping they’ll lead to more conclusive moments at some point – and wondering how many more of my preconceived notions will be shattered along the way.

Feeling thankful for the small things today

I meant to post yesterday on the one year anniversary of my daily haiku habit, but I’ve been so preoccupied I forgot. I really thought I would’ve grown tired of them by now. Turns out I’m quite addicted to them (though the qualitative output may vary).

In other news, as I mark the exact moment I entered this world 35 years ago, I should be en route to the Presidential Candidate Forum sponsored by ACORN (Association of Community Organizations for Reform Now). The forum will be held this afternoon, starting at noon, at Bright Hope Baptist Church in North Philly. A gaggle of bloggers, of which I am one, have been allowed to cover the event, though at last check, I’m not sure if they’ll have wi-fi capabilities in the church or not. Still, it should be an interesting way to spend part of my birthday – and I’ll blog about it somewhere (definitely on Philly Future, perhaps here, too), eventually.

Finally, kudos to the first person who can explain the relevance of the title to this post. Of course, I’ll have no way to know if you googled it or not…

Corresponding thoughts

I finally received my first bit of physical correspondence related to The Modern Letter project. I assume it arrived Saturday, though I didn’t notice it until just yesterday.

I was starting to suspect I was the only one taking part in this little project (a sort of blind pen-pal service). I’ve yet to receive the initial letter someone out there is supposed to be sending my way, but thankfully my June recipient was kind enough to make me feel like part of the club. My respondent also has a blog website. It’s even got a definite article in the url, just like mine.

(The photo above was taken of the newly-arrived letter, and it just happens to reflect a mental state I wish I could master right now.)

Bittersweet memories of a sweet spot

When I was a young boy my mother worked the graveyard shift at Frankford Hospital. On non-school nights, when my father would drive her to work from our home in the northeastern suburbs, I would sometimes get to ride along. Sometimes we’d even complete the circuit by having a family breakfast on the way back from picking her up in the morning (there were always great breakfast spots to choose from, like the Tiffany Diner, for instance).

Along the way, I would notice the various buildings lining the roadway. There was the Nabisco factory, which often smelled of the snack cookies they were baking there. The Pepsi-Cola plant was a little further along. And then there was the Whitman Chocolates building.

I had somehow forgotten in the years since that the Whitman Sampler ever came from around here. Back when the Whitman headquarters was still in Northeast Philly, it was one of several prominent landmarks for folks traveling up and down the Roosevelt Boulevard. Now it’s memorialized by a shopping plaza with anchor stores like Wal-Mart and Lowe’s.

Ah, the sweet stench of progress…

One week after impact

I appreciate all the people who’ve expressed their sympathies after last week’s auto mishap. Of course, some of the well-wishing emanated from offline contacts of mine, a surprising number of which were folks I didn’t know were reading this site until they shared those wishes.

I’m feeling quite a bit better this week, and I think the worst of the muscle spasms and aches has passed. The car is still awaiting its visit to the auto surgeons, but there’s no desperate hurry.

I attended Marisa’s relatively public birthday celebration last night with many other fascinating folks, a few of whom I didn’t know prior to the big event. It was a lot of fun, even if I was a bit tired throughout most of yesterday.

And this afternoon I’m cleaning, and sneezing, for a few hours before I decide what the rest of the day is going to bring.

Could be a lot worse

“…one shot of perspective,
a couple more to kill the pain.”
- Bill Mallonee

Yesterday was long. In many ways.

It started as a typical Mother’s Day. During its first half, I spent some time with my mother, which was nice. Then I got to see the majority of the Phillies game on TV, though I left before the disappointing finality of it could sink in.

Then I kept myself busy with a variety of small tasks until it was late enough for me to travel to the airport to pick up some girl from a flight that was delayed far too long. After about half an hour standing by the baggage claim carousel, we were on our way.

Let me say that at this point, the day already seemed about twelve hours too long to me. Not that it was a horrible day, but I was hoping it would wind down relatively quickly from there.

Which is why my more cynical self should have suspected what came next. It involved a disabled vehicle in the middle lane of a notorious Philadelphia expressway. Add three other cars having varying degrees of success avoiding said vehicle.

For reasons known only to a little card from the insurance company, I’m not really supposed to discuss it in detail, but suffice it to say, the vehicular skirmish lengthened the interminable day by at least another hour. Thank God it was only an hour, and all injuries appear to have been minimal. The car is damaged, but drivable; for the most part, so am I. I just have to wait for the soreness to subside.

On the bright side, these events took us into the earlier part of today, which just happens to be Marisa’s birthday. Which is a good thing, especially since we made it to this point alive.

It could have been much worse, but I’d still like to think it could get better.