Longer Random Topics

[Red Cat Jenny]

It occurs to me every now and then we have a story to tell, something to share which requires a longer post. So here ya go:

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I work at the International terminal at JFK in NY. We're the largest of the terminals on a 5,000 acre airport. It's a city unto itself. Our terminal qualifies as a mid sized airport all on it's own.

4:58AM.. Bleary eyed I took a walk through the terminal to get some air.

Enjoying the fact that I had sneakers on which I shouldn't have..but hey..pirate

90% of the time I'm in the tower controlling the planes. But sometimes I do duty policing the ramp, watching the security desk or the helpdesk.

As I took the 11 minute walk downstairs to fresh air through the rabble..the refugee camp of sleeping forms draped over and stuffed in every nook and cranny, I contemplated the daily life here at my terminal.

Aye, There are a thousand stories in the naked airport. You never know what you're going to encounter. Daily you will stand on line in McDonalds with 4 soldiers in tan fatigues and bullet poof vests, carrying assault rifles so big, that when slung from the shoulder the nose of the gun just about touches the floor. But you get used to it. You don't stare at them or the cops who also daily stroll in packs with high powered deterents to terrorism.

There are announcements in more than a dozen languages, the soldiers pass by on the left, on the right women in burquas or fully veiled in black buying soup next to Hassidic Jews with their string Pais and large hats. Egyptians pray on rugs in the corners, Jamaican and Caribbean women pass by in their brightly colored batik print dresses and impossibly huge matching head scarves..Thai representatives in Royal purple mandarin collard tunics in the winter and flowered hawaiian styled shirts in the summer. All around languages and dialects. English passengers in their techno haircuts an uber fashionable outfits purchase $45 t shirts on sale in DKNY next to New Englanders you can't mistake anywhere in the country. With their LL Bean Jackets and sensible glasses. Caribbean tinted English catches your ear.."Me tell she she can't do dat..me tell she and she don't listen.." as it fades, a dapper Captain in his 4 striped jacket and slightly tired countenance passes on his way to his next flight. A few thousand more miles..another cup of bad airbus coffee.

TSA/ Customs/ Custodians/ IT Guys in polo shirts and tan dockers with carts of computer guts working through the clock. Dogs, kids, cats, contraband, crazies, drunks, refugees, deportees in chains at times, tearfull hellos, even more tearfull goodbyes. A mail order bride clears Customs in her dress and is picked up by an enthusiastic man and crammed into a good ole beat up NY cab. The airside workers lumber around inside with their coveralls stripped to the waist, sleeves wagging, wearing their ear protectors perched on top of their heads. They look to me like big orange teddy bears in boots. I've seen every manner of ethnic dress, DOA's, 20 pounds of illegal rice spilled in the bagage carousel, 500 gallon fuel spills, loose wild animals, water cannon salutes for retiring Captains. Drug Busts, VIP's Seret service.. I helped move a stretcher patient on life support through the cabin of Kuwaits airplane.. every one of our hands touching his life. I've calmed tearful people who missed their flight or stood by while their loved one was beng attended by paramedics. Hilarious laughter, heart wrenching sadness, horrific addidents, extreme weather, and people..always people moving. 24/7/365.

7 million passengers, 5 million bags ,at a clip of up to 30,000 a day. I've guided thier planes in and out through thunderstorms in July where tempers flare, requiring me to talk rapidly for 8 1/2 hours to blizzards where you fall into a hotel bed for a few hours and then back for another 12 hour shift of yaking away to endless radio calls. The daily scene in my terminal brings to mind a marketplace in Marakesh or the Cantina scene in Star Wars. I haven't even gotten into the Vodoo chicken... Aye.. I love my job.

[Mary Diamond]

WOW, Red Cat, such an amazing perspective! Hubby and I travel the world, but it is so cool that the world comes to you ~

You paint a wonderful picture of life ~ chaotic, exotic, never mundane.

[Red Cat Jenny]

Thank you...it's a deeply spiced, endlessly changing, tireless flow of humanity, animals and cargo and everything that comes and goes with it. It's the tower of babel, the UN, and then some..

Aye, tightly reigned well orchestrated chaos....

JFK is known as crossroads to the world..a well deserved moniker.

[Patrick Hand]

I'm working on a slightly copywright sensitive mascot... I think my Boss likes that kinda thing..... but she has to go to a food and beverage show.... and her dog Harley(A Great Dane) has an appointment down at U C Davis Neurilogical lab... can I take him.... Harley is a good dog... even tho he is HUGE.... but he is all sortsa messed up... his body dosen't work as it should...... But after the time he ran to the rescue of my Boss.... when the Huge Mexican party crasser at her foster daughter's girls party (that got outta hand)... any way .... My boss told all the male "hangers on" ..... they had to leave.... but this one big Mexican guy said... "who's going to make me?..." (my Boss is a small woman).... BUT Harley came bounding down to save the day...... chased the bad guy away (180 lbs.of GREAT Dane........)..... So after that, as messed up as he is (Harley), how can you not help him..........

Unfortunatly..... a much as I like him..... and ... dang it wasn't his fault..... but it kinda sux him pooping (huge Great Dane poops) in the back of my car.......

Can't yell at him or nothing.... just have to clean it up..... like I said/typed.... he is messed up... and that is one of the messed up things about him..... he can't controll it......

I don't know what they will find out about him after running the test at Davis..... but he is a good doggie, and I hope they can do something for him........

Not even my doggie..... but Dang.... he is a good big lug....... slobbery drool and all.......

[flintlock jack]

When asked directly or even set proxy to any conversation considering one's 'first love' I always smile. It takes me away. A different road, a different tyme. A very different place.

My first love has to this day a daily effect on me. It permeates my thoughts and actions to near obsession. It keeps me content and keeled. Its comfort is a perpetual anchorage, its memory a cache of splendor. A sunny place for shady characters. Florida was my first true love.......

The years had passed since my family had left Bay County and at tymes it seemed like nothing more than a tale I so often told. The effect and passion over the years had begun to fade to a melancholy whisper. I had lost contact with most I had known as a lad. The coincidence and eventuality of life's wit and irony had taken most away from their beginnings as it had myself. Through my turmoil and gammit that had resolved to be my lot, I arrived at a place of needed inspiration. So, at twenty five years of age and life experience double that, I went back home. It had changed greatly in sixteen years, but there was still plenty to feed my memories. The house in Parker we lived in, second from the corner of Blackshear and Alma, was gone. Nothing but an empty lot. Tears welled at the sight. The surrounding area and neighborhood on St Andrews Bay looked a lot like I remembered it. Quite, lazy, shaded by pine and palm. The boat ramp down the street, where as kids we dove between lauches to chase crab, was mostly still in tack. The bait shop at the sharp turn of 'scenic 98' that had the big wooden pyrate on the porch was shuttered. But the ambience still beamed. Sandy driveways and a light Bay breeze. Home.

A friend of mine(we'll call her Christy)was the granddaughter of a family(I won't say their name)who at one tyme or another ran one the shipyards on Key West. She didn't know enough to give specifics, but that was the story her family told and the history that was discussed. Everyone knew her and we never payed cover anywhere and got a lot of free drinks. Her dad, a born conch, worked the yards. Her mom, a socialite from West Palm Beach and eventually named an honourary conch by Key West's mayor, worked long days and nights, leaving Christy to her own whims and devices.

My first visit to West Palm Beach consisted of driving in off the turnpike at two a.m. to crash at my friend Marty's house, which was about three blocks from A1A, to be chased away at gunpoint(wrong address)and nearly lost my achilles heel to an overzealous stray dog. Cars with full tint rolling down the street, barely moving, a window slowly lowered then rolled back up. Shadowed faces staring back from hostile rolling office. All that in the span of about forty-five minutes. The fact that every doorway and window was covered with bars should have been my first clue. I thought about dipping the seat back and sleeping in my car, but the idea of waking up dead rang little appeal. I realized that South Florida and the Panhandle where I had lived were two very different places. Maybe those Hiaason books weren't as cartoon as I thought. Kinda strange, very scary. This boy from St Andrews Bay felt a little out of his element. I wound up crossing the causeway and staying in a seedy motel ran by a guy I couldn't understand or whose name I couldn't pronounce. The softcore porn on the telly was nice but disappointing. Never a skill or money shot. Ah well.

My good friend Marty had just graduated EMT training and was out all night celebrating, forgetting that I was driving in from Panama City. Thanks Marty. I found out the next day it was her dealer neighbor that had chased me off with a pistol. He gave me a semi cold beer as an apology. "Here have a Corona you'll feel better." Thanks, I think.

After a recoup day while Marty slept off the hangover, we visited a friend in Lake Worth. I have never seen so much pot in such big bags just sitting around. Lawn leaf sized, thick clear plastic bags. "Sorry, just move that off the couch and have a seat. Want a Corona?"

Our next day's expedition led us to visit Christy's dad who lived on a houseboat on Marathon Key. Parked along side said house boat was a small charter boat and a slimline cigar boat, both of which he owned and ran. The fishing charter business wasn't "as good as it used ta be", he noted, but he was "getting by". 'Getting by', Christy later explained, was a yearly trip to the Bahamas to fill the nose of the cigar boat up with 'resellable goods'. Pay the Customs Man not to check the nose hatch, and the Customs Man does not check the nose hatch. Customs Man, due to this mutual funding, gets ahead on his mortgage and has money to splurge on Mrs Customs Man. Mrs Customs Man gives more attention to Mr Customs Man than she has to Mr Pool Boy. Mr Pool Boy now has extra energy to keep his meal ticket girlfriend happy so he doesn't have to get a real job. And I have a tale to tell years later. Suddenly, everybody's happy due to this slight manipulation to the mechanics of negotiable economy. Christy's dah offers us 'south Florida cordials'. He explains that the elaborate mirror came from a 'business partner' in the Bahamas. It was very nice. Uncomfortable, I excused myself from the back room smoke and snort session, which raised brows all around, for no other reason than I was scared to death mister DEA man was going to boot the door in at any second and I didn't wanna be the guy with white stuff all over his nose going 'what?'. Leaving the houseboat, Christy was so buzzed she slammed the hatch of my Camaro down so hard it cracked the rear spoiler. "I'm so sorry, Dean! Let's go to the inlet. I'll buy you a Corona." Thanks Christy.

The inlet, basically a small area containing a conch stand, burger stand and snowcone/margarita hut around one of the marina entryways, was an idyllic spot frequented by both the local boaters and surfers alike. Christy left her wallet at the house(which she did quite frequently)so I had to loan her money to buy both of us a Corona. So there we sat, our bare feet dangling over the edge of the inlet, watching the endless stream of boats shadowed by scavenger gulls and followed stealthily by young bull sharks and sandys hoping for a worthwhile overboard rake. Occasionally I glanced at the missing piece in my car's spoiler, determined to tune out Christy's unending blub of apology.

But it was okay.

I was home. For a while.

Contented most of the tyme

With my first true love.

Florida.

I miss dearly. Daily.

"Pale invaders and tanned crusaders are worshipping the sun

On the corner of walk and don't walk

Somewhere on U.S. 1

Back to livin' Floridays

Blue skies and ultraviolet rays

Lookin' for better days..."

-Jimmy Buffett

[Red-Handed Jill]

I recently checked out the website for the California Academy of Sciences. They moved the Academy to a temporary location, obliterated the original building and have been building a new one from scratch. It had to be re-built, due to the massive amounts of seismic retrofitting needed and the fact that it was rapidly aging. I like the new design, but I really miss the old building.

It was my home. And by "home" I mean that literally. It was the only constant for me during a time that brought many changes. And for awhile, I actually lived there. If you visited Steinhart Aquarium from the mid-70's to the 90's, you probably saw the Fish Roundabout, a donut-shaped tank that allowed visitors to stand in the middle of it and watch the fish swim around them. The building that contained this round tank was square, which left the corner areas, one of which I appropriated for my apartment. I was quite snug there and the white noise of the water rushing by was very soothing (although it did make me want to use the bathroom quite often.) And I knew the rest of the aquarium like the back of my hand. I felt more comfortable there than any place in the world, before or since. I also spent a lot of time inside the tank itself and to this day, when I'm standing outside a huge aquarium tank, I feel an almost visceral need to be on the other side of that plexiglas.

At any rate, my home is gone. That scene in Gross Pointe Blank where Martin Blank goes to the house where he grew up and finds that it's been replaced by a mini mart is very evocative to me. I can sympathise with this situation in a big way. The one place that meant home to me - and still does - no longer exists.

[Red Cat Jenny]

Awww JIll..

Enjoying all the stories here..keep 'em comin!

Everyone has at least one in 'em. ..

I like to pull a comfy chair up to th side of life an listen awhile..

Very goode read..very goode..thank you for sharing

Cheers! Slan! Skaol, Prozit!

[Morgan Dreadlocke]

'Bout ten year ago me son gave me a grand upset in the eway things was ta be. In me youth I had a fair hand in anything that floats rolls flys or has parts ta be assembled. I figgered that at four year of age it be time to introduce the kid ta things I's found most satisfing. On a three day weekend we visited all manner of hobby related areas. Every flyin' field, boat pond, garage railroad, slot car or r/c car track was thoughly investigated. Hobby shops was scouted out until I thought the kidbe ready ta bust. Then I asks him, "What is it ya be wantin' fer yer birthday"? His eyes get big round as a bdinner plate an he starts ta fidget. He's realizin' that Dad's gonna cut loose wi' the big bucks an his little brain is in termoil.

He says, "Dad".

I says, "yes"

He says, "Dad".

"I'm listening", says I.

He says, "Dad"

I says, "SPEAK BOY"!

He says, "Dad---- I want a hamster"

[Caraccioli]

The ultimate complex system! I say indulge him! (I had hamsters from about the age of 8 to 15.)

[Red-Handed Jill]

Heh. I upset the family dynamic by not being a ladylike little girl. Had engineers on both sides of the family history, so I couldn't help taking things apart, fixing things and building things. My parents kept giving my dresses as presents, hoping to somehow mold me into what they wanted, but it never worked.

[Red Cat Jenny]

Heh..join the club..tho I did like all the little dresses, hats and Mary Janes, I have two brothers and my dad could take apart, build , fix anything! an I learned right along with em..suffice to say..now that I have had apartments...it's handy!

Ducked the librarian push thank goodness...

[Jacky Tar]

Let me guess... Ye read so much, they thought ye should be a librarian?

(Pictures CAt wit' all that hair wrapped up in a bun, wit' glasses on the tip o' her nose.)

[Red Cat Jenny]

heehee I may look as that from time t time..tho th CAt don't need glasses fer real..jut think they'd rather I be a librarian or summin..er more staid an respectable..sigh..they're used to it now lol

[Red Cat Jenny]

bump!

T'is Winter..time to sit about and share good stories

[Red-Handed Jill]

Not sure if this is a good story...

Yesterday was weird. There's a bit of weirdness in every day, but this day was PARTICULARLY weird.

It started out with a wacky morning commute - heavier than usual. I ended up taking a lot of back roads once I got across the bay.

Then one of my co-workers had a major meltdown and temper tantrum. You know how just about every company has one of THOSE people - good at their job but an absolute jerk and everyone else hates them? Well, this guy was being more difficult than usual. He yelled and whined and then stomped out of the office, RIGHT before an important client meeting. Needless to say, the CEO was less than pleased; when this guy eventually slunk back in, he got a well-deserved earful.

Then, I ran into a couple of major issues with the new version of Microsoft's LiveMeeting. As expected, this new version came with unexpected "features" which made my day very difficult. I had a software demo scheduled for 10:00 that morning. When I sent the invite, it switched from AM to PM (it kept switching the time when I was trying to set it up - I thought it had stabilized to the right time when I saved and sent the invitation. Boy, was I wrong...)

So the demo was a no-go. I got ready to send out apologies and schedule a new time and then I had a class to teach - again, on-line. I signed in to the LiveMeeting space and discovered that although I had sent out one invitation, it had sent two different URL's - some people got one and some people got another. So three of us were in one meeting space and thirty-six were in another. Great - another new "feature". I ended up scrapping that idea and had everyone log in individually to their software and I talked them through the functions. It took a lot longer but I got through it.

After the class, I ran an errand; I had some grocery shopping to do so I went to the local Safeway. I had the misfortune of having to follow a moron. When he drove into the parking lot, he just stopped and no one could get past him (hey, it's not as though there was ANYONE ELSE ON THE ROAD OR SOMETHING.) He drove a little further and I managed to squeeze past him and parked further away. He drove down one row and then just stopped his car in the middle, blocking one car that wanted to pull out and ensuring that no one could get past him, since he had planted his car right in the middle of the road. Apparently, although there were plenty of spaces, he was fixated on a space that was going to open up and he was going to get that space regardless of the inconvenience to everyone around him. Eventually, he went into the spot and everyone else was able to move. I REALLY hate oblivious drivers!

I did my shopping and made it through the rest of my day at work with relatively little drama - thank goodness. Then I proceeded to drive home. I made my way to the freeway entrance - I was in the right lane, getting ready to turn right - and a guy in the lane to the left of me decided that he wanted to drive into the gas station on the corner before the right turn. So he turned right - straight into me. If I hadn't had quicker reflexes, he would have broadsided me. As it was, I swerved like crazy, almost driving up onto the sidewalk and missed being hit by this moron by mere inches. He just continued on into the gas station. I guess he must do this a lot and is used to it...

I encountered more than the usual share of stupid drivers on the way home and was extremely thankful to pull into my garage! When I made it inside, Jack said, "Boy, was it nuts today!" So there must have been something in the air. I was very glad to see that day end.

[Ransom]

Oooo, Jill, don't get me started on morons in parking lots. My favorite — the person who is too lazy to walk ten feet, and sits in the middle of the road, blocking everything and everybody, so they can get a space near the entrance to the store/shop. Even if there are twenty open spaces down the row. OH NO, they want the one right by the door. I'm not talking about elderly folks who need to park close, I'm talking perfectly healthy adults who could use that bit of extra excersize. Shesh!

Also, in driving home yesterday in the POURING rain, I passed a laundromat, and hovering outside under the roof eaves where about a half dozen people all huddled together smoking their cigs. I suddenly felt really sorry for those people, because I thought, not only are they risking lung cancer, but by standing out in the cold and damp, they also ran the risk of at least a bad cold, if not the flu. So I wished them a secret Christmas wish of maybe being able to stop smoking in the new year.

[Red-Handed Jill]

Yeah - makes me wish there was a remote cattle prod. You push the button and the moron who is holding everyone else up gets zapped until he or she moves out of the damn way. I'd pay good money for one of those...

[Red Cat Jenny]

Heh Jill that WAS a wierd day..those are the days you consider how much wiser it would have been to just stay home.

Aww Ransom. That was sweet.

[Red Cat Jenny]

Last week I caught a bit of the Superbowl parade in NYC. It brought up some unexpected things..

Firstly they had the NYC Fire dept bagpipers. A fine bunch of pipers.

I don't know why, but for some reason pipes get me emotional, sort of a tear to the eye thing..

As I watched further..I was considering this.. when despite the revelry in the "Canyon of Heroes" which is the famed parade route of honor thru NYC, I had to turn away. Suddenly the sight of all that paper raining from the tall buildings and people standing in bunches at their upper floor windows, brought back memories of September 11. All the debris falling and those poised waiting for help or eternity.

I didn't realize how fresh that wound still is. It was hard to watch the rest and not feel mixed emotions. I work in a heightened security area where terrorism is a daily watch word. You get immune to it after awhile. I really hadn't thought much about it. It was odd.

But the bagpipes always get me..

All this started me thinking what they bring to mind. Especially in an election year as well as a new year.

I thought about other people here who risked much, perhaps all to come to this country. Because they sought what it stands for. My own grandparents included. I am second gen.

I may grouse about the state of current local, state and Federal government at times..

But I love my country and I would fight to the last to defend it if it was attacked. I believe in the principals, integrity, strength of will and spirit it was founded on.

I am by heritage Swedish-Hungarian with a litle Belgian, Czech and Prussian mixed in.

But I am American. I was born here.

Though my ancestry may be abroad, my heart is firmly rooted in the soil stained with the blood shed for freedom.

I think that is what comes to mind..