Behind the times

I have entered the 21st century, folks. Finally.

Horatio came and set up DirecTV in my tiny studio today. What does it really mean? No more does it have to be a minor holiday for a Law & Order Marathon! Nope! I can now watch it seven days a week and even two at a time. Now that's living.

And after, chances are, a 12 year break from watching MTV, now I see that there are no longer such things as music videos. Who knew?!?

Waiting

I've already mentioned my all too frequent use of cabs in the city. I know. Geez, Anne, get with the program...GO GREEN already! But it's freezing out, people! And sometimes, well, I'm just running late. Excuses, excuses. But I have to say, it's really nice finding that, at 3:32 in the morning, my cabdriver has waited to be sure I got into my building safe before speeding off into the night.

I know this city is shockingly safer than it has been. And my fare tonight was less than 5 bucks. And, yes, I gave the driver a decent tip. But it's rare that anyone look out for you, walk you home, safeguard that you are where you're supposed to be. Not that that's always a bad thing. Sometimes it's wonderful that no one knows where you live. Sometimes you prefer that certain people didn't know where you live. It's just that in those moments when people you know you'll never see again exhibit such care...in those moments you realize that there is no real difference between any of us.

I flashed a peace sign once I realized he had waited to be sure I got in the door. That was the best I could do. I know it was lame, especially compared to how I felt. Chivalry is not dead. At least not for this man. Thanks, whoever you are. With the smallest kindness, you kindled hope in me.

First things...wait...what was I saying?

Do you know what's wrong with writing first drafts on a computer? You lose. Train of thought. Original idea. The point.

Lately I've been trying to write on the computer only. Or perhaps it's more that I haven't been writing enough in a journal or notebook. Hence, the scarcity of entries.

I was just inspired by a funny story, started to type it out on the computer, and as of this moment have no idea what the point is.

Is it aging? Or just a flaw in my usual process and habit?

By the way, keep in mind, I'm younger than most of you (except my cousin Heather--hope you still check in!!) who read this. Pick your battles.

P.M.S.

I know, I know. If you're not a woman (and even we cower at the thought), who wants to hear about that?? I bring it up, nonetheless, only to make an official proposal for a new definition of the anagram. My initials, ACS, stand not only for my full name but also for the American Cancer Society as well as the city's Administration of Children's Services. Great, right? Well, here's my theory.

In this day and age, it seems more appropriate that P.M.S. stand for "prescribe me something." Not exactly glamorous, in fact vernacular and an imperative to boot, this explanation of those initials seems far more indicative of our current climate. Besides, premenstrual syndrome is passe, now that there's a pill for it.

On the one hand, we have our naturalists. I call them grassroots folks, those who eat mostly grass and roots, who enjoy a back-to-nature lifestyle. Many eat only organic, raw foods and base that decision on personal health and global philosophy. If I understand at all, the notion is that we don't have to kill to eat. At the same time, any of these followers I've met also relies upon vitamins, herbs and/or supplements to gain nutrients necessary to achieving personal health. So it would it seem that something is missing.

On the other hand, we have the medicinalists. Quick fixers, I like to call them, also known affectionately as pill poppers, they enjoy remedying whatever may ail them with the latest prescription. I can understand the mentality. If this thing fixes the problem and makes me feel better, why not take it?

But here's what's interesting to me. Is any of us under control of herself? Is there something missing or wrong with each of us that needs be fixed, remedied? Whether on one side of the spectrum or the other, or hiding out in the middle somewhere, does each of us harbor a void? And can it be filled with herbs, aromatherapy, heroin, zoloft?

Ok, ok, ok. Maybe I should make it "pickle me something." Everything's good pickled.

89

Happy birthday, Grandma Ruth! I think you would've been 89 today. Anyway, we all miss you and hope you're looking out!