Susan's Scribblings the Blog

A writer from the Philadelphia area shares the week online.
Susan's Scribblings the Blog
  • Who the Heck is Kayewer?
  • Author Archives: kayewer

    • Media Phobia

      Posted at 1:31 am by kayewer, on October 12, 2014

      Some of my coworkers have really surprised me lately, because some of them don’t think that books are a viable part of our culture, and some watch no television. Some others don’t read newspapers at all.

      If I wore pearls, I’d be clutching them now. I read six magazines, two newspapers and watch the evening news and Jeopardy!

      I’m clutching my pearls of wisdom: my books, newspapers, magazines and Alex Trebek (symbolically).

      A society in which communication is whittled down to a select few bits of information often becomes repressed. Think of what the world was like before the scriptures were translated and people who were taught no Latin suddenly achieved a new understanding of their faith. They may not have been able to actually read it, but it made sense to them spoken in their own tongue.

      I have found that online information comes through homepage sources like MSN, AOL and Yahoo, or in a post somebody felt was important enough to put in Facebook®. An actual newscast or newspaper, however, has a wealth of information in tangible form. It won’t get lost in your spam box or disappear into your timeline. It is seen in a way in which we don’t often connect on a computer screen.

      I look at news anchors like Scott Pelley from CBS and admire their capacity for making news human. The days of the town crier are over, but a person delivering news vocally will likely never go away.

      As for books, I keep them, and sometimes I also keep one on my Nook® to carry with me. It’s like an oversized paperback, plus I can get my email without toting a laptop or tablet around.

      I hope reading and speaking do not become obsolete. Human contact is essential to our health and that of the planet.

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    • Reunion Dues

      Posted at 2:14 am by kayewer, on October 5, 2014

      It’s high school class reunion time again: when I see the invitation, the emotions start to get the better of me. I have never gone to the reunions. My mother went to her own just once.

      There seems to be two types of people when it comes to high school reunions: those who always go, and those who never go until everybody is too old to really remember anything about what happened before they graduated in the first place.

      Those who go regularly may well have been in touch over the years, or else they find reconnecting every five years less unpleasant. They mingle and talk, and cloud it all over with generous libations from the cash bar.

      Those who don’t go have a variety of reasons, I’m sure. Some simply disconnect from the awkwardness of childhood and teen memories. Others never felt a part of the ritual of school loyalty and, as such, never joined a “cool” club or activity, but merely studied, went home after last period and collected the diploma on graduation day. Their loyalties have shifted to colleges, family, or turned within to their own peace of mind.

      In our class of over 200, it has been hard to find some people. The invitation went on Facebook ®, and hopefully everybody will see it. However, I know of at least one person who told the alumni committee years ago not to ever contact them again. It’s understandable that, for some, high school sucked bad enough that they graduated and hit the erase button in their minds. In some cases, though, one would think that our school was so bad, people moved to Abu Dhabi or New Zealand or Antarctica to get away from it all. Some may have died, changed their names or gone into witness protection.

      The devoted alumni like I have stayed in town. Some have thriving businesses, good jobs or other ties to the community. While we do stay close to the native soil of our alma mater, we don’t often see each other. My mother has seen more classmates than I these past decades.

      When I think about what high school meant to me, I feel it would be improper to whine or embellish, so I just don’t bother. My education did help me find a good job, and I did finish college and get my BA. Enough said.

      It will take some thought before I commit to going to a reunion. I will think about it, but the big question is whether I want to pay for memories I may not want to have, or get back.

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    • Mee-Wow!

      Posted at 2:07 am by kayewer, on September 28, 2014

      The cyber café where I do these posts has four cats; two kittens, a “tween” and an older cat. They enjoy all the comforts of domestic life, including kitty condos, hiding places, warm beds and clean litter boxes.

      Of course, there are also toys. Things like shiny bat-about toys and balls hold a cat’s interest for a minute or two. I think about three is a world record. Cats don’t want to lose their dignity. I brought in a pack of toys once, and one particular orange-ish toy was shredded and chewed to death. The others disappeared. Mostly cat toys disappear until they’re found, years later, behind the garage or under the clothes dryer.

      I can recommend a toy called “Cat’s Meow,” a genuine “as seen on TV” product. It is simply an electronic gizmo that randomly rotates a red plastic wand which peeks out from underneath a circular canopy. It stimulates a cat’s desire to pounce and chase. It’s battery operated, so get some rechargeable versions and keep spares on hand.

      Each time one of the cats was introduced to the product, it took less than ten minutes for them to become totally engaged. Usually they will stand back and stare for a bit. They might crouch and stalk, then take a paw to the mouse-like tail as it circles and teases; finally they will chase it in all directions, pouncing and pawing it endlessly. It’s great exercise for indoor cats.

      I also recommend plenty of treats, because you can get about a ten-second stare from a cat for every piece you dangle in front of their eyes. If your cat is not a lap lover, this is often as interpersonal as you get.

      At this moment, I am watching two new “Cat’s Meow” inductees, who have been playing with the product for the past twenty minutes. I would break out the camera, but then they would stop whatever they were doing and stare at me with bored sloe eyes. Trust me, they’re acting like kittens.

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      Posted in Uncategorized | 0 Comments | Tagged cat toys, Cat's Meow
    • Cold Challenge

      Posted at 2:29 am by kayewer, on September 21, 2014

      It looks like the Ice Bucket Challenge–the concept of donating to support research for ALS or Lou Gehrig’s Disease by pouring ice water over your head and then calling out your friends to do the same–is running out of steam. Not everybody has done the challenge, of course, and some have found creative ways of doing it:  actor Verne Troyer used milk because of a water shortage, and even held a cookie in his mouth to repurpose the milk as it flowed over him. ALS has raised quite a lot of money, too, and are now working on how to distribute the funds.

      Now that the weather is turning colder and all the freedoms of summer are over, it’s tougher to get a few minutes together and douse oneself in water for a cause. Diseases like ALS, however, don’t stop their progression.

      I think it would be great if more life-altering conditions had such challenges to raise money. The question is how to do unique things for each one. There are plenty of 10K runs and bike rides and motorcycle rallies, and celebrities do whole shows to raise money to knock out cancer and MS. There has even been yarn bombing, which is a type of graffiti in the form of knit or crocheted items on statues or trees, to call attention to issues. What about other kinds of activities to raise money for causes, diseases and research?

      THAT’S IT!!!! I’ve got an idea!

      To raise awareness of colorectal cancer and support the CCAlliance (an organization researching such cancers), or the American Cancer Society, why not film yourself wearing a pair of underwear on your head or baking a cake with candles on it (to support the cancer society’s theme of saving birthdays), or donate $10. Call out your friends to do the same.

      For more information on both charities, go to http://www.ccalliance.org or http://www.cancer.org.

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      Posted in Commentary | 0 Comments | Tagged yarn bombing
    • Black Big Screen of Doom

      Posted at 2:07 am by kayewer, on September 14, 2014

      I survived 85 hours without a television. I know; some of you may be thinking, “I can go 85 days without looking at a television.” You’re welcome to go back to getting your news on Facebook®, in miniature, on your small-screen phone. Television is a fully-fledged resource and no longer the “idiot box” loathed by so many critics (many of whom are also on Facebook® right now playing Candy Creamer Story or something). There is real news on television. And Jeopardy!

      Those of us who have grown up with depression-era parents know the value of something that still works, so the old television–square in height and breadth–gave us more than fifteen years of service, before dying of the infamous Black Screen of Death. It sat in state for 85 hours, then was ceremoniously carried out the door by me and Cletus the Cable Technician, and went to that great TV stand in the sky.

      It had a false alarm one morning, in a blaze of muted colors. I had called the cable company at the first sign of the TV’s distress, and a nice telephone associate walked me through some resuscitation steps, and the TV rallied. I had set up an appointment and cancelled it because the danger seemed to be over, but just as suddenly, the next night the TV passed away. Cletus the Cable Technician couldn’t come sooner than four days from then, due to my idiotic cancellation of the original appointment, so we found other ways to amuse ourselves.

      Without the usual distractions of television, we returned to simpler but effective survival skills such as card playing. I ended up with one 9 card in my hand for three consecutive rounds of gin rummy. I did some crocheting, Mother did some reading (finished a book) and gardening. I even introduced her to the joys of Windows8 tablet games. She is a mean TapTiles® board clearer. We got the news from the radio: it’s like listening to the television network news while in the other room, and just as informative if you don’t miss the visual effects most networks use on their broadcasts (like banners saying “Weather Changing,” or crawls at the bottom of the screen listing stock prices).

      I did try to hook up another TV myself to save us time and sanity, but I’m not electronically adept. Though I followed the set’s instructions, I failed to see where the hookup directions left off the fact that one must attach the cable from the box in addition to the cable from the pole. Silly me. Silly directions. When the moment of rescue finally came, Cletus the Cable Technician spent about twenty minutes hooking us up.

      After 85 hours we were back up and running, and we still had found within us the power to stay engaged and amused when there was no TV. I could do 85 days, but I’ll wait until summer reruns come on next year to try that.

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    • Week Off

      Posted at 2:24 am by kayewer, on September 7, 2014

      There is nothing like the start of fall to cause so much upheaval in one’s life. I’m taking this week off from blogging and will have a new post next week. By then I will hopefully have cooled off and caught up on my sleep. Why did the end of summer and Labor Day have to come on the first of the month, anyway? Stuff must get done, so I’ll do it and get back to the fun stuff a week from today. Stay sane until then: that’s what I’ll be telling myself.

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    • The Jeans Day Rebellion

      Posted at 2:54 am by kayewer, on August 31, 2014

      My company just changed the dress code, and my wardrobe is now out of style. Maybe it was all along anyway. Office environments usually banned jeans, but since we are in a call center and do not have contact with the general public, the company listened to the suggestions of the rank and file and decided that associates working in call centers could wear jeans all the time, starting the day after Labor Day. This means that Tuesday will be considered by many to be Delivery From Office Attire Day.

      But not for me. Deliver me from denim.

      I don’t really like jeans. I was in the sixth grade before I had my first pair (Levi’s, of course), and over the years I have only had one or two pair in my closet for when I worked in the yard. For one thing, they’re stiff, and by the time you wash them enough to be soft, they’re not wearable anymore. Don’t tell me about pre-washed and “distressed” jeans which have been crushed by rocks, discolored by acids or bleaching methods or mauled by zoo tigers (they really do sell them: look it up), because if they’re that way to begin with, how many more wears can you get from them before you have to throw them out?

      For another thing, jeans have seams so thick in the crotch that, if you are skinny like Twiggy, you can teeter totter from one buttock to another when you sit down. Also, the pockets are too tight at the openings, and made of flimsy material inside. If you got a hole in the pocket, it would take five minutes to force your hand inside to find out your change was missing. If you’re lucky, the pant legs would be tight enough that you might find a dime stuck to your thigh.

      The big debate about dress codes is whether worker productivity goes up or down depending upon what they wear. We are delving into a science based upon comfort and its effect on self esteem. I’m sure the corporate idea was to let the employees know that they listen to us. They want to see happier employees so they can get good work from us. If people are comfortable in jeans, they feel, so be it.

      It’s likely that a woman in a corset from days gone by would not produce much good work sitting in a cubicle. No ergonomic chair on earth could make that torso torture device feel any more comfortable. Today, though, we have a variety of clothing options to look professional. Even in a call center, without suits or business attire, one can be comfortable and stylish and not resort to jeans attire.

      So are we truly a nation of slouchy bums, and should corporate America feel as comfortable in Bruce Springsteen style working class duds, in an office environment, as in a suit or dress? Whether we want to believe it or not, we do judge our environment by what we see in its people, and jeans don’t come off as dressy, classy or smart. Nobody wears denim at an awards ceremony, and one would not approach a monarch in distressed boot cut jeans.

      Also, wearing jeans in my company used to be a treat and privilege: we handed out coupons for the right to wear jeans as rewards and incentives, and certain post-holidays were designated as “jeans days.” Now that is gone. What shall we do for incentives that won’t cost money? The entire clothing game has now changed, and I’m stuck with a closet full of clothes in which I will now look like a rebel.

      So what do I do with my regular clothes? To play it safe when the new dress code takes effect on Tuesday, I hit up Kohl’s for two more pairs of jeans. I have a feeling that the jeans will come off when I get home. At my age, I don’t think denim will be my comfort clothes of choice. It’s an unofficial uniform I can accept, but come 5:00 I can rebel in my old standbys. And I don’t have to wear them to work in the yard.

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      Posted in Commentary | 0 Comments | Tagged jeans in the office, office dress code
    • Women at Twerk

      Posted at 1:44 am by kayewer, on August 24, 2014

      I can’t twerk. I found that out today while trying to illustrate the content of a video on YouTube® to my mother:

      I had seen the video about an inflatable tube guy–the type designed to draw attention at car dealers and outdoor events featuring live disc jockeys–which had become kinked and it’s “head” stuck to a telephone pole. The resulting motion created by the fan at its bottom looked like the tubular dude was twerking, but my impression looked more like a bad yoga move, or maybe a bad “my pantyhose are in a bind” move.

      So is it a sign of my age, or of my flagging sexuality, when I can’t parlay the “boo-tay” like some other women? Probably not. There are still men out there (note I say “men,” not “guys”) who look for wit, intelligence or somebody who is fun to be with, and who don’t want to be Alan Thicke if I’m going to be Miley Cyrus. So my “boo-tay” has no beauty and the junk just lies in the trunk. Tyra Banks would say I can’t “tooch” either. She’s right. We older women may well have a middle-age gut that looks more shapely than what we sit upon.

      At the midlife point in women’s lives we all have those moments of thinking about how sexy we still are or are not. I’ve never been one to plug the sexual side, and my bumps and grinds have always been more like collisions and chainsaw hamburger. Sure the men look at the twerkers, and they marry some of them (and divorce them, too), but I will just concentrate on walking tall and in a straight line. And I’ll leave the twerking to the experts, like the tube guy.

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      Posted in Commentary | 0 Comments | Tagged twerking
    • So Monstrous

      Posted at 2:22 am by kayewer, on August 17, 2014

      I just came from the Monster-Mania convention, and boy are my feet tired. Really. Rule of thumb at any convention event is “no seats allowed.” All the better to encourage walking among the vendors, of which there are many. I walked off about ten pounds. My friend picked up tee-shirts and various little things, while I came out with a horrific looking soda can cozy. Last year I got a tee myself, but since admission was $35, that put a bit of a dent in my spending loot. Besides, I don’t think my boss would like a horror film gewgaw sitting at my cubicle.

      Twice a year a hotel in Cherry Hill, NJ is packed tighter than a creepy clown car, swarming with horror buffs, so we go at least once. I like horror, but I’m selective, preferring vampire fare to the zombies (whom I consider reanimated, not undead), slashers and mutants. People arrive casually dressed, but some are in costume to be seen and talked about and give the children a scare. Over a few hours I saw Anubis (one of the best costumes), a few incarnations of the Joker, clowns of all shapes and sizes, military zombies and even the killer Buffalo Bill from “Silence of the Lambs” in his creepy drag outfit (unfortunately he had to wear flesh tone undies). The conventions also have visiting cult celebrities, and this one featured Adam West (Batman) and Peter Mayhew (Chewbacca), both of whom I spotted in the autograph lounge.

      The “dead”-icated convention fans stay the entire weekend, but an afternoon is enough for me. The next event comes in the spring, and my friend and I are talking about going in costume ourselves, to be seen and give the kids a scare. Now we just need a good idea for a duo (not a dynamic one) costume. I thought about the twin girls in “The Shining,” but we don’t look alike. Maybe if we go as ourselves, that will be scary enough.

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    • Sports Authorita

      Posted at 1:35 am by kayewer, on August 10, 2014

      Every time I go grocery shopping, I get a receipt and a coupon for Sports Authority®. They both go in the shredder. Mostly because my body is not shredded or ripped, so I shred the paper instead.

      I don’t feel comfortable enough to enter a sporting goods store. I had quite an experience when I went to a competitor–Dick’s–to get a supply of gift cards for one of my superiors last holiday season. The trek to the checkout aisle was like a hiking expedition and obstacle course wrapped up in one. I had to duck under canoes, avoid the groping sleeves of heavy duty outerwear and wriggle through bins of official sport gear just to buy stuff which fit into a bag the size of a CD case. I probably burned 200 calories without touching a single piece of fitness gear.

      Such things as gift card runs fall under related administrative assistant duties. Maybe, subliminally, somebody was also trying to tell me something, because stepping through the automated sliding doors of a sporting goods store when you are obviously out of shape (and out of your element) is like an alien’s first moments outside the mother ship on our planet. Take me to your litter, as I’m about to collapse from sensory overload. If there is an activity to do, it’s in your face in a sports store, so for those of us who are physically inept, it’s like a vacation in Hell: you wouldn’t normally want to go there, but it’s an experience you won’t likely forget if it’s not your thing in the first place.

      Throughout my school years the physical education crowd tried their darndest to get me to climb a rope, swing on uneven parallel bars, dunk a basket or thwack a golf ball, It never happened. Since I set my feet outside the boundaries of high school for the final time, not once have I needed to climb a rope, swing on uneven parallel bars or aim for anything beyond the living room wastebasket (and I miss that on many occasions). As for golf, I stick to miniature. But darn it, the supermarkets and Sports Authority® are determined to get me into their store.

      Maybe it’s something I’m buying, like the occasional bag of chips. It certainly couldn’t be my Greek yogurt, as that’s supposed to be good for you. “Gee, this customer is buying those chips again, so let’s try to scare some of that excess fat off her by luring her into Sports Authority® with twenty percent off anything but a gift card.”

      I respect the people who can do sports. They make up for those of us who can’t. They also deal with injuries better than most people. They shake it off and bounce back. I bruised myself the other week in my own kitchen, but if I wanted to look cool I could always lie and say I got hit by a mini golf ball.

      Anyway, there is no way I am going to take up a sport at this stage in my life. Unless it involves competitive potato chip eating.

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      Posted in Commentary | 0 Comments | Tagged dick's sporting goods, sports authority
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