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Monday,
March 4, 2002
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an interesting vegetarian dish
"The reasonable man adapts
himself to the world: the unreasonable one persists in trying to adapt
the world to himself. Therefore all progress depends on the unreasonable
man."
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bigger pants You know that old saying: he is too big for his britches? Well, maybe you don't but growing up in northeast Texas your grandmother might say to you: "You are getting too big for your britches." It came to mind today. I didn't mention it but yesterday after we got home I dashed out to check out the Levi's 560 supply at Academy. The news that they are discontinuing the jeans that fit me (sort of at least, on the right day) was disturbing. They had some on a table that seemed suspiciously like a closeout. They didn't have any black ones, which I really wanted. I like blue ones better but black ones are great for travel, for not looking so much like jeans and for not showing dirt or newspaper smudge (I'm always getting that black inky stuff on me). They had some blue ones but only one pair in the size I usually get. Hmm...wonder if I could go a bigger waist size? Dangerous territory, you know. Get too comfortable with the bigger pants and who knows what. Anyway, I ended up buying three pair of 36x30s at a good price. I wore a pair today to see. They are pretty loose after they stretch out, but still. They are OK. I also ordered some over the Internet in black but I'm not sure I trust those to arrive. So. What's all this about? More on that later. I had a couple of conversations today where I decided that I was being treated in a condescending way. I was pretty sure, though, that I didn't care. I wondered if I was getting 'too big for my britches.' Why shouldn't someone remove me from a briefing, not tell me directly, respond to a direct e-mail about it almost a week later and compare me to 'his children.' Relistening to his conversation in my head, it was one bit of condescension after another. I think the guy only called to deal with it because he was reminded by someone else. I could be wrong about that. Could I be getting 'too big from my britches?' Or is someone else in that position? It's futile to care too much. There's only so much you can do. I also realized that certain people were dancing around this, not agreeing with it, seeing it happen, trying to patch it up. People who care a lot more than I. People who were, unwittingly, participating in what they say are coincidences and oversights. I should warn them. Be careful who you defend. I could respond further. I could launch a volley across the bow, fire a warning shot. But, what I think I'll do instead is hide and watch. Do some work. Make presentations that others present and take credit for. Because I understand this guy will always take whatever credit is to be had. I'm sure that even if I'm miles away he will share any blame. Better to not be his trusted friend methinks. Am I getting too big for my britches? Probably, sure. But usually I'm willing to sit in the background, thinking, working up the new ideas and the ways of looking at things that the limelight guys depend on to fuel their fantasies that they alone are responsible for any successes. I also heard a little more about the new organization that is unfolding. The good news? I should be even more invisible. That's better than working on committees that are unable to do anything. And, yeah, maybe another set of people are 'dissing' me in the words of the modern youth. They just don't get it. I'm my own worst critic. So there.
So, at lunch, I continue my frivilous quest for blue jeans. They still have a bunch of 560's. They are a little more expensive than I'd like. (Blue jeans are a commodity that fluctuates in little price wars like oil or pork bellies.) But maybe this style will soon be history. I'm tempted. But I don't buy any. If the online store comes through, I'll have enough jeans for the next three or four years. Who knows how I might outgrow my britches by then? Are if I might become old enough to consider wearning jeans silly? I might die with new jeans in the closet. I might lose weight and find the fit not so good. Yeah, this last one is not the one I'd give the best chance of happening. But. You never know. That I live in such a frivolous world that I can worry about a blue jeans closing out is hilarious. And, of course, ebay traders will be selling every variety of jeans for years. Jeans barely worn by someone else who lost or gained weight. Or who died with them in their closet. I do buy some half-priced picture frames at Mervyn's. I have a new picture of my great nephew that I want to frame. I buy a couple of extra ones. As gifts or to put other things in around my office or the house. I almost buy my parents a new Mr. Coffee that makes the coffee into a carafe. But I decide to think that one over a bit more. I stop at Star of India for a quick buffet meal. I don't eat too much.
Which brings me to. Stuff. I am constantly plagued and surrounded and assaulted by stuff. At the same time I'm comforted and amused by stuff. I have a huge desire to pare it all down. But at the same time, I'm acquiring things. I have new blue jeans in the closet without the tags removed. If I were very rich, I'd hire someone to remove things from my sight and dispose of them or carefully store them so that I could find them when I wanted to have them again. I would hire someone to remove the tags from my clothes, to unpack new electronics from those pesky styrofoam things and set them up and make them work and install software and just let me, let me, do this. Use the thing. In Afghanistan people worry about freezing, having the earth heave up, getting a bit of clothing and food. All over the world really. And all I have to worry about is whether I'll have jeans that fit and how much trouble it is to remove the tags.
So this wasn't a good day for me to get in the mail some closeout stuff that I bought from a cool toy and miniature catalog I get. I had in mind to give all of it away as gifts. Except for a book on an eccentric collector. That was sold out. I'm going to give the stuff to my sister and my mom and a couple of friends. There were a couple of things backordered that I might have kept for myself. They might one day arrive, I don't know. But today. I don't enjoy unpacking the box, seeing the peanuts spill around. All that. It's not like Christmas. It's like a disease. The stuff is winning. I'm going to get rid of some stuff, I swear. I'm going to give these things away. Right away.
After work, I go home and Gayle, our bookkeeper, has cooked up beet soup in acorn squash and poached pears. With these cornmeal breadsticks. It's amazingly tasty. Yum. And different.
Too much TV. We watched Six Feet Under again. And then Ally. And Crossing Jordan and Third Watch. Too much TV. I read some during it. But. Still. Too much. Better things to do.
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178
JUST
TYPING