...Worker Bee.

This marks my last posting as a SAHD*. As of 2/7/11, I will be again amongst the gainfully employed.

I'm not sure how I feel about that, to be perfectly honest.

I've spent the last year and a half sucking on the government teat (a.k.a. collecting unemployment insurance) while staying home to raise my young daughter. For the most part, it's been a terrific experience.  She's grown so much in the time I've been home with her. I love taking her to preschool and occasionally volunteering to be the teacher's assistant.** There, I am just another one of the Moms...only hairier and with slightly less makeup. There's dance class and swim class and trips to the library and Museum of Science. She loves it all.

Together we conquered diapers, pacifiers, fear of the dark and the big slide at the playground. And those were just my problems! *rimshot*

It's been the greatest time of my life watching her grow into this beautiful, funny and whip smart little girl. We make a great team, she and I. So, it's not without a little sadness and some serious soul-searching that I decided to get back into the workplace.

This begs the question: Why?

I don't exactly know. Money is one reason, although my financial contribution will be less than modest. Male ego? Not really. I'm pretty comfortable with not being the primary breadwinner in the household. Not bringing in any $$$, though is a bit emasculating. Factor in the desire to go someplace where I can talk to grownups during the day about things other than playdates, school fundraisers and who didn't invite whom to someone's kid's birthday party.
 
A job, though...?

A schedule, a time card, a boss and, the scariest part; dealing with OTHER PEOPLE???  I used to get panic attacks.  Bad ones, too.  Never had one while being at home with the Spawn.  Been feeling pretty anxious lately, I gotta say. Wife says that's normal when starting a new job.

I dunno. Can I get back into the life of a worker bee at my age? *checks liver spots*

Then, there's always the possibility it might be fun...

With me though, it's always been 'Hope for the best, but expect nuclear armageddon.' I intend to keep an open mind here. Just not so open that some stray seagull poops into my open cranium.

We. Shall. See.

When I found out that I got the job, I sat my daughter down and explained to her that Daddy was going back to work.  She paused for a moment and without missing a beat, she looked up at me and said, "But Daddy, who will take care of me?" That was immediately followed by the sound of my heart crashing to the ground.

I will miss my old job.  A lot.  The boss was really cool. Especially after she was potty trained.


*Stay-At-Home-Dad

**Shocking to anyone who knew me before I had a child. I am/was not a 'kid person.'

...MMXIne.

First of all, Happy New Year!  Or, as the Chinese refer to it; 'January 1st.'

A few random thoughts...

New Year's resolutions are a total crock. You are only setting yourself up for failure.  If you must have a resolution, make it easy like, "Next year I plan to drink some liquids and breathe regularly."

Not. Gonna. Happen.

Will people ever stop complaining that we still don't have flying cars and jetpacks?  I mean, really...people have enough trouble navigating in two dimensions.  Are we really ready for American drivers to be strapped to machines that can actually crash on to people's houses?  Not a sound plan. 

Want to complain about something?  Just look to BACK TO THE FUTURE, PART II.  Marty went from 1985 to 2015.  That's only four years away!  Are we any closer to HoverBoards, power-lace Nikes and self-sizing jackets?  Nope.  I really want to go to the Cafe 80's for a Pepsi Perfect.  Make it happen!

Another fine example of how movies lied to me.

My hillbilly neighbors are more than likely preparing a full-scale 'Shock and Awe' display of poor firearm safety when the clock strikes midnight.  I'm pretty sure I saw a truck of M9A1 Bazookas being unloaded on their front lawn.  Wonderful.

I have never liked New Year's Eve. More often than not, I had nowhere to go and no one to go there with.  It's almost as bad as Valentine's Day.  At least on V-Day, you're not expected to drink yourself into a vomit-choking stupor.  Just to eat enough candy to induce Type II Diabetes in a few hundred lab rats.

His day will not end well.

Living in New England, I will once again miss out on a wonderful tradition from my childhood;  The Mummers Parade.  I have many fond memories of sitting in front of the TV, watching the string bands and the fancy brigades strut down Broad Street in Philadelphia.  They have nothing similar in Boston except the annual 'Let's Light the Midget in the Leprechaun Suit on Fire and Watch Him Roll On the Ground' Parade.

No, it's not a Gay Pride parade, jerks!

It's natural to reflect on the past twelve months to try to find some greater meaning or insight.  But like any reflection, there are two sides.  There are highs and lows.  I expect much the same next year.  The best you can hope for is that you come out on the other side a little wiser if not worse for wear.  I've always been the type that hopes for the best, but expects the worst.  I don't know how well that attitude has served me over the years, but it's who I am.

I have always been able to define my life by decade.  I was a sheltered, withdrawn child in the 70's, an awkward, unsure teenager in the 80's, a young daydreamer blinded by false promises in the 90's.  I 'grew up' in the 00's, moved from the shiny and attractive, yet ultimately hollow facades of Las Vegas, got married and started a family. 

I have no earthly idea what changes, challenges and surprises this new decade will bring.  As I said before, I am not an optimist by any definition of the word.  For the sake of my daughter, however (who will be fourteen when 2021 rolls around), I will try to look ahead with my eyes wide open instead of behind a dim veil of cynicism. 

I will try...

...Tryptophan.

Chances are, if you are reading this on Thanksgiving Day, you are either eagerly awaiting the ritual gorging on domesticated game bird stuffed with glutinous matter or are suffering from a foodstuff-induced loginess.

Either way, welcome to my first-ever Thanksgiving blog post.  Now, many people will use this day to go over a boring litany of things for which they are most thankful.  Usually, that includes things like family friends, health, blah, blah, blah...

Not me.  Nossir.  I will use my virtual podium to lay out that which I am thankful I don't have.  Won't that be fun?

1. Male Pattern Baldness - It may seem a bit vainglorious, but I am so glad that I still have my hair. It may be getting grayer than Gandalf, but it's still on my head.

2. An Annoying Child - See, I don't like kids.  Never have.  Even when I was a kid, I preferred to hang out with adults. Probably a result of being an only child.  Kids were irksome little snot machines, always touching and breaking stuff.  I always thought I could do a better job of raising one.  And now, I have done it!  I have a perfect little treasure and...wait...I'll be right back.  My kid just poured Chinese hot mustard all over the cat.

3. Catholicism - I was baptized and confirmed a Catholic.  None of which, amazingly, was my decision.  I went to Catholic school. My parents were 'Cafeteria Catholics,' and we rarely attend chucrh except for the Big Three; Easter, Christmas and Palm Sunday.  We half-assed our way through Lent and never participated in any church-related activities.  That was fine with Young Tom, because the only thing I found more boring than Mass was going bra shopping with my Mom.

4.  I don't see dead people - Self-explanatory.

5.  A shrill harpy for a wife - I am extremely lucky that I am married to someone who does not yell, scream or otherwise cause the hairs on the back of my neck to stand on end.  (Yes, she is standing right behind me at this moment.)

6. Salmonella - Not yet, anyway.  The day is young.

7. Dermatitis Herpetiformis - A rare, chronic, papulo-vesicular disease characterized by an intensely pruritic eruption consisting of various combinations of symmetrical, erythematous, papular, vesicular, or bullous lesions. Yuck.


8. Sanity - Debatable, yes...but, it's my mind and I can think what I want! So there!



What are YOU not thankful for?


I'd like to know...

...Dying of the Light, Part Deux.

Previously, on 'Rage Against The...'

Young Mr. Feeney, buoyed by phony Facebook-induced nostalgia, embarkes on an ill-fated journey back to his old hometown to recapture something he feels he may have lost in the ensuing years. 

Unfortunately, he has about the same chance of finding Bigfoot's baby teeth with a Handy Manny™ flashlight and a coke spoon.

And now, the conclusion...

Hotel room? Booked.

Car?  Oil changed and tank all gassed up.

Clothes, toiletries and assorted personal items?  Packed.

Sense of self-worth?  Grossly over-inflated.

Then, it's off I go!  Six hours and one large Dunkin Donuts iced coconut coffee with milk and two Splenda® later and I am in PA.

The lanes where I learned to bowl so poorly.

I decide to drive around my old stomping grounds to see what has changed and, most importantly, what hasn't.  The streets and houses are very much the same.  However, the terrible economy of the past few years has taken it's toll, as it has most everywhere.  The Clemens Supermarket is closed, the Lans-Bowl bowling lanes were destroyed by a fire.  Downtown has seen a lot of changes, most not for the better. I checked into the hotel...nice place.  It's right down the street from Merck Pharmaceuticals where my Dad worked for 44 years.  More déjà vu.  Must be a glitch in the Matrix. After an excellent pizza steak sandwich at Ray's, (Thanks for the recommendation, Chris!) I settle in for the night, still excited about the reunion.

The next morning is bright and crisp...a gorgeous fall day.  I have a plan for the morning; A visit to the Lansdale Historical Society.  Exciting, I know but if you want to relieve the past, you go where the past still lives and breathes.  I spend the morning poring through microfiche records of the local newspaper, the North Penn Reporter, looking for evidence of now non-existent childhood haunts.  More specifically, the movie theaters where I spent many a weekend.  In a small town in the seventies, no one cared if you left an eight-year-old child by themselves at the movies all afternoon.

A sketch of the old Lansdale Theatre that hangs proudly in my home.

 

I remember the first 'grown up' movie I got to see by myself, the 1977 disaster movie Rollercoaster, about a terrorist blowing up amusement park attractions. It featured a cool gimmick called Sensurround, which used low frequency sound waves to cause the seats to rumble every time the coasters were on the screen.  It scared the hell out of me.  Not the movie, mind you. Looming above me was a giant glass chandelier that dangled like the Sword of Damocles threatening to crash down on me at any moment. The chandelier* was part of the dangerous charms of the Lansdale Theatre, a decaying old Art Deco movie house, built in 1928.  The danger was apparently all too real for the theatre would have to be torn down in 1979.

After my acid trip down Memory Lane, I drove around some more, reliving good and simpler times I had spent with my folks.  I passed the house where my sister lives with her husband. We haven't spoken since our Dad passed away.  She doesn't know I'm married.  She doesn't know I'm a Dad.  She doesn't know our brother also passed away earlier this year.  I thought about contacting her, but I'm not sure what I would even say anymore. "Hey, it's me.  You remember...your brother Tom.  Yeah, long time I know.  Guess what?  Mike died earlier this year.  Oh, and while you're processing that, listen to this: before he died, he said he didn't want me to ever tell you. What's new with you?"


Yeah, I don't see that going well at all.

Bones!

Anyway, on to slightly less depressing things.  Like the pseudo-reunion!  Okay, let's set the stage here; I am appropriately manscaped and ready for a fun evening of hellos, how-are-yous, you-look-greats and a few where've-you-beens.  I get to the restaurant/bar promptly at 7:00pm.  It's a lively place called Bones, which makes no sense to me because there isn't one picture of DeForest Kelley to be found in the whole place (and believe me, I looked).  There were already a few people milling about the bar area.  I wasn't sure who they were because they all looked so damn old when I haven't changed one tiny little bit!  This couldn't be right.  I scanned the room like a Terminator looking for Sarah Connor, but instead only found a roiling sea of Male Pattern Baldness, beer bellies, bad perms and Covergirl foundation makeup.

Finally, I spotted a familiar face entering the room.  Mike Rosiak, a jovial fellow I remember from back in the day had arrived.  I am sure he would be the first to admit he is rather hard to miss.  He's a burly dude and stuck out like the Incredible Hulk at an albino midget convention.  He stopped my way for a bone-breaking handshake and then got swarmed by everyone else in the room.  "Okay" I thought. "One down, now let's see who else I remember."  Minutes passed.  Then hours.  Then weeks.  An equinox or two went by.  Not a peep.  I saw my reflection in the mirror behind the bar which confirmed that I had not suddenly turned invisible, so that explanation was out.  Guys were fake-hugging, women were screeching like the brakes of a freight train about to crush a school bus (why can't my metaphors ever be pleasant?) and there I sat, drowning alone in a sea of humanity.

I was pissed, to say the least.  Sure, I may have made matters worse by writing 'Batman' on my name tag, but come on! Speaking of swooping down and saving the day, I was eternally grateful when two of my non-high school friends came to the party specifically to see me.  Chris Badali, whom I have known since first grade and has always been a stand-up guy (even though he's now a blood sucking divorce attorney) and my former La Salle classmate Leo Hesser, who back then was kind of a cross between James Dean and Mick Jones of The Clash.  Too cool for school.  Still is, bless 'im.  So, there we were...a trio of geezers-in-training, reminiscing and talking trash about everyone else in the room. 

L-to-R; Leo Hesser, Tom Feeney, Christian Badali (a.k.a The LensCrafters Trio)

Now, that was more like it.

Oh, there was someone else who recognized me.  Back in my junior year, there was this one girl who sat in the row next to me in French class.  Cute as a button and sweet as a Pixie Stick, she was one of the intense, yet fleeting crushes I had back then.  She looked at me once, then once again.  The light of recognition flashed in her Keane-esque eyes and she approached me.  She didn't remember my name (she probably figured out right away it wasn't Batman), but I remembered hers.  I got a nice hug and she held my face in her hands and smiled.  A minor validation, but it was enough for me.  Then, she introduced me to her 24 -year-old daughter.  Yikes.  A Freaky Friday moment if ever there was one.

My friends and I hung out for a little while longer, then we retired to another, slightly less crowded and noisy bar for a final drink before saying our goodbyes.  All in all, not a terrible evening.  I'm sorry there were a few people I missed seeing, but there's always tomorrow. 

There I go again, proving my legendary pessimism to be a sham worthy of old Professor Marvel himself.

The next morning I checked out of the hotel and made my way back home. The home I made with my wife and daughter.  The place where I really belong.

On my way out of town, I heard WMMR play All You Zombies by The Hooters.  "Couldn't have written a better ending myself," I thought.





*That same chandelier is now hanging in a theatre in Oregon. Nice to know it survived and is now frightening new generations of kids!