Winding down the decade

Sometimes the things taking place in our world manage to slip right by us. New Year's Day is coming up in a few days, which means the start of another year is yet upon us. But this time it also marks the end of a decade. Now, some people think that each new decade begins with the year that ends with a "1" because we count from one to ten. The year ending in "0" would mark the end of the decade, thus meaning that the 2020s would actually begin in 2021. I have a different take on that. To me, the 2020s begin with the year 2020, the same way I consider 2010 the start of the 2010s. Some folks think I'm wrong and that's OK. It's just a different way of looking at things. I'm not like regular people. Everyone knows that by now since I say it in almost every post.

Does moving into a new decade warrant a celebration? I don't think so for myself, but to each his own. It does give us a reason to stop and think about what we have or have not accomplished during that time. During the 2010s, I really didn't accomplish much. For me, work was scarce. My health continued to decline; it still continues its downward trend, and will in the years to come. They should have named it "die-abetes" because that's what it eventually does to you regardless of how well you control it. Some will disagree, but this disease affects everyone who has it differently. Too many people don't get that. I have some stories, but I'll share those another time.

For me, 2020 is going to start off with a bang and it's right up my alley, too. I've signed up to be part of the media day event for a brand new roller coaster out at Six Flags Magic Mountain. West Coast Racers was supposed to debut during 2019, but some unexpected delays pushed it back to 2020. I may write a separate post about that event. We'll see.

Meanwhile, I'm going to continue my fight to feel good, get things done, and do what I can to get the 2020s roaring even more than the 1920s were! I've started my second decade of blogging and plan to keep it up—hopefully more often. Writing is good for you. It's a great way to unload stress, have some fun, make people laugh, record fun and/or important events, and even teach people some new things. You never know...

Watching people just for the fun of it

I know I haven't written much of anything about this, but I must confess to being a lifelong people watcher. Perhaps my quiet nature pushed me toward being that way. I watch and study the actions and movements of others, but by no means do I reach out and actually touch anyone. That would be kind of...ewww.

In all seriousment, I don't dislike people by any stretch of the imagination. Quite the opposite, actually. As a youngster, I was shy and didn't say much even if the people I were with were much loved family members or friends. Being part of a big family (second oldest of five kids!), being so quiet likely resulted in "getting lost in the shuffle." Not only am I quiet from the standpoint of saying little, but the volume of my voice is rather low. I hear the word "what?" a lot. It's because they didn't hear me, that's why.

So, if you can't get 'em to interact with you, you get 'em to entertain you instead. And you really don't need to do anything. Just watch and listen! For whatever reason, we quiet folks are presumed to be off in our own little world. No one thinks we're listening. Over the years, I've overheard some very...interesting...conversations because people oftentimes aren't careful about what they're saying or where they're saying it. Why? Because that quiet guy sitting nearby isn't paying any attention.

Oh, yes he is.

Don't get me wrong, however. I've never overheard anyone planning a murder or making plans to break into the White House or Fort Knox. Just the basic gossip about co-workers, family members, spouses and so forth. Regardless of what was said, I don't run around telling others what I've heard because it's none of my business—or anybody's for that matter. The one exception to this that I'd make is if I heard something that could seriously be threatening to someone.

What people say isn't always entertaining or even interesting to be honest. What some people do, however, can be quite funny. Over the years I've managed to capture some very funny stuff with those two eyeballs of mine. For the sake of your sanity, I won't get into anything specific here.

One of my favorite people watching spots is the local theme park—in my case, Six Flags Magic Mountain. I've had a season pass for 25 years now, so I can go out there as often as I want. Even on days when I don't feel like riding much, I spend the day walking around, or parking myself on a bench to take in the sights, smells and sounds of the place. For me this is at least as entertaining as watching a bunch of millionaires out on a field or in an arena battling to win a game. In a sense, it's free entertainment. If I spent the time, I could come up with plenty to share here, but it's not really the same thing as observing it firsthand. We all have our favorite stories.

Now that my age begins with a "6," it's not too likely that I'm going to change my ways anytime soon. From now until my dying day, I'm going to observe others. I'm going to listen but say nothing. So when the time comes that I'm on my deathbed, you'd better not do or say anything that you wouldn't want me to see or hear. I've heard that the last sense that people have before slipping into their final sleep is their hearing. That means I'll know what you said and who knows how I'll use that information in the next life. [winks]

Ten years' worth of Eric's Planet

I've been making all sorts of noise about my tenth blogiversary coming up, and guess what? It's here. On December 18, 2009, I wrote and published my very first blog post and joined the many others who do the same thing. True to my style, however, there's not going to be a big, giant celebration with cake and ice cream, confetti, fireworks, etc. With only a handful of people who actually read what I write, there's no point to going to great expense and time in jail for a celebration where a bumper sticker message reading "My other car is a Porsche" is longer than the guest list.

With my blogiversary approaching, I gave some serious thought about what I wanted to do to mark the occasion. Dogs mark things by lifting their legs and peeing on them. Nope, not my style. Cats claw the heck out of things. Not my style, either. I could spend the post reminiscing about what's taken place during the last ten years. Not interesting, said Eric.

And then it struck me. I don't even celebrate my own birthday for crying out loud. Why would I/should I create a giant fiasco for this creation of mine? Back in 2014, I wrote a post about my daughter. She's a creation worthy of celebrating.

I've been asked, "What is a blog? What do you write about? How do you do it?" And a hundredteen other questions. The answers? A blog is short for "web log." (Say that fast and you can figure out where the "blog" part came from.) I write about whatever I want. I use a Google application called Blogger. Well, those are the short answers. Just as in real life, my answers are brief and to the point. I don't say much in this life—never have, and probably never will. Frustrating for some; a relief for others. There is a reason for that, and someday I'll write about it. There are reasons why I am the way I am. One day, I'll get it all down either here in my blog or in my autobiography, should I ever decide to write one. Unfortunately, there are some folks still walking the Earth who need to be written about, but I can't do so until after they're in the ground and cold. That means I have to wait. Long stories there, but all of mine are "Long" stories...

The beauty of it all is that it gives me plenty of things to write about. Enough to fill a lifetime, perhaps. If I manage to keep it going, by the time I reach my 20th blogiversary in 2029, I'll have paid off my house, Los Angeles will have held its third Summer Olympic games, I'll have reached age 70 and collecting my Social Security benefit of $1.14 a month.

All right, time to get serious here.

I like to think that I've shared some things in my life with those of you who read this blog. And that's really what this blog is about. As the tagline says, My life's experiences mixed with a lot of utter nonsense, I write about what I experience, be it the serious stuff or the silly stuff. I just turned 60 last summer. For some, that's over the hill. For me, I'm just getting started. The health issues I've written about are kind of like the proverbial Legos on the floor when you walk through the room barefoot. It hurts a bit when you step on one (OK, a LOT!!!), but you get over it and move on. But this fat, 60-year-old diabetic will still get on a roller coaster, work a roulette table, or hop in the car to take a random 100+-mile drive to...anywhere. I have friends who are waiting for me to go visit them. 400 to 800 miles' worth of driving each way. All the way into [*GASP!*] other states. Sometime before I leave this earth, I need to visit more states to up my count from its pathetic seven. But more importantly, to go visit friends whom I've missed. A state of iffy health doesn't lend itself to a long drive. But I'll get there.

Congratulations to me for reaching ten years of blogging [tries to pat self on back, pulls shoulder out of socket]. And here's to at least ten more.

Casino Night at Los Angeles Union Station

Recently, I had the chance to work a job at one of my very favorite places: Union Station in downtown Los Angeles. The photo used here is not mine; I sneakily borrowed it from an article by writer Danielle Bernabe. Thank you, Danielle.

Los Angeles Union Station

As some of you know, I've been working something of a "side gig" since 1996. I work as a casino dealer for a "casino night" company. You've seen those to support fundraisers or for some plain old fun. I plan to write a more in-depth post about this side gig at some point—in fact, I have a post about it in process and I'm trying to tie up a few loose ends before publishing it here. You can bet on that.

For our holiday season, Sean got an opportunity to work a company holiday party at Union Station in the esteemed Concourse Room. When Union Station opened in 1939, this room served as the point of sale for those purchasing tickets to board passenger trains operated by Santa Fe, Southern Pacific, and Union Pacific. (This is how Union Station got its name—the three railroads came together there and formed, essentially, a union of the three.)

Even in its current state, the Concourse Room is very reminiscent of a bank, with lots of room for people to stand and a long counter with windows, behind which employees stood to help customers with ticket purchases, exchanges, etc. You can see that counter in the picture below. I remember going there for the first time when my mom took a Union Pacific train to Arizona back in the late '60s, then getting to board the train with my family to see her off. At one point, there were huge wooden chairs with heavy leather upholstery in that room. Those chairs have been moved out of that room, but there are still many of them along the main concourse leading to the tunnels through which you board your Amtrak or Metrolink train, or continue to the back of the station for the Metro Gold Line light rail station or the entrance to the Metro Red Line subway.

In the mid-'70s, our church youth director took an Amtrak train to Arizona. Our group went to see him off and celebrated with a very unusual cake made by a Russian guy who came to church a few times. This celebration was also in what is now the Concourse Room. Unfortunately, I don't have pictures of this room from way back when, but you can find them online if you look for "Los Angeles Union Station."

The party we worked was for Muir-Chase, a big plumbing company in the greater L.A. area. The guests were all very nice and had a great time.

Dual roulette table set up to handle the big crowds.

As I usually do, I worked roulette. That night we used the dual roulette table and I worked with a new guy, who went by his nickname of "D." He did tell me his actual name, but that was DAYS ago and my memory must have a hidden exit in it because stuff keeps slipping out. And, yet, I can still remember my hall and gym locker numbers and combinations from junior high school nearly 50 years ago. Go figure...

Sean had our parking all set up, but the thought of driving into downtown Los Angeles at rush hour on a Friday evening didn't sit well with me. Instead, I parked at the North Hollywood station for the Metro Red Line and took the subway all the way to Union Station. That meant that after helping with teardown when the job was finished, I had to lug my exhausted body back through that long tunnel, down to catch a train and spend a half-hour riding to North Hollywood, then another hour home (normally 45 minutes, but I was starved and wanted to swing through McDonald's for a late, late dinner). For even more fun, the escalator going up to ground level was out of service. I tried to take the elevator, but when it arrived, I was greeted with the smell of someone having used it to leave behind a "number two," along with the sight of the offending substance itself. Well, poop on that. It looks like I'm dragging this worn out body up six or eight stories' worth of stairs.

This party was the first of three I worked that weekend. The others were a party at someone's home and at a venue previously worked. Three parties in a row really wore me out, but I had fun and earned some righteous bucks! And I deserve every penny!

Stop messing with the time!

The recent change of our clocks back to Standard Time got me to thinking about the madness through which most of us suffer twice each year. Those dreaded words: "Daylight Saving Time." Before I get into this, let me get one thing straight. It's a bit of a peeve that this officer on the Spelling and Grammar Police force has suffered through more times than he can shake a stick at. And he shakes a mean stick.

So many people refer to this clock-altering scheme as "Daylight Savings Time." The "saving" is not plural. We are [allegedly] saving daylight, thus the singular form of the word. And here's a little info from Wikipedia to back me up:

Daylight Savings Time is a misspelling, but more common than the correct term. Setting our clocks one hour forward in the spring is often referred to as “Daylight Savings Time” even though “Daylight Saving Time” is the correct spelling.

There. Got that off my chest, along with some of the hair. Ouch.

Aside from the cringe I get from the mispronunciation and misname of this misappropriation of our precious time, I'm annoyed by what it achieves—or doesn't achieve. That's what inspired this post. Feel free to agree or not.

You have to wonder how moving the time around would give us an "extra hour" of daylight. It makes no sense. Having the sun set an hour later means that we'll have an extra hour of daylight [*wink*] in the evening, but that extra hour [*wink*] comes at a price—the loss of an hour of light in the morning. Back in the early '70s during the first energy crisis, Congress extended Daylight Saving Time (DST) to year round to save even more energy. That meant that in the wintertime, when the days are shorter anyway, we'd get an extra hour [*wink*] in the evening, but at the loss of that light in the morning. I recall going to school (eighth grade) literally at night. Not only did we have to get dressed with all of our lights on (saving energy, huh?), but our parents had to drive us to school in the dark. The school had to turn on their outdoor lights for us as well. In my mind, I get to tell people that I went to night school when I was 13. And it's not a lie!

Two of the states in our country don't observe DST. Arizona and Hawai'i kicked the idea to the curb a long time ago. And good for them for doing so!

Here in Southern California, where traffic tends to rule our lives, there's a noticeable phenomenon that occurs with each change of the clock—either forward and backward. We drivers tend to get set in our ways, and when something changes, like amount of daylight, it throws us off. I've noticed an increase of (fortunately) minor accidents in my daily commute in the first few days of the "new" time. Fortunately, I continue to be spared from that. Knock on wood.

I fail to see how this entire idea saves energy. As I said above, when you have to turn on lights when you used to NOT have to, you're NOT saving energy. It's really about as simple as that. Sure, with DST you might get an "extra hour" to enjoy a barbeque or a swim party, but you'll burn up those savings every morning unless you want to get dressed in the dark.

Every time we have to move our clocks, people talk about eliminating the whole idea. Strange as it sounds, a state cannot simply change its time-changing policy and *POOF* it's done. Any such move must be approved by Congress—yes, THAT Congress. And you know how long that can take. It's going to take quite a lot of time and effort to put an end to the clock-changing madness, so the likelihood is fairly small that this will happen within our lifetime. Diana's lifetime, maybe. But we can only hope.

Where I am politically

I never thought I'd write a post about politics, being that I'm not really interested, nor discuss much about the topic. But for grins and giggles, laughs and guffaws, and the sake of possibly starting World War III, I'm going to open up and spew my political position all over your eyes. You'll get my entire history from A to Z, one to at least twelve, here to there, east to west and north to south—maybe even all the way to Covina. You never know.

My parents were good, churchgoing folks and tended to live and vote on the more conservative side. Regarding their politics, I don't remember much before the 1968 elections, but I know they were staunch Nixon supporters that year. Some of the kids in my fourth grade class at school had more liberal parents and a few referred to Nixon as a "lead head" (whatever that meant). Me, being as original as vanilla ice cream in those days, went right against Nixon and referred to him as a "lead head" at the dinner table one evening. Mom said nothing, but Dad gave me the lowdown on what Nixon and the Republican party stood for. From then on, I was convinced that the right was...right. I was a conservative.

Generally speaking, I stayed more or less "right wing" for many years, though I never did register to vote under the Republican party. To this day, my voter preference is "decline to state" or "non-partisan." Doing so was mainly to keep the political junk mail at bay and to stay off of anyone's list of people to contact. Phone calls during dinner are annoying as well, especially ones of a politcal nature. Don't even start me on sales calls.

I married a lady whose political views were very close to mine at the time. She may have some different views these days, but in conversations, I don't get the feeling that she's become more liberal-thinking. But we don't talk much about politics.

As time has gone on, national and world events have gotten me to spend more time thinking about what's best in terms of dealing with the various problems within the United States and in other parts of the world. My thoughts have begun to head toward the idea that the right isn't always right.

Until recently, if asked what my political viewpoint is, my answer would be "middle-of-the-road with a lean to the right." I still feel that being more middle-of-the-road is ideal because in the end, moderate, middle ground thinking will accomplish what is best for the largest number of people. Remember that you can't please everyone.

I mentioned earlier in this post that my parents were good, churchgoing folks who voted conservatively on candidates and issues. When you stop and think about it, most Protestant denominations lean heavily toward the right. I find that interesting because the conservative folks are the ones who tend to go with the status quo—keep things the same, whether bad or good. Change? Nope. Funny thing is that since we Protestants consider Jesus Christ to be our Savior and worship Him, we tend to think that He is aligned with our conservative values, though in truth, He was more liberal. His ideas and teachings went against the "conservative" Pharisees and leaders of the day, much like the liberals' do now. I really believe that if He were here now, walking the streets in the flesh and doing what He did then, He'd be considered quite the liberal by our standards.

If we're supposed to be following Him, perhaps we need to reexamine our conservative values. Change can be a good thing if it is warranted on an issue.

As a young man, I earned the nickname of Mr Conservo because I acted, behaved, and dressed very conservatively. Today, such is not the case. I will never become a sign waving, marching in the street, ultra left-wing Democrat, but everything about Mr Conservo is thankfully long gone.

Watching a movie at the ballpark

When I was growing up, we used to go watch movies at the El Portal Theater on Lankershim Blvd in the heart of North Hollywood CA. The theater is still there and approaching its 100th birthday. These days, movies shown there are rare, as live stage shows are the norm.

The El Portal was your typical movie theater. A couple dozen rows of seats with each row a bit higher than the row in front of it. Sometimes you were lucky and the theater wasn't full, increasing your chances of an empty seat in front of you and guaranteeing an unobstructed view of the screen.

Other times, however, someone rather tall or wearing a hat or a beehive hairdo would sit in front of you, guaranteeing a movie-long workout to try and see around or over the blockade. Not a lot of fun, though I will say that a polite request to remove the hat was honored in olden times, but sometimes ignored. The hairdo or tall person? You couldn't do much except moving to another seat or trying to sit higher.

While I have never observed a fistfight or any violence toward a human blockade, I've wondered what could be done to assure that all patrons of the theater will enjoy an unobstructed view of the movie regardless of where they sat.

Well, as fate would have it, someone beat me to it.

Build movie theaters with seats arranged as they are in sports venues. Stadium seating! But instead of two teams trying to win a game, there's a movie being shown on a giant screen.

Across the country and probably the world, new theaters are being built with stadium seating, and older theaters are being retrofitted as such.

The trick to making stadium seating successful is to do it right from the start. I have observed at least one example of stadium seating that, in my humble opinion, leaves a bit to be desired. Along with my friend, Jim Kula, we try to see the Oxnard Film Society's foreign film on Monday nights at a multiplex in Oxnard. This appears to be a newer theater, or has been substantially upgraded. All 14 auditoriums feature stadium seating. Jim and I sit in the last row at the very top for the best view and no disruption from anyone behind us because there is no one behind us. Fortunately, it's rare that the seats in front of us are occupied, making our experience that much better.

However, on my most recent visit, I had the distinktive (I misspelled it on purpose; you'll see why) pleasure of sitting behind a guy who was tall enough to scratch an itch on his head by rubbing it on any ceiling. Not only did Mr Sequoia Tree not slouch a bit (like most folks), he moved from side to side, seemingly with intention, but I'm sure it wasn't. Luckily, there was a seat to my right which got me out from behind him.

This madcap Adventure at the Movies was a bit annoying, but after the movie, I spent some time trying to figure out why my row wasn't as much higher as it should have been (in theory). This was the last row, but somehow needs to be raised a few inches. Looking at the steps, I noticed that the rise from the next row forward is the same, but the seats don't seem much higher. An optical illusion, perhaps, but something seems...off. I could possibly explain to management what the problem is and make suggestions as to how to fix it if I were to spend the time to take measurements and photos, but something tells me that management would write me off as "that crackpot with OCD."

Who else but I would put so much effort into something that really needs no such analysis? I think that the best course of action for me would be to stick to going to the theater and just watch the movie like everyone else.

Vacation's over...back to writing

I took a vacation? Why am I always the last to know?

No, I didn't take a vacation. I can't afford to go anywhere or do anything. And besides, these days I barely have enough energy to walk outside and get my newspapers. But we'll save all of that for another post.

Word of warning: this post may be a bit...rambly. Yes, that's one of my patent-pending terms. As defined in the dictioneric:

rambly [RAM blee] adj. Having the characteristic of rambling, as in wandering all over the place topicwise while writing and making little or no sense.

The...dictioneric. Sounds pretty Erical, huh? And "rambly" and "topicwise" weren't too far behind that one. I have referred to myself as a wordsmith three or 17 times. Perhaps that's true.

My reference to taking a vacation comes from the fact that I haven't written anything for awhile. Somehow, September came and went without a single post. I attribute that to the fact that I've been feeling poorly as of late. Well, everyone knows that my health is on the "eh" side and slipping further toward the down side of things. But this post isn't about my health. I've already written about that, and everyone who knows me knows that. The armchair physicians in my life have advised me from here to unfinity (yes, that's also an Eric word) as to how to deal with my issues. Some advice I've tried (and it didn't work), and some just didn't seem right. It's time for a visit to the doctor. A real one.

On sort of a side note, I may have mentioned that, given my body's reaction as of late to being dragged aboard my beloved roller coaster rides, I had doubts as to whether to renew my Six Flags season pass for 2020. Well, I decided that it would be better to have a valid pass should I feel up to going than to not have one. So I bit the bullet and renewed. In fact, my sister Barbara and I had to visit Six Flags Magic Mountain in order to get our 2020 passes processed, so we made a day of it.

I did survive a few rides aboard those gravity-powered contraptions. My ride on Twisted Colossus was the first of the year, and was most uncomfortable. I know that my weight is on the rise (not good, and I know that), but I was bordering on having to take the Walk of Shame™. Instead, I sucked in the ol' gut and they got the bar to the safe zone and I rode. It was very, very tight and I almost couldn't wait for the ride to be over. It's a rare moment when I can't wait for a coaster ride to be over. But it's also a sign that a few changes in my life need to be made. Getting back to work would be a good start, but laying off the snacks and putting some miles on the Reeboks would be a good thing, too. Even a couple of laps around the block would help. One lap around our block is a half-mile. Two or three laps a day would be a great start.

Keeping the rambly theme going, I managed to work a casino job last month. It was good to get back behind the roulette table and take money from innocent, unsuspecting players. I also got to breathe a sigh of relief in that I did not get booted from the casino crew. I've had a feeling that I forgot about a job earlier this year, so I didn't show up, causing Sean to relieve me of my duties as croupier. At the party, I spoke with him and told him about how I was almost panicked about that. Sean smiled and even laughed a little. I guess the fact that I was working a party was a good indicator that I am still on the crew. Losing a 23-year side gig would indeed be "croupy." I know, bad joke. But it was hysterical. Get it?

One can write, and one can ramble. I've done plenty of each in this post. Remember that this month marks ten years of my planet's existence and I plan to commemorate it with a post of some kind. Stay tuned...

Coke or Pepsi?

Ah, the cola wars. Which is better, Coke or Pepsi? All of my life, I've been a soda drinker. (That could be why I'm also an insulin shooter, but we'll save that for another discussion.) Let's face it, people like their soda.

In our house growing up, we didn't have much soda. Dad liked Pepsi, so there was almost always a bottle or two of it in the fridge. But we weren't allowed to pop one open and pour ourselves a glass. We knew we had to ask Dad, and the answer was usually "No" because it was too close to dinner, we were going somewhere, and so forth. Occasionally, though, Dad relented and said we could have a sip or two. Back in those days, there were no diet sodas—not that we knew of, anyway—so what we drank was straight up water, sugar, coloring and carbonation. But, boy, was that good!

As we got older, we'd occasionally get out to McDonald's or someplace where we could order a soda to drink with our meal. I never knew nor cared whether it was Coke or Pepsi—it was soda and it was goood!

Sometime in my teens, I had gone with some friends to McDonald's for lunch. I don't know whether it was because it was hot or what, but that Coke had so much fizz and provided so much refreshment. I decided that Coke was the best and Pepsi could go and [insert bad scenario] itself.

However, during a visit to Knott's Berry Farm one time, I'd gotten a meal with a large Pepsi, which they served at the time (they've since switched to Coke). That Pepsi was sooo good and really hit the spot. No issues with Pepsi. It was good stuff.

At some point, though, I decided I liked Coke better. However, in 1985, Coca-Cola changed the formula, creating what they called "New Coke." It was sweeter and didn't seem to have the bite that "old" Coke did. Coke fans cried out and the company brought back "Coke Classic," supposedly the original formula. What had actually happened was that Coca-Cola had switched to sweetening its namesake beverage from cane sugar to high-fructose corn syrup (HFCS), a less expensive sweetener. The so-called "Coke Classic" claimed to be made from the original Coca-Cola formula, but it remained being sweetened with HFCS. I'm sure they just tweaked a few things. But I drank it anyway.

Once I was diagnosed with Type 2 diabetes, I had to drink diet soda. At first, I liked Diet Pepsi better than Diet Coke. To me, it tasted closer to regular Pepsi than Diet Coke did to regular Coke. Over time, though, I developed a taste for Diet Coke and have stuck to it ever since.

I mentioned above that the Coke I had at McDonald's seemed to have more fizz and taste better than at other places. As it turns out, that really is the case. Read here to see why.

Today, there are the infamous Coke Freestyle machines popping up all over. You've probably seen one of these in a restaurant and probably used it. They're the standard drink dispenser in a few fast food chains.

Coca-Cola Freestyle machine

If you're a soda fan, these may be the greatest machines ever built! More than a hundred different beverages are dispensed by these machines, ranging from flavored water, soda, sports drinks and so forth. Even Pepsi has jumped on the bandwagon and created a similar machine of their own.

Pepsi Spire machine

As of this writing, fewer of the Pepsi Spire machines are available in my area, but more will likely make their way into use over time. The option of creating your own custom drinks has become quite popular. But there are a few drawbacks. Both of these machines require quite a bit of maintenance, which can be costly and cumbersome. The inconvenience of being out of certain flavors can upset guests.

I've seen the inside of a Coke Freestyle machine, and it reminds me of the inside of a color laser printer. There are cartridges for each flavor and they're replaced simply by pulling out the old one and inserting a new one. Here are a couple of photos that I found online that show what the inner workings of a Freestyle machine look like. I'm going to guess that the Spire machine is similar.

Looks kinda complicated, huh?

At one time, I figured that when I became rich and famous (well, rich, anyway), I'd get myself a Freestyle machine and put it in my family room. But one day I came across a Coke representative who was servicing a machine and had a very interesting conversation with him. It seems that the machines run about $20,000 to buy, and at least $300 per month for soda and syrup. Nope, not gonna happen at my house. I'll stick to bottles and cans for now. At least I can recycle those.

When all is said and done, I should probably stop drinking soda. More and more, we're learning about what actually goes into it—and it's not good. I do know that my own consumption is much less than it used to be, but ideally, I should give it up. Perhaps in time, but I do enjoy it. Most likely, I'll wean myself off of it slowly.

But like I've pointed out many times with most things in my life, you never know...

Getting rid of all of the "Getting"

Sometimes I happen to notice some really small details about seemingly unimportant things in my life. For instance, I noticed that two of my recent blog posts were titled "Getting...[blah blah] somethinerother." Most people don't care about the titles I give to my posts. But noticing it in my index of posts just annoyed me. Too much "Getting." I was Getting sick of it. So here I am writing a post for the sole purpose of canceling out the "Getting." There's nothing wrong with the word "Getting," but since I was Getting tired of it, I decided that I'm Getting out of Dodge. I drive a Honda, anyway, so me Getting out of Dodge makes perfect sense—especially if the owner wants me out.

Nonsense aside, how are ya today? When asked that question, I tend to answer, "The truth or what I tell people?" That's obviously meant to bring a smile to the face of whoever I'm talking to and add a little humor into the conversation. All too often, though, most people respond with SeriousFace™ and a stern, "The truth." Perhaps the humor escapes them or they think I'm hiding something dangerous like a four-digit blood sugar level or a malignant tumor the size of a Corvette. But, honestly, smile lackage usually means that people are concerned. Thankfully, I know of very few people who would actually wish the worst on other people. It would be very difficult for me to wish ill will, disease, locusts, Camarillo drivers, Eric's Planet, or the zombie apocalypse onto others. We're all brothers and sisters on this planet after all. Try and imagine a civilization where we all took care of one another. It might be a pain at times, but the knowledge that each of us will be taken care of as needed is comforting. The world could use more of this. I'm glad my friends care enough to want to know the truth.

Aside from taking up time, the point of this post is simply an exercise in writing. Truth be told, all of my posts are for the sake of practicing my writing. Stories have been known to come out of that writeage, and sometimes those stories are worthy of adding to my index of blog posts, which end up being linked in a Facebook status update so that all of my friends can read them, he said in a run-on sentence that would have given Mr Buttee (high school English teacher, pronounced byoo-TAY) a heart attack. In an earlier post, I mentioned that I don't write for the sake of collecting "Likes" on Facebook. I write what I want to write about, or sometimes what I need to write about. It's good exercise for the mind, and good for the soul. If any of my posts click with a reader, then good has been done. Any "Likes" that I get on Facebook simply mean that my post(s) was/were read and liked. Simple as that.

My tenth blogiversary is coming up in a couple of months. I know I've been talking about that since the '70s, but it's closing in. Not to worry, though. It'll be memorable in one way or another. Make sure to alert your local authorities.

Now if you'll excuse me, I need to have dinner and take care of that four-digit blood sugar level, among other things. It's Getting late...

Getting electricity from the sun

Everyone knows that our planet (and mine, too) is dependent on the sun. We get heat, light, and warmth from our closest star. Without the sun, we'd be in big trouble. I guess you could say that the sun is a real lifesaver.

Somewhere along the line, some really intelligent people learned how to use light to generate electricity. Any light works, really, but a mere 93 million miles away sits a giant ball of burning gases that's been there for what seems like an eternity. The only thing is that we only see the sun during the day. It sets in the west every evening and rises again the next morning in the east. (If only everything was that reliable!) But for the time being, we have a good source of light shining down on us all day long, so why not use it to our advantage?

Ever since we bought our house way back whenever, I've always dreamed of one day getting our power from the sun. All we'd need would be some solar cells and a set of batteries to store the power for use at night. Sounds kind of win-winish, huh?

Recently, an agency was created in our area known as the Clean Power Alliance (CPA). Part of the deal was to get as many power users (aka Southern California Edison customers) to switch over to solar power. Through a third-party company, solar panels would be installed on the roof of any home if the owner wanted to sign up, and those panels would generate power for Edison. In return, Edison would offer a lower rate for power to those who had the solar panels installed.

I felt that this was a good idea, so I signed up. Everything was paid for by the solar company, including a new electric panel, any cables or wiring, the solar panels themselves, and all installation costs. The roofing company even replaced any part of the roof (like fascia board, joists, etc.) at no charge to us. We didn't get a battery for storing electricity (those cost more than $10,000 and not included with this deal), but the lower rate from Edison works. Our monthly bill isn't that high anyway because we don't have air conditioning (thank you, close proximity to the ocean with nothing in the way of the onshore breeze). A few years ago, we installed LED lighting throughout the house to replace all of the fluorescent and incandescent bulbs. LEDs use only about 15% of the power of a typical incandescent light, and about one-third less than compact fluorescent bulbs use. Between the LED lights and a new, more efficient refrigerator, our power use (and bill) have dropped noticeably.

New solar panels on our roof.

Installation has taken awhile, between the installation of the new electric panel, the wiring, the solar panels themselves, inspections, etc. You can see in the photo that the roof tiles still need to be placed back in their original place, but that will be done in the time ahead. (The panels were installed this morning.) The guy in charge said that everything should be ready to go soon, once a final inspection is done and approved by the city. And that doesn't usually take very long.

Despite the process being somewhat drawn out, the fact that we'll be getting electricity from a renewable source is well worth it. Whether you're a part of the CPA, or just want to help slowly wean our planet from burning fossil fuels to generate fuel, look into solar. It can be a steep investment, but in the end it's well worth it.

Getting started on that 61st year

Yes, Virginia, there is an Eric. He exists as certainly as jokes and puns and silliness exist, and you know that they abound and give to your life its laughter and joy. Alas! how dreary would be the world if there were no Erics. It would be as dreary as if there were no Virginias. Perhaps drearier.

(I may have stolen some of the previous paragraph from someplace, but you never know.)

Now that the burgers have been eaten, the Diet Coke poured and drunk, the streamers swept up and the house rebuilt, it's time to take a look at what's ahead for this newly ordained sexagenarian. Somewhat reminiscent of surfer dude Jeff Spicoli in Fast Times at Ridgemont High, I don't need much to keep me happy and going. All Spicoli needed were "some tasty waves and a cool buzz." As long as I have a job that makes use of my brain (since that's the only part of me that still works), a place to call home, good people in my life and good food, I'll be fine. OK, and insulin, but everyone already knows that.

My dad's last birthday was his 60th. He lived for about eight-and-a-half months after celebrating that birthday. Sixty is too young to leave this world. But Dad had emphysema and that doesn't get better. He passed away just three days before my 29th birthday. It's a bit scary to realize that Dad wasn't much older than I am now when he died, especially considering that I too am fighting a chronic disease that doesn't get better. But I do have some control over diabetes, and taking charge of it will determine whether it "gets me" or I keep it at bay. So far, I'm winning that war.

But life marches on. Since I'm here, there are things to be done that are getting harder as time goes by. For instance, I used to grab the lawn mower, the shears, the Diana, the weed whacker and occasionally the pole saw, and take them to my front or back yard. I knocked down branches, grass, hedges, weeds, you name it. Perhaps one of the most difficult things for anyone to do is to admit that they need help. And I'm at that stage. Last year I fell while mowing the lawn. Isn't that what old people do?

I can sit and whine about how hard things are getting to be (OH BOO HOO HOO HOO!!1!) or I can attack it. All I can do is the best I can do. And that's what I aim to do.

There's a guy who lives nearby who's at least 70 from what I can tell. (Or maybe he's my age or younger and went to a lot of concerts in the '70s.) He's managed to put up some giant hedges around his back fence (most likely for privacy and to cut down on noise from the highway, railroad and our house), and he keeps his yard immaculate. I've never seen a gardener's truck at his place, so I assume he's doing it all. So with regard to yard work, I should strive to be like Mr Neighbor.

With regard to fun, I need to get out and get on those roller coasters. Sure, my body tells me that I'd better not and I should listen to it, but when you stop and think about it, how much harm can a speedy ride to great heights and twists and turns really cause? Take it as it comes, enjoy it while you're feeling up to it, but slow down when you need to. I've pretty much been doing that for some time now and it's obviously working.

Getting it together, doing the work and taking care of me will be instrumental in helping me reach that elusive 61st birthday. The 62nd? 63rd? And♪...will you still need me, will you still feed me, when I'm 64? ♫ (I may have heard that someplace, too, but I won't say where...)

The big day is here

Yes! I made it! Only five more years to go till I get my full senior citizenship award. (That would be a small, monthly Social Security check—probably about $16 a month in my case.) Yay me!

While eating a gourmet birthday breakfast this morning at Mickey D's, I happened to look at my watch at precisely 10:10 and realized that a full sixty years have gone by since I took a ride down the most important slide in my life. If you don't get what I mean by that, see my last post or use your imagination. (A working knowledge of the human birthing process is a plus.) While we're on the subject, here's what I look like when I write in my blog. For your unformation, this isn't my house. I'm at the library. That's an old-fashioned filament-burning light bulb above my head. I must have had an idea or something...

Me writing a blog post on my 60th birthday.

Speaking of my last post, I mentioned in it that I never really do much to celebrate my birthday. Today was no exception. I had given thought to visiting good old Six Flags Magic Mountain to squeeze in some coaster rides, but upon waking up and presenting the idea to my body, it responded with, "You'd better not if you know what's good for you." I normally try to listen to my body, even if it tells me something that I don't really want to hear. In hindsight, I'm glad I didn't make the trip out there. As it turned out, I was good for a little putting around town and that's about it. Though, as I mentioned above, I did make it out to breakfast.

There's no story, no rhyme, and no reason to this post. Some people who write probably know what I'm talking about here. Now and then you get an urge to put something down on paper, be it the regular made-from-trees kind or that newfangled electronical kind. Ideas fill your head and spill out, and they need something to catch them. What better thing than some form of paper?

2019 is just over halfway done and I've noticed that I haven't written anywhere near as much as I'd hoped by this point in the year. That's what happens when your body is trying to figure itself out. Fortunately, there's time to change that as well as come up with a bodacious post to mark the tenth anniversary of this crazy, cuckoopants planet of mine. Look for that about Octoberish or thereaboutst.

Of note, I noticed that my last post got an unusually high number of "Likes" on Facebook. Normally, about one or two people read my posts and less than half of those who do actually click the "Like" button. But apparently writing about turning 60 years old either hit a few nerves or those who liked the post were able to relate to what I wrote. I don't know the reasons because no one made any comments. I don't write to get "Likes" on Facebook. This blog is about my life, my feelings, my appetite, and so on. You either read and enjoy it, or you read it and roll your eyes and piss and complain about why someone would do this to the world. And then eagerly await the next post so they can complain some more. I guess some people aren't happy unless they're complaining.

Well, tomorrow's another day. When your age begins with a six, you need to start taking things day by day because going any faster than that just might throw the space/time continuum out of kilter. Or your back. Take your pick.

Sixty is right around the corner

In a couple of weeks, I get to throw out the fives. What does that mean? In my case, given my take on most things, it can mean anything. Maybe I'm going to pick the fives off of the analog clocks in the house and throw them in the trash. Maybe I'm going out to the highway with a can of spraypaint and paint over all of the fives on the speed limit signs. Maybe I'm going to climb up on the counter at Burger King and pick all of the fives off of the menu prices. With me, you never know.

The honest truth, which makes a lot more sense than anything else I've said so far, is that for the first time in ten years, my age will be completely devoid of any fives. Why? Because on August 1, 2019, at 10:10am, exactly sixty years will have passed since Mom had her Ericectomy™ in the delivery room at North Hollywood Maternity Hospital. I did make an early arrival—I wasn't supposed to premiere until August 12, which would have been a birthday present for my mom. "Happy birthday, Pauline! Look what came for you today!" Upon receiving such a hysterical gift on her 23st birthday and having finished crying, she'd have taken a few letters off of the word "hysterical" and named it simply, "Eric." She still did that, only she got to do so eleven days earlier than planned. See? Eric got his antics started with an eleven-day head start. So now you all know what happened. And, as a bonus, there's still time to run...

Every year since my appearance on Planet Earth (my planet was still under construction at the time), people gathered around a cake with candles lit, each representing one year of life after that fateful trip through the tunnel. Sometimes they brought gifts, sometimes not. Along the way, I learned that others became fond of the gifts I received and took it upon themselves to use them. Not always with my permission, though, and all too often with less than careful handling and usage, which often resulted in lost or broken things, neither of which were repaired or replaced. After much frustration, over time it became easier to not ask for stuff in the first place. It's OK. I don't need hordes of stuff anyway. At times it was the same with Christmas loot. Broken. Lost. Left at a friend's house. Not having those things in the first place made my life easier. All of these years later, I'm happy without gifts. What I treasure most of all is time with friends and family members who respect me. So now that you know the secret, you get ice cream.

Since I've almost reached that magical age of 60, what am I going to do next? TV ads often say to go to Disney World. But I've already been there twice. By the next time I go—if I ever do go again—they'll have plenty of new stuff for me to see since my last visit was in 2006. We have Walt's original park right here in Southern California anyway. In some ways, I kinda like it better. In fact, I even got to visit Disneyland on my 50th birthday for free because Disney was running a promotion where if you registered, you got a free day in the park on your birthday. For your unconvenience, here is a picture taken of me on my 50th birthday at Disneyland. I was holding a bottle of my favorite Coketail. (My friend Albert Lam was also there and kind enough to take it.)

Hiding from Sleeping Beauty's Castle and celebrating 50 years
on Earth at Disneyland on August 1, 2009. (Albert Lam photo)

Hard to believe that was ten years ago. Time flies when you're having fun.

Most people seem to have trouble accepting the fact that they're getting older. Me? I couldn't care less. My feeling is that I can still function—more or less—and get around without any help. Some say that 60 is the new 30. In some ways, I agree, although a lot of people my age are beginning to have limitations. Being asthmatic and diabetic (yes, both), puts a bit of a damper on things sometimes, but I keep on going. However, if things ever get to the point to where Diana has to get me up and dressed, feed and bathe me, or address other needs in the bathroom (use your imagination), then maybe it'll be time to call it a life and move on to the next phase of my existence.

I've said in previous posts that my doctor says I'm taking care of myself well enough to live to the age of 120. If that is indeed the case, then I'm only about halfway through this journey called "life." I don't expect things to magically get better as time goes on, but, as I said earlier, you never know.

I should trademark that phrase before someone else does.

A vacation from social media

Sometimes I feel like I've been online in one way or another since time began. First it was internet message boards. Then I discovered social media and spent a few years on MySpace before landing on Facebook. Next year, I'll have been on Facebook for ten years. My first Facebook friends were people who I've known for many years or migrated over from MySpace. I picked up new friends through common interests or by the fact that someone found me to be interesting. Generally speaking, I haven't met a great percentage of the people I call friends. Through various circumstances, I have had the pleasure of meeting some of my social media friends in real life, but for the most part we've remained electronic pen pals so to speak.

At times, the things we encounter on social media aren't unlike real life. People argue with each other and support each other. They spread gossip, whether true or lies. Politics is high on the list of things discussed, and it often leaves us with feelings of disgust.

All in all, being a part of this phenomenon called "social media" can be quite a crazy, cuckoopants experience. It can make you or break you. If you're up for it, good for you! If it makes you thrive in your life, even better. If you find yourself beginning to crack, then maybe it's time for a break.

But there are other reasons to step away for awhile. Social media is not real life. Things come up in real life that need to be dealt with, and putting those things aside may result in trouble down the road. When you see that train coming, you focus on how you're going to jump aboard and get it under control, or simply get out of its way.

Recently, I've had some issues come up in real life that I've needed to address. It's hard to chase social media, look for work, tend to home and bills, and take care of me.

Note that "take care of me" came last in my list of calamities. I've been told time and time again that taking care of me should be at the top of the list, simply because by not taking care of me, I'm going to crumble and not be able to take care of the things that I need to do. I have to make sure that I'm strong enough to get things done.

Oftentimes, we don't see the cracks in our foundation, so to speak. Along with the obvious things (missing due dates on bills, various home maintenance issues, and so forth), finding that I'm becoming increasingly physically unable to do some things without help adds to the stress.

It was time to take a break before I broke.

Slowly but surely, little by little, I've been able to shift my efforts over to the things that I need to do rather than the things that I like to do. It will take some time, but for both of you who read my blog and participate in Facebook, do know that I'll be back in the game as soon as I can. It's going to take a little time, that's all.

But even if I'm not back on Facebook, chances are that I'll write a post or two here. Bear with me, say a prayer for me if you're so inclined, and things will be OK. See you when I get back from vacation.

A day at California's Great America

While I try to write blog posts in the order that I think of them or experience the things that I do, sometimes my brain takes over and messes up things. My last post was written within a few days of taking that adventure, despite the fact that I actually took this adventure a month earlier.

Whenever my name comes up, most people who know me think of that guy who rides roller coasters and loves amusement parks. They're great places for those who are young, and older folks like me who are young at heart. However, in my case, the various ailments I deal with are slowing me down almost as fast as the brakes slow down a speeding train on a roller coaster. That means that I don't get out and climb on those crazy contraptions as much as I used to, and definitely not as much as I'd like to.

Thankfully, my friends occasionally step in and save the day. In January, my friend Roger Yoshida invited me to join him in celebrating his birthday out at Six Flags Magic Mountain. He even picked me up at my place and did the driving. Normally, you do the driving on a friend's birthday, but Roger and I have been taking turns for as long as we've been going out there.

We didn't get to ride much due to rides being closed because of high winds. But we had a good time anyway.

My friend Cody Kempema invited me to join him and his wife Alisa Ann for a day at California's Great America (CGA) in Santa Clara. You have to remember one thing here: we live in Camarillo in Southern California. Santa Clara is next to San Jose in Northern California, some 330 miles away. About as far as going to Las Vegas or Yosemite. And we're going to go that far for a day at a theme park? What kind of a crazy cuckoopants idea is that? Normally, I most likely wouldn't have tackled such an endeavor, but on the other hand, I have done day trips to the two places I mentioned earlier in this paragraph. A national park and a world famous gambling mecca. In a single day. So, yep, we're going!

The date, place and time were set. We got our tickets online (at an incredible discount, I might add—under $40 because of an online special on the park's website), and they picked me up at my place at 4:30am. We hit the 101 and headed north. That early on a Sunday morning meant that we had the road to ourselves. In order to reach the park early enough to have plenty of time for fun, our rate of speed was a bit over legal. But we were in a Honda Accord that could handle the drive.

Along the way, we stopped at McDonald's to get breakfast and take a short break. Then back on the road headed for the Great America Parkway exit. It came up, we got off, and before long were parked and headed toward the front gate. Our tickets were on our phones (no 20th Century paper tickets for us!) and we were inside lickety split.

My last visit to this park was in October 1999, so there were some new things that I hadn't experienced. And some older things that I have experienced, but always enjoyed.

We started off on The Demon, a classic Arrow looping coaster dating to the park's opening in 1976, with tunnels along the way and a corkscrew at the end. Older Arrow coasters don't age very well, so if nothing else, we were definitely awake now. Coaster fans will understand this.

A few years ago, CGA opened California's newest wooden coaster, Gold Striker. I had wanted to ride this back when it opened because I know from experience that coasters built by Great Coasters International, Inc. are nice and smooth when they're new. Unfortunately, they tend to start getting rough within a couple of years of opening. I'm no expert, but I attribute that to a combination of the fact that wooden coasters don't do well in dry climate (like in California) and newer coasters in general anywhere are made with fairly new wood, which isn't as hardy as the old growth lumber that was used to build older rides (like the Giant Dipper at the Santa Cruz Boardwalk). That's just my theory, though. But I was wrong once. Gold Striker has a nice layout and runs the wonderful GCII Millennium Flyer trains, but still managed to transmit the bumpiness of the track to our backsides. Riding in the back seat will do that to you no matter which ride you're on.

Moving along...we came upon the park's newest ride, Railblazer. This is a new concept in coasters being that the track is essentially a single rail that carries a narrow train with eight single-rider cars. It's incredibly smooth and even managed to have a few inversions thrown into the layout.

Combination of a fast ride and a slow phone camera. The train was at the bottom of Railblazer's first drop by the time the shutter clicked.

After blazing those rails a couple of times, we wandered along checking out the Barney Oldfield Speedway, basically like the Autopia at Disneyland except with antique-looking flivvers. Part of its track ran under the old Grizzly wooden roller coaster. We skipped Grizzly because it was pretty rough when I last rode it (1999), and it tends to run so slow around turns that riders need to get out and give the train a push.

However, it was time for lunch and we hit up a classic burger place. The meal deal we got included a sipper cup with unlimited refills on drinks the whole day. With drink prices way up there, it was a deal we couldn't pass up.

Perhaps it would have been better to ride the 200-foot tall drop tower before lunch, but we tough theme park fans can do it. I had to laugh at the name of the ride: simply Drop Tower. Maybe coming up with a themed name was a challenge. You never know. Drop Tower simply took us to the top, then dropped us to the bottom. Over and done.

After Drop Tower, we got in line for Tiki Twirl, which is a spin-and-barf ride mounted on a track. It moves up and down along the track, making it sort of a combination roller coaster and spin-and-barf ride. There aren't many of these in parks, so I hadn't ever ridden one. But fortunately CGA has this one, so I got to experience something new.

CGA has a fairly rare wild mouse coaster ride. It's one of a few built by Arrow Dynamics. The ones I've ridden so far have all been built by Mack or other manufacturers (Fabbri, Reverchon), so riding one of Arrow's would be new for me. Named Psycho Mouse, it turned out to be pretty much like the rest, however, but at least I got a new wild mouse credit.

The entrance to Psycho Mouse was...interesting...and almost terrifying.

One ride that I didn't want to miss was a ride on the classic Von Roll skyride. Few of these are left in park nowadays. California is fortunate to have one here, one at SeaWorld in San Diego, and at the San Diego Zoo. Known for their history of safe, reliable operation, it's always a treat to ride on one. Interestingly, CGA's skyride has two different names depending on which way you go. Heading north, which we did first, you ride on Eagle's Flight. Going south, you ride on Delta Flyer. We stopped in to watch Space Beagle, a live, Peanuts themed show in a nice air-conditioned theater. Not the greatest show on earth, but we got to sit and relax for awhile.

Cody and Alisa wanted to ride Flight Deck, a B&M inverted coaster similar to Batman—The Ride at Magic Mountain. I got in line with them, but when I tried to fasten the seat belt on my restraint, my big fat belly prevented the belt from being locked. As such, I had to take the second Walk of Shame™ of my life and leave. Funny that this worked out the way it did, being that I rode Batman only a few months ago when I went with Roger.

While in the area, we rode Columbia, the park's huge 200-foot tall double-deck carousel. Of course, we rode on the top level.

CGA's classic double-deck carousel, Columbia. One of two ever built.

After getting off of Columbia, we took a second ride on Gold Striker, only this time near the front. Still somewhat less-than-smooth, but better than the back seat ride we took earlier.

CGA closed at 7pm, so we wanted to get one more ride on Railblazer. Still fast, still smooth, still fun, it was a nice way to end our day.

On our way home, we stopped at Costco to fuel up the car and found ourselves in what appeared to be cruise night in San Jose. But we managed to get our gas and a bite to eat nonetheless. We pulled up to my house at around midnight, just 20 hours from the start of the trip.

I didn't take as many photos as I probably should have, but when you're having fun, sometimes taking photos can be put on the back burner. Next time I take an adventure, I'll try and make sure that my phone is at the ready to record what I can.

Thank you Cody and Alisa Ann for a fun day and a great adventure.