Megalocephalism and melancholia. The north and south poles of my little world. And how short the distance between the two, how swift the transition! To go from the top of Everest (Qomolangma) to the depths of the Marianas Trench, one would think, would require a goodly quantity of time. But ah! - I apparently possess the most up-to-date of mental motion technology, and so it takes almost no time at all.
Ideally, I prefer to spend my time at the equator, but that is like trying to balance on the edge of a razor (and similarly futile.)
I apparently possess the dubious faculty of being able to have a part of myself step outside and dispassionately analyze the emotions which I am undergoing. It is not a separate personality; I'm tempted to call it an intellectual construct, but I freely admit I have no idea what I'm talking about. It is not an out-of-body experience; I once had such an episode while I was sleeping, but it was quite disappointing in that all that occurred was that I floated above myself and stared down at myself. I did not undertake an astral journey, I experienced no paranormal phenomena, I was not abducted by aliens; it was very pedestrian, like looking at myself in a mirror, albeit a room-sized mirror. After the initial amazement, quite boring.
Bonnie and I have learned to warn each other when melancholia rears its ugly head. It is helpful that we each understand something of what the other is undergoing, and know to be helpful while at the same time backing off slightly. It does smooth the edges a bit. Neither of us cares much to take medications; they can be useful, but the resultant zombie-like state of equanimity is stultifying.
Well. Enough of this. I prefer not to burden others with my constant complaints, so if I disappear occasionally, I hope you will understand why.
If you're not bored with fun facts from the Democrat and Chronicle's Lauri Githens Hatch, here's a few more:
Fun fact #18:
"At some point, almost everyone here has either been carried out of the Dinosaur Bar-B-Q from too much beer, too much pork or both; out of a local winery from too much reisling; or out of a Dady Brothers concert on St. Patrick's Day from too much St. Patrick's Day."
Rochester has three large European contingents - the Irish, the Italians and the Poles (along with a smaller but still healthy segment of Ukranians.) This does not pertain so much nowadays as when we were young; multidiversity in Rochester proper is in full swing.
(Neither Bonnie nor I have ever been carried out of anywhere; I may have crawled out of a few places when I was young, but I don't do that anymore.) The Dinosaur BBQ sauce is sold in jars in some of the large supermarkets; we consider it to be adequate but unexceptional.
Fun fact #19:
"Similarly, most locals have acted half their age amid the toys at the Strong Museum, in full view of a family member or important date. In fact, when you go, it's mandatory."
The "Strong Collection" has a long and intriguing history; before Margaret Woodbury Strong died, she owned what we called the Strong Mansion on a street called Allen's Creek Road (yes, there is an Allen's Creek) and it was huge; it was set waaaaaay back from the edge of the road, but what could be seen of it through the trees was awe-inspiring. (If any of this interests those of you with children, be sure to check out http://www.strongmuseum.org and you may be amazed and delighted.)
Fun fact #20:
"Most of us are two degrees of separation from someone who's been a cashier at Wegman's (and been called out to the parking lot to mediate standoffs between minivans, rookie cops, teen drivers and nuns.)"
This is true. Bonnie and I each have at least one niece who used to work at Wegman's; also the daughter of friends (and probably others of whom we know not.)
I will post only occasional photos of the chicks for now; I'll post one later so you can see the alterations, but day-to-day nothing much changes.
We hope you enjoy the day.