I'd rather be a librarian

Broad and Wyoming, Hazleton, PA

Today, I feel like this building: tall and straight and full of potential but, ultimately, bland and mediocre.


I enjoy looking at handwriting. I find good penmanship sexy. Unfortunately, despite the best efforts of my third grade teacher, Mrs. Virginia Lou Davis, my cursive generates curses, my joined writing is disjointed.

My mother used to have the most perfect Palmer style handwriting. Interestingly, I tend to see a lot of Palmer script up here in the northeast. My father had a very bold, modern seeming penmanship. All the g's and p's had straight tails. His pen strokes were strong and smoothly flowing. How I admired and tried to imitate his hand. But I couldn't.

I like to blame it on my Uncle Choppy, who ran the BIC plant in Connecticut. We never wanted for pens all through our school years but oh how I hated those BIC retractable ballpoints. They were rickety, the ink never flowed smoothly, and we were always given the boring black colored ones for school.

Even with better pens and the best paper, I'm still a gimp with cursive. How happy I am that I took that typing class in high school. Despite my love of beautiful handwriting, I'll stick to my computer keyboard.


I'm actually feeling accomplished today. I did something I haven't done in years. I repaired a problem with my car. I'm no mechanic. I stopped paying dues in the man's man union long ago and had to turn in my card.

Years ago I used to do car stuff. I was able to change the oil and rotate the tires. I even changed a set of brake pads on a '78 Mustang once. But no more.

The repair I did today was super simple. I replaced the PC Valve in my T-Bird which entailed plugging a plastic doohickey into a couple of hoses. The mechanics in my flist are looking askance. But today I am a man again so fie on you.

Miser? Vintner?

One of my employees has been jerking me around behind my back. We had been considering promoting him for some time. When I decided to leave here he was the first pick to replace me. Unfortunately, someone had told him a while ago that he was in line for promotion and it went to his head. He was leaving early (sometimes really early) but showing himself as having worked a full shift, he was changing into street clothes way before the end of his shift, he was telling others that he was in charge while I wasn't there and bossing them around, and no one was telling me this because they thought I was condoning the behavior and playing favorites. By doing this he damaged morale which caused people to do shitty work. He generated incredible resentment and made my job much tougher. Basically, he totally undermined me. My boss and I talked about firing him. What he's done deserves it. I suspect, however, that he's going to get suspended for a couple days. Of course he'll no longer get promoted any time soon. I'm leaving anyway so screw it.

My philosophy for the day - Screw It.
  • Current Mood: accomplished
The building has fine curlicues on the top.

Creative curlicues.

And disjointed handwriting is a sign of creativity.
Uncle Choppy taught me how to eat clams and smoke cigars. And sometimes how to eat cigars and smoke clams. If it weren't for repressed memories I'm sure that would be another story altogether.
1. Desperately homesick. I know, how can anyone living in the spectacular landscape (plus sunshine) of California be homesick for the grimy coal towns of NE PA? But I am, and I appreciate your pictures.

OTOH, I live here, and I refuse to move back.

2. Mmmm, pens. I love fountain pens, but my handwriting (never great) has degenerated into something resembling low tide in Atlantic City -- sticks, seaweed, shells, and unidentifiable medical waste.