VAMPIRES

I believe in vampires. Really, I do. They terrorize me with fangs smeared with clotted crimson blood, sending uncontrollable painful spasms down my cringing spine. I used to be an empirical realist until unequivocal proof was laid before me and I could no longer deny it: vampires actually do live among us. This is how I know. One day, soon after I bought a new computer, determined to give it a wonderful home, I discovered, to my horror, that deep within its turgid bowels there lived a ménage of ruthless vampires, given to attacking without pity, or reason, even though I treated it with all the love and respect to which a desktop could ever aspire. I dust  its keyboard. Wash its monitor ‘till it's sparkling clean. Feed its mouse. I even let it stay up late. And in the morning, when it awakes, I never fail to greet it with a warm “Hello,” But, no dice. None of it works. And forget about pleading and prayer. The only thing that scares the nasty buggers off is when I donate huge amounts of time and energy to an unintelligible, evil Microsoft minion who dwells in India – far, far away. New Delhi, to be exact. The minion, armed with a collection of [electronic] stakes, thrusts them deep into the desiccated hearts of the undead and things work OK for a while and I enjoy a slight reprise. Until next time.
         And though, here I sit here before you, still smarting from my latest bites, I must admit the following: Having survived so much, I have come to believe that I’m a really a better person because of my travails. Better insulated, better equipped to deal with the vagaries of life and all the ups-and-downs. And that’s a very good thing. And like most of life’s important lessons learned, it did exact a price. (I wonder,  Dear Reader, when looking back, do you feel as I do -- that this is a cost  you are more that willing to pay? I think if one can survive Microsoft, what is there really left to fear?

VENTURING FORTH

        It’s true. There are many benefits to working at home. There’s always lots of food. It’s O.K to stay in frayed-and-faded jammies. And there may be an orange tabby curled up on your desk editing your prose, or a Golden Retriever laughing at your side. But it’s not all rosy. There are downsides. Distractions abound. Gee, Federer’s playing Nadal. Take a nap? Bad, bad dog! Sit! Stay! But arguable the biggest drawback to working in the embrace of one’s own nest is that it’s too darn easy not to get up and leave all that comfyness behind, especially if: Will it rain? Or, should I take a nap? Or, and or, and or. Unlike leaving a regular office, leaving a home-one somehow seems like a big, big deal. So, you’ve just got to push yourself out the door and into the bounteous world, keeping firmly in mind that rarely are such efforts not met with rich rewards. Yesterday was just such a day.
       To forth. As I was waiting for the light, I noticed the man next to me. I was pretty sure he was a well known character actor* who played bad guys but on the other hand, maybe he was just the same type. He had a lionesque head and scowly, ferociously worn features. The clincher came when I checked-out his shoes. It was definitely – Him. His shoes were actually boots -- beautiful, minimal, black calf boots with pointy toes, worn with a classic blue blazer. Cool, no? I opened with, “Good work.” His raging features turned into a beatific smile. When I told him that I’d verified his credentials via his footwear, he was extremely pleased to tell me that he always wore the self-same boots, both on and off the set, and that they were even written into his contract. “Really?” “No, just kidding, but [Ha-Ha] it saves them money [not to have to furnish him with footwear.]” We happily said our good-byes, both of us flattered, each in our own way, and me grateful for yet another enchanting New York chance encounter.
       From forth. On my home, as I walked past Lincoln Center, I was struck that its plaza looked sterile and bare. I realized that the hand railings on the front steps were gone. Quelle fou, I thought. People need railings. They do. Just then, as if by magic, a friend, a respected [woman] civic leader who I hadn’t seen in quite some time crossed my path. That in itself was a pleasure, but now I also had an opportunity to express my no-railings displeasure. This knowledgeable lady heartily agreed with me and that made my ego smile. If only they’d asked me first. I would have reminded them that “Form follows function.” Every single time. Now and always. And forevermore.
        So, please promise me, DR, that you’ll remind me the next time I’m dragging my heels about the rich rewards just waiting for those who venture forth and then give me a great big shove out the door.
         *Found his name. He’s Kevin Conway and, in real life, he’s really kind of cute.