(I can’t get no) satisfaction

Well, I have embarrassed myself in front of some of the kids at my school yet again.

This time, I was heading down the hall to my classroom at recess time. There was a gaggle of Grade 6 girls clustering around one of the posters up on the wall, discussing something quite seriously. I couldn’t hear them until I got right up to them, when one girl put her little hands on her hips and said to her friends in quite an exasperated voice, “You know, you can’t always get what you want!”

I stopped and offered this, “There’s a song in there.”

All the girls turned and looked at me. “What?” said one of them.

“I mean, there’s a song with that title. It’s called ‘You can’t always get what you want’.”

Blank looks. I was starting to wish I had just kept on going down the hall. I tried again.

“There’s this old band called the Rolling Stones. They did a song called ‘You can’t always get what you want’.”

More blank looks.

“Uh – have you ever heard of the Rolling Stones?” I asked timidly.

“No,” they chorused.

What is it with kids these days? Don’t their parents teach them ANYTHING?

Act your age

So – New Year’s Eve. Seeing Trooper perform. Trooper being a popular Canadian band from the seventies. The seventies being my era, so to speak. Not that I haven’t been a part of the eighties or nineties or the – what do we call this decade, anyway? The uh-ohs?

It’s just that I’m dating myself by specifying “my” era (dating as in carbon dating, but not quite so prehistoric). I’ve had a hard time admitting my age for many years, and having hit the half-century mark last year (I can’t believe I even TYPED that!), it’s worse than it ever was. I mean, obviously I’m as old as I am because DD is 21 years old, and I’ve been teaching for 29 years, and I remember stuff that people my age usually remember. But I just don’t BELIEVE I’m as old as I am.

My mother tells me that inside, she is really about 25. I used to scoff at that, but no more. In my mind, I honestly think I’m somewhere in my twenties, as well. I have always looked younger than I am (apparently that is a Capricorn trait. Also, my dad’s side of the family always looked young.), so when I look in the mirror without my contacts in, I can pretty much see someone who is in her twenties. Okay, late twenties. What gives me away, however, is all this knowledge I have accumulated. Well, that and the aches and pains of my body.

I know things like how the Gulf War started. I know where I was when I heard that John Lennon was assassinated. I know about the two referendums in Québec and how worried many of us were that the vote would be “oui” and that Québec would separate from the rest of Canada. I actually voted for Pierre Trudeau. Twice. I know that leggings were a bad fashion choice twenty years ago and are still a bad fashion choice, especially with a too-short sweater. Ditto for shoulder pads. I remember the original disco and grunge movements, for heaven’s sake!

I also realize that I know almost all the words to almost all the songs that Trooper played the other night, despite the fact that they weren’t exactly my favourite band way back then. I had no idea that their music was so much a part of my consciousness at the time – I guess we can thank the Canadian content broadcast laws for that one.

In addition, I found it quite astonishing that so many of the people who attended the show were so fat, grey or bald, and wrinkled. They were OLD! And the clothes some of them were wearing – don’t you have mirrors, people?! Strangely enough, many of them also knew the words to the songs. I guess even old people like Trooper – because I’m certainly not THAT old.

(And just so you know, they put on a fun, energetic show. Even though they too are a bit past the first bloom of youth!)

Let them eat cake

Yes, I am an almost-Christmas baby.

When I was a kid, it really bugged me to have my birthday so close to Christmas. I used to want to change it to September (probably because that’s when my brother’s birthday is).

But now, I see the advantages. For one thing, I only have to make one wish list per year. For another, my holiday season lasts a lot longer than most people’s. For yet another, it makes me somewhat unique and my friends do tend to remember my birthday simply because it’s at a time of year people recall quite easily anyway (though I’d like to believe that none of my friends would ever forget my birthday regardless!).

So I have actually been celebrating since Saturday evening, when Porsche Guy took me out for my birthday dinner – and it was at a restaurant far swankier than Tim Horton’s, too! He also gave me my presents then, because one of them was the cable that would enable my iPod to work with the stereo controls of my car, so he thought I might like to try it out on the way to and from the restaurant. Then we went to a hockey game Monday night, and the Canucks won, so that was a bit of a gift. Tuesday was the actual day, so there were a few more gifts from DD, my mom, and my friend Meshka, who also took me out for a vanilla latté. I had several phone messages and emails from various other pals, so I feel quite loved and appreciated! Then, DD took me out for dinner at one of our local golf courses, and my mom has promised to take me out for another dinner if the snow ever melts enough for her to get out of her driveway.

But it has just occurred to me: there has been a very important omission. Birthday cake. I did not have a birthday cake. And birthday cake as a concept is just as important at fifty-one as it is at five.

Now what will I eat for breakfast tomorrow?

Mastercard of my domain

I recently received a letter from my bank letting me know that, since my current credit card (hereafter known as “Mastercard”) would expire at the end of the month, a new one was on its way. Then I received another letter that contained my new Personal Identification Number. At last I received a third letter that actually contained the new credit card.

As you are no doubt well-aware, there is a sticker on new credit cards exhorting the owner to activate the card immediately, either by phone or on-line. So, being relatively computer-savvy, I got onto the website in order to do this. Much easier on-line, I figured. No wonky phone lines or strange accents to deal with. Except I needed a password. Which I could set up quickly. If I transfered to another site. If I answered just a few questions first.

Screw it, said I. I made the phone call. Should be quick and easy, I thought. Just navigate through the voice prompts. No need to deal with real people.

But no. The system would not recognize my numbers. Press 0 for a service representative, the computer voice told me. So I did. And waited.

Eventually, a friendly-sounding fellow came on the line wondering how he could help me today. Well, let me think … no, stick to the topic, it’s about the credit card.

I explained that the system wouldn’t recognize my new credit card number, expiry date and those three numbers on the back that you’re often asked to supply. He asked me a few questions to verify my identity. After he asked me my birthdate (which was about the fifth question), he stopped and said, “I’m sorry, I can’t get any further with my level of clearance. I’m going to have to forward you to someone with more authority.”

I was back on hold. Of course, I got frustrated after a few minutes and hung up. A few minutes after that, I decided that I must have entered some erroneous number somewhere along the line, so I attempted to go through the whole activation process again. Again it didn’t work. Again, I was directed to a service representative. This time, I had to explain my problem again, adding, somewhat sheepishly, that I’d already been at this point but that I’d HAD to hang up because something else required my attention (like they haven’t heard THAT one before). But this time, I hung on while my problem was transfered to – SECURITY.

Yep, I was now a security risk. However, a smooth female voice spoke to me this time, asking me many of the same questions I’d already been asked, and a lot more. She even wanted to know how long I’d had my Mastercard (longer than you’ve probably been alive, was what I wanted to reply). She too stopped when I told her my birthdate.

“We seem to have a different birthdate on file for you,” she announced. “I’ll just change that right now and unlock your account.”

“How could that happen?” I spluttered. “Really, I’m me, I’m not lying – hey, wait. What date do you have for me, anyway? Am I younger?”

She just laughed. “Your new Mastercard is now activated,” she said by way of reply. “Your old one is now invalid, so please destroy it.”

I still want to know: am I too old or too young to have my own Mastercard?

Ageless

DD is participating in a medical study involving immune responses to revaccination against tetanus, diphtheria and pertussis.  She was part of the original study ten years ago to determine whether such a vaccine combination actually worked, and when it did, that vaccine was licensed for wide use all across Canada in 1999.  This follow-up study is to investigate repeat administration of the vaccine and its long-term immunity.

I went along to her first appointment today just out of interest and also I was the chauffeur (DD is not permitted to drive The Mighty Hyundai under my rental contract – not that she even wants to.).  We were there about an hour, and near the end, the nurse came out to the waiting room to enquire if perhaps I might be interested in being part of a similar research study.  

“We need people of all ages,” she told me.  ”Do you know when your last diphtheria shot was?”

“Actually,no, I have no idea,” I answered.  ”I don’t think I’ve ever had an MMR shot either.  I don’t think those existed when I was little.  Everybody just had chicken pox, measles and mumps as part of childhood. Except I’m not too sure whether or not I’ve had mumps.  I know I’ve had chicken pox and measles.”

The nurse looked at me and asked, “Well, how old ARE you?”  I couldn’t quite read the expression on her face.

I told her I was fifty, and she smiled sheepishly.  ”I don’t think we have any openings right now for people that old – I mean, that age.  But if you were between thirty and forty…”

First a slight compliment because I don’t look my age, then a bit of a stab because I actually am that age. Ow.