MAGGI PICAYUNE

I have no recollection why I ever started using this piece of software when it was called Aldus Datebook. I must’ve been incredibly bored to do something other than play Spaceward Ho! on my PowerBook 140 to pass the time. Looking back, my life wasn’t very eventful nor worth documenting but I’m glad I did. The application helped me record the recent past in Austin and eventually, my turbulent year in exile also known as the time I wasted in North Carolina, the Indianoplace of the Southleast.

Then Adobe acquired Aldus around the same time. I can’t recall why they bothered. The only thing Aldus had of value was PageMaker and Adobe has since replaced it with InDesign. Meanwhile, Datebook remained until Adobe sold it off to Now. I stayed with Datebook through some time in 1995 when I tried this Star Trek themed competitor Espresso published by the After Dark guys. Needless to say, Espresso proved to be underwhelming and a waste of money.

Thankfully, Now’s Up-to-Date was bundled for free with every PowerComputing system. It made up for their awful Now Utilities which only Mac OS-driven systems less stable, as if System 7.5 needed any more assistance there. I was reluctant to go back since I spent money on Espresso yet my reservations were assuaged after running the two side-by-side.

Currently, the venerable calendar is in the hands of Power On who treated it with greater respect and care to get it to function in the initial versions of Mac OS X. Its future looked doubtful after Qualcomm gobbled up Now for reasons even more nebulous than Adobe’s with Aldus. I tried the public beta version 4 Qualcomm released and it was terrible. Somehow Power On had the rights to get back to functional version 3-something to save it from the brink of extinction.

I continue to cling to version 4.5.3 due to the prohibitive cost of upgrading to 5 and Power On’s long-delayed, long-awaited version X or Nighthawk or whatever they’re going to label it. The company promises it will work with my iPhone yet they’re not going to integrate the new unified calendar-contact application with WebDAV-derived open standards CalDAV and CardDAV. Rather disappointing compared to what iCal can do, for free.

My current plan is to keep plugging along with Up-to-Date for as long as it functions in Snow Leopard while running iCal alongside it. Hopefully, Apple will find a way to incorporate the features I’ve loved for over a decade into iCal: banners, icons, 11-levels of importance (over four), calls (another form of “to do”) and specials, all of which can have reminders, times and alarms.

I think my initial buyer’s remorse with Austin began with the visit to Milwaukee during Nelson’s wedding. Even though I hadn’t lived there for three years, I felt a greater sense of familiarity and casually entertained the possibility of moving back. The city of beer and brats was the original plan in 1993; Austin just became the winner due to Doc’s convincing pitch.

These thoughts were now being exacerbated by tensions at University Towers and my frustration with the university. Friction between Doc and me was starting to rise and it quickly grew into an ugly situation near the end of the year. Most of it was instigated by the incompetent general manager Gene who wanted me fired I learned in recent correspondence from Doc; never mind Gene’s alcoholic son (Roger) being a lightning rod for a lawsuit or the other cronies this man tended foolishly trust. Speaking of legal woes, Gene had fired the food service company in July which started a real litigious mess he dragged me into courtesy of my computer duties. Older, pre-Boomer people think they’re clever when they say dumbass phrases such as “I’m computer illiterate by choice,” yet they lack the wisdom to not say it in front of the opposition’s attorney as he did one afternoon. Having left Illinois to end my involvement in the TSR v. GDW squabble, I wasn’t in any mood to be a participant in another which I told Doc in a special lunch about my future plans.

Meanwhile the University of Texas had expressed its passive hostility toward me enrolling with the hurdles it posted. I had never been to any other institution that penalized people for having at least one degree before then. Sonia was more fortunate to transfer the following year. These days, it doesn’t bother me. ACC was the better deal for what I wanted to learn on the side and on most days, UT tends to be Texas High School in its obsession with NCAA sports. Lately, I think UT has been trying to address its impractically to casual/curious students such as myself by offering more night courses on various subjects in order to overcome the factory moniker my friend Mark gave it once. Still, UT is a great school like my alma mater. You get back what you put into it.

Then a new wrinkle arose. I had to move out of the dorm and find my own apartment. I did receive a raise to compensate yet I would’ve been better off staying in the dorm room. In 1994, eight bucks an hour didn’t go far in Austin (today it’s below the poverty line) and then trying to find a place near the campus added insult to injury; I didn’t own a car and the buses were (still are) weak. My dumb luck pulled through as I scored something for $395 a month at 38th and Guadelupe ($565 in 2008 money, don’t hold your breath on it being lower than $1000 now). I remained at this address for three years, mostly out of avoiding the grief of moving, buying a car and the location turned out to be center of the action in Hyde Park.

So in seven short months, I had soured on Austin and much about it: the job, plans for earning another degree, the people, my friendship with Doc, etc. The frequent gripe/conclusion I had was that this place was just an amusement park for all the rich brats of Houston and Dallas. It’s easy to have such a perception if you don’t venture out the Campus area much. Sonia, Mr. Prevost and Patricia were the bright spots. Sonia seemed to enjoy being my friend but I think she was ignorant of my situation which was a good thing; I wouldn’t blame her for disassociating herself from me because I was on the fast track to loserdom. Mr. Prevost was my great French I teacher and he would be my French II teacher by Labor Day and Sonia would be in the class with me. Lastly, Patricia became a greater presence by August. It was exciting to hand out with a real French person, get the anecdotal viewpoint of the country. We had a mutual cultural exchange. Patricia helped me with my French and I’d do my best on the English side. I think I got the better end of the arrangement with an A in French II and a little incident at a Central Market check out. We were buying some groceries to do one of our picnics on my stoop and communicating in French (probably at grade-school level because I was not very good). The clerk told me the amount, I replied and he said, “Wow! Your English is great!” I laughed and said, “It should, I was born here.” I’ll write more about Patricia another time, she does deserve a better, elaborate post.

Anyway, I digressed…

The Summer of 1994 was ending on a bitter note and transitioning into an uncertain future. I felt like I was spiraling into the same pitfalls which dogged me in 1993 with DG. Doc was trying to help me yet I wasn’t listening because he was starting to piss me off and I think he had to protect himself from any potential fallout. Sometimes, when I reminisce about this time, I get sad but not for long. There were great times mixed in with the negativity and by the following year, it all worked out for the best. Most of all, I adopted the mantra of how life here remained better than what I left behind in Central Illinois as Winter was setting in.

Around this time, the Greatest (Marquette) Summer came to an end and life in Milwaukee/Marquette was easing into a rather decent Fall. Normally, I could never wait for college or high school to start because I missed my friend and/or I needed to escape from the monotony of home.

Not so in 1989 because as the Spring semester was winding down, I wisely remembered all the painful lessons I learned from the previous Summer. I may have come pretty close to starvation (Helen prevented it, ask her how) but I had a damned good time since I wasn’t under the yoke of my parents’ incessant nagging, meddling and litanies of bullshit. For 1989, I was more prepared on the essentials and while insuring I’d get to participate in the leisurely activities of Summerfest, GenCon and drinking beer at Jose and Phil’s pad. Here were the highlights:

• With Dad’s generosity, I had the cash to cover a deposit on a one-bedroom place at Strack One (13th & Kilbourn) and I swung that temporary place until I could move in on June 1. The landlady also reduced my monthly rent for painting some of the other units in my spare time and I think she let me sublet a room to a mutual friend of Jose’s while he completed a six-week Summer school course.
• In the income department, I lined up a job with PE’s paint crew and ORL before classes ended. This worked out beautifully too. PE paid almost a buck more than minimum wage and through my new friend Doc I got to bank all of my ORL hours until I needed them. So I would get paid for my 40 hours a week painting and when we all got terminated in late July (we were playing Pictionary with the first coat in the hallways of O’Donnell), I got to cash in those hours I had saved up working at Schroeder’s front desk. After GenCon, I cruised through the remainder of August by being the daytime front desk clerk at O’Donnell before the new Freshmen moved in. In short, money was never a problem this time, especially when I wasted the $200 on a Nintendo.
• Phil and Jose were subletting a place at Carmel Hall which gave me a social outlet when I wasn’t working. Phil had a car which helped us all save money through our weekly pilgrimage to Pick n’ Save on Capitol Drive. As an epilog to that link/story, I recently discussed it with Phil and he had no recollection of stealing candy yet admits he probably did this to mess with Jose and me.
• I made a new my new lifelong friend Doc through Schroeder Hall which was an added bonus.
• Deb and Neal were around too. These were friends I made during the Summer of 1988 and they both got me back into gaming, namely through Neal’s monthly RoleMaster campaign set 1500 years before The Hobbit.
• I knew how and when Summerfest and GenCon operated so I wasn’t caught as flatfooted on attending or enjoying those festivities. Too bad the bands were pretty weak at the former, other than the big Alternative show at the Marcus, the Rock Stage didn’t have squat and I only bothered to see Paul Shaffer at the Jazz stage.

As the above bullet points illustrate, the Summer of 1989 had some rockin’ attributes. What made it better and more memorable was having a girlfriend! After the Mojo Nixon show, my relationship with Carrie shifted over to the romantic kind. I didn’t plan on our friendship ever evolving into anything further because she graduated in 1987 and we only got together when I had a spare concert ticket. But life always has that unpredictable element which continues to surprise me. Carrie and I got off to a great start that Summer: We scored tickets to see that big Alternative show starring PiL, the Sugarcubes, New Order and the Violent Femmes; We saw Batman on opening night; We hung out at each other’s apartments; She shared an apartment with four other ladies yet had her own room with a TV and VCR. When I turned 21, we could go to clubs and bars together instead of drinking at home or parties. Carrie barely communicated with my friends which I should’ve taken as the omen of friction to come but the novelty of our her “elevated” status blinded me to such warnings at the time. I still have no regrets about my years with her. I could never imagine 1989 being one of the high points of my life without her participation.

There were so many fantastic memories and as it wound down, I was a bit bummed to see it end this soon…for a change. However, I was looking forward to school starting up because it would get me closer to my degree and I thought the good times weren’t going end as the seasons and my schedule changed. This proved to be an accurate prediction through Christmas.

This is the second story from a series of some rather late and rushed remembrances about the end of Summer since I traditionally consider Labor Day to be the final day, as per a great movie I’ve always loved called The Flamingo Kid. Obviously, Austin’s weather makes the deadline a mental landmark and not a meteorologic one.

So my family had moved to Indianoplace, the capital of Indiana, around March or April in 1984, it’s a bit fuzzy exactly when but I do know I only attended school for six weeks before Summer break began. It was off to a decent start. I saw the new Indiana Jones movie on the last day of class, the friends I made (namely Mark and Andy) seemed to be my speed (Star Trek nerds) and Castleton Mall was within walking distance. Those prospects evaporated thanks to my parents. Letting me evolve into a “normal” teenager got put on hold because we were still dealing with the house back in Springfield, IL and it dovetailed into numerous side trips to visit Grandma in “nearby” Bloomington, IL. Otherwise, the three months not spent traveling or being out of town entailed hours of boredom in the house.

It wasn’t a complete bust. I saw some movies: Ghostbusters (not funny, still isn’t), The Never Ending Story and Star Trek III; went swimming at some pool used for Olympic-level diving yet I wasn’t brave enough to jump off the 32-foot diving platform; watched too much cable at Grandma’s (her town expanded to something similar to Houston’s 30-plus channels); and experienced my first disappointing concert: The Cars during their Heartbeat City tour which was a combination of Cars’ hits and watching the Hall of President robots.

In short, the Summer of 1984 sucked and it was going down in history as the most boring Summer of my brief life. I never thought I would look forward to school starting but if it got me away from my parents, I’d take it.

Then turning 16 during the remaining month of Summer gave me a glimmer of hope. I was old enough to get a job. A crappy minimum-wage job yet I would finally have my own money to do with as I pleased. Earlier attempts had been shot down whenever the employer discovered I was only 15, not anymore. Farrell’s at the mall must have been watching my file, they called me the day after my birthday to hire me as a busboy/dishwasher. Mom and Dad made a bigger deal out of it than it should’ve been too; do most normal parents take photos of their kids before they leave for their first day of a McJob? It was a small price to pay if it gave me some financial freedom.

How I kept the job beyond a couple weeks will remain a mystery because I was pretty incompetent as a dishwasher. Thankfully I got the hang of it a few weeks later and by Christmas, I was a “veteran” who could bang out six tubs of dirty plates in 10 minutes. The few months I worked there (I had to quit when we moved in 1985) was another delayed lesson similar to the one I had in 1983; I saw how people my age convinced themselves into dropping out of high school for what seemed to be “easy” money. These were teenagers from the suburbs like me too, not residents of an impoverished inner city or rural wasteland. Their poor career choices strengthened my resolve to attend college.

As for driving, I had no desire in getting my license because I didn’t the see it as necessary. My friend Mark could drive and if I chipped in for gas, we were cool. Besides, most of the kids I knew who did drive were usually brainless dullards enslaved to their cars, looking for any excuse to get behind the wheel. Mom took my disinterest with driver’s ed as a sign of being “unhelpful.” She was partly correct. I knew being allowed to drive would only be another carrot she’d dangle in front of me, I just refused to take the bait. I won out until the following Summer.

Meanwhile, Farrell’s was turning around what was a lousy Summer and when school began in late August, I’d be able to pick up where I left off at Lawrence Central. How dead wrong I was…again. I don’t know why I kept failing to learn this painful lesson regarding my parents’ thought processes. I’ll have to blame my hormones. So my parents decided to make me return to the Catholic prison system for my junior year. This incident was indirectly my brother’s doing. When we moved to town, Brian demanded to be enrolled in a private school because he wanted all the pomp and circumstance of graduating from eighth grade like I received in 1982. Mom and dad granted this wish. Afterwards, he wanted to follow the majority of his new friends to Bishop Chatard High School. They also complied on this but thought it would be great if I went along. For once, Brian and I agreed on what an asinine idea this was. He didn’t want to be embarrassed by the presence of his nerdy, older brother and I had grown accustomed to the freedom of public school. Our protests fell on deaf ears. I remember being a complete asshole to the advisor on the day Mom took me to the school. This advisor noted my hostility while I told her outright how I was attending against my will. I guess she could handle my attitude as long as my family’s check cleared which is the standard response of most Catholic schools (ask my friend Paul about Monsignor Wannabuck).

The time spent at Bishop Chatard wasn’t a complete wash. I managed to have good grades and some friends there like I had done at Clear Creek. I even found myself enjoying a couple classes thanks to those teachers to compensate for the Summer ending on a sour note. And when I found myself hating the school, I would think about the money earned that upcoming weekend.