Again I looked back at my saved documents and read some of my old blog posts from 2005. By the way, I'm still fighting that tendency to regard any date that starts with 2,000 as "the future," due to many years of conditioning. But to get real, that, (2005,) was twelve years ago. Long time. Sure it's merely the span of time covering the end of my work career and then my retirement so far, but it's also the amount of time I spent between birth and junior high school. Long time.
Anyway, I recorded in one post that my wife, when asked by me when she was going to make breakfast one Saturday morning, replied, "probably not as early as you hoped, but sooner than you feared." I really miss her. Not to mention, she was a great cook, so whenever she did make breakfast, it was worth the wait.
When I moved out of my house, I found that I was the owner of tons of cooking utensils and decided I didn't want to have to move them with me. I donated anything whose purpose I didn't understand and kept the rest, but now, what I actually use is just the tip of a giant ceramic and copper and stainless steel iceberg. I am such a bad cook that I go beyond the bachelor archetype into the realm of the pathetic. I'm keeping all the stuff because I think that one day I'll get around to learning what to do with it.
I carefully go over my lab numbers when I get them back every three months to make sure I'm not depleting myself somehow, but I seem to be doing OK. Speaking of the future, where's that pill to replace eating? Just kidding. I kind of like eating.
Thursday, December 28, 2017
Wednesday, December 27, 2017
Uhm, That Last Post . . .
I just read that last post, and my conclusion is that perhaps there is some sort of medication, or therapy, that can help. And yet, a very tenuous and sort of vulnerable thread of logic ran through it and down the page that the astute reader might cling to and slow their fall.
Moving on. Every year we talk about the same stuff regarding the beginning of a new year, no matter how we mark it, whether it be by a number on a calendar or by some fortuitous orientation of planetary bodies. Obviously the calendrical year starts at a point close to the Winter Solstice, as if it tried to represent the planetary alignment thing, but sort of failed at perfect precision and accuracy, so it makes sense to me to observe the planetary method and leave the calendrical methodology to the IRS.
And every year I make the same observation that time, and life, etc., is really more like a meandering path than a circle, and the movement of the planets through the universe backs me up on this, because as the Earth orbits around the Sun in a relatively consistant cycle, the entire solar system is also moving through space since the Milky Way Galaxy (in which we reside) is rotating even as it simultaneously shoots away from the center of creation, so you might imagine the Earth's actual path to be a sort of crazy smeary corkscrew motion, which also verifies another idea of mine that if you know too much, you'll go nuts.
Every year we try to change. The cyclical nature of the year lends itself to the idea that the "new" year is a clean slate, and therefore we have the opportunity to change ourselves (for the better, of course,) or maybe not just the opportunity, but the permission, you might say, maybe something like when you move to a new town where no one knows you and if you decide to totally change your haircut, who's to know?
Every year, we generally fail. I think it's because you can't change. I think a better strategy, if you're not happy with what's going on, is to stay yourself--you've been that way for awhile now and are probably getting pretty good at it--but change the way that you do it. That's something you have control over.
To sum up:
1.) Pay your taxes.
2.) Try to ignore the fact that the planet Earth is plummeting headlong into an icy oblivion.
3.) Be yourself.
4.) As always, as Mel Brooks said, live with the idea that being alive should be the exact opposite of being dead.
5.) Have a happy new year.
Moving on. Every year we talk about the same stuff regarding the beginning of a new year, no matter how we mark it, whether it be by a number on a calendar or by some fortuitous orientation of planetary bodies. Obviously the calendrical year starts at a point close to the Winter Solstice, as if it tried to represent the planetary alignment thing, but sort of failed at perfect precision and accuracy, so it makes sense to me to observe the planetary method and leave the calendrical methodology to the IRS.
And every year I make the same observation that time, and life, etc., is really more like a meandering path than a circle, and the movement of the planets through the universe backs me up on this, because as the Earth orbits around the Sun in a relatively consistant cycle, the entire solar system is also moving through space since the Milky Way Galaxy (in which we reside) is rotating even as it simultaneously shoots away from the center of creation, so you might imagine the Earth's actual path to be a sort of crazy smeary corkscrew motion, which also verifies another idea of mine that if you know too much, you'll go nuts.
Every year we try to change. The cyclical nature of the year lends itself to the idea that the "new" year is a clean slate, and therefore we have the opportunity to change ourselves (for the better, of course,) or maybe not just the opportunity, but the permission, you might say, maybe something like when you move to a new town where no one knows you and if you decide to totally change your haircut, who's to know?
Every year, we generally fail. I think it's because you can't change. I think a better strategy, if you're not happy with what's going on, is to stay yourself--you've been that way for awhile now and are probably getting pretty good at it--but change the way that you do it. That's something you have control over.
To sum up:
1.) Pay your taxes.
2.) Try to ignore the fact that the planet Earth is plummeting headlong into an icy oblivion.
3.) Be yourself.
4.) As always, as Mel Brooks said, live with the idea that being alive should be the exact opposite of being dead.
5.) Have a happy new year.
Tuesday, December 26, 2017
Fugitive Time
I was amazed to find that I still have, on my hard drive, a document full of posts I made in an old blog from about ten or twelve years ago. I'm glad I saved that stuff--I imagine I deleted the blog but didn't want to lose what I had written--but I confess there's a little of the Flowers for Algernon plot twist going on. I almost didn't recognize the writing. I only vaguely remembered writing each of the posts, but not at all the inspiration for some of the humor in them. I was quite good! This stuff was all written during the last good, productive years of my career, before the downward spiraling tail end, and, I read, I was starting to think about retiring, without a definite plan yet, but thinking it might be a good idea. Sometimes relishing an idea is better than the actual execution of it.
Now, if I may beat an idiomatic expression just a little deeper into the ground, fast forward to 2017. Here I am, totally without plan or direction, even eight years into my retirement. By the way, eight years?? It seems so much longer than that. Is that a good thing? Time flies when you're having fun, but at least the good news is that I am ageing faster and faster. The bad news is, that's not good news.
So. The passage of time. It's problematic. Not in the way climbing a mountain might be problematic, but in the way you fall off a log. You never forget how to pass the time. It's like riding a bicycle, or falling off a log.
I keep writing and writing, in this post, but I can't seem to climb out of this hole. What I'm getting at, I think, is that we are good at thinking about stuff that helps us survive. Our brains do some things really well without us ever having to try try very hard. Like recognizing faces, even though as we've all been told a zillion times it is such a data-dense operation that even supercomputers have a difficult time of it, or like remembering where objects are, We are so good at that that we invented a memory trick method where we pretend to place facts in a make-believe room in our minds.
But we are really bad at solving more than one problem at a time, or rather, figuring out a problem whose cause is more than one thing. That really throws us for a loop. Apparently in the evolutionary development of the hominid brain, that situation just didn't come up that often to require a special adaptation to get around it. Don't believe me? Look at this picture of my mirror, where you can see the mirror image of my watch in it. What time is it?
What does it all mean? Who knows. I'm just saying. And, in reality, deciphering the time here is actually the easiest when you figure out the single thing you need to think of when looking at it, rather than the two obvious things that are wrong. How is this like life? Gawd, I hope not at all.
Now, if I may beat an idiomatic expression just a little deeper into the ground, fast forward to 2017. Here I am, totally without plan or direction, even eight years into my retirement. By the way, eight years?? It seems so much longer than that. Is that a good thing? Time flies when you're having fun, but at least the good news is that I am ageing faster and faster. The bad news is, that's not good news.
So. The passage of time. It's problematic. Not in the way climbing a mountain might be problematic, but in the way you fall off a log. You never forget how to pass the time. It's like riding a bicycle, or falling off a log.
I keep writing and writing, in this post, but I can't seem to climb out of this hole. What I'm getting at, I think, is that we are good at thinking about stuff that helps us survive. Our brains do some things really well without us ever having to try try very hard. Like recognizing faces, even though as we've all been told a zillion times it is such a data-dense operation that even supercomputers have a difficult time of it, or like remembering where objects are, We are so good at that that we invented a memory trick method where we pretend to place facts in a make-believe room in our minds.
But we are really bad at solving more than one problem at a time, or rather, figuring out a problem whose cause is more than one thing. That really throws us for a loop. Apparently in the evolutionary development of the hominid brain, that situation just didn't come up that often to require a special adaptation to get around it. Don't believe me? Look at this picture of my mirror, where you can see the mirror image of my watch in it. What time is it?
What does it all mean? Who knows. I'm just saying. And, in reality, deciphering the time here is actually the easiest when you figure out the single thing you need to think of when looking at it, rather than the two obvious things that are wrong. How is this like life? Gawd, I hope not at all.
Monday, November 20, 2017
No TV Stations
As I once must have already said, I didn't keep the Google TV channels when I moved to the loft. It was because it cost $80 a month more and I didn't think it was worth that. I also didn't keep my old land-line number so my total Google bill went down, from $140 a month to $50. I hooked up an antenna the other day, but I only get, like, three channels. I don't know what you're supposed to do if you still think TV signals are just in the air, free for the taking, like they used to be. Nowadays, you have to PAY for your advertising to be beamed, no, pulsed--possibly pumped--into your livingroom.
Today I went out for breakfast, then went to my old apartment to load up some more of the remaining miscellaneous crap still left there, then went to the management office of the building I now live in to give them the list of things they need to fix--already--in the new place. Then I ate lunch, and then sat and talked with a friend at the coffee shop for about three hours, then went to find a grocery store. There is a Price Chopper four miles away. They have these ridiculously large, plastic grocery carts that make you feel like a little kid whose mom let him push the cart for her. I picked up a few things, and tried to make sure none of the things touched any of the other things, as they all were just swimming around in this huge grocery cart. I was successful. Except of course for the two bananas, which were connected at one end. While waiting in line, I remembered that I once read somewhere that grocery stores sometimes supply huge carts to encourage people to buy more stuff. I estimated that if I had filled this cart up to the brim, it would have cost me about four hundred dollars.
Right at the moment, I am beginning to binge-watch the seven seasons of Star Trek: The Next Generation on Netflix. I wonder if there are any episodes that I haven't seen at one time or another. Surely. Last night I watched S1 Ep.1 and 2. Hilarious to watch the actors plunge into these roles with, apparently, no idea what they're going to do with them yet. They were all like animated cardboard cutouts. So, episode 3 coming up.
Today I went out for breakfast, then went to my old apartment to load up some more of the remaining miscellaneous crap still left there, then went to the management office of the building I now live in to give them the list of things they need to fix--already--in the new place. Then I ate lunch, and then sat and talked with a friend at the coffee shop for about three hours, then went to find a grocery store. There is a Price Chopper four miles away. They have these ridiculously large, plastic grocery carts that make you feel like a little kid whose mom let him push the cart for her. I picked up a few things, and tried to make sure none of the things touched any of the other things, as they all were just swimming around in this huge grocery cart. I was successful. Except of course for the two bananas, which were connected at one end. While waiting in line, I remembered that I once read somewhere that grocery stores sometimes supply huge carts to encourage people to buy more stuff. I estimated that if I had filled this cart up to the brim, it would have cost me about four hundred dollars.
Right at the moment, I am beginning to binge-watch the seven seasons of Star Trek: The Next Generation on Netflix. I wonder if there are any episodes that I haven't seen at one time or another. Surely. Last night I watched S1 Ep.1 and 2. Hilarious to watch the actors plunge into these roles with, apparently, no idea what they're going to do with them yet. They were all like animated cardboard cutouts. So, episode 3 coming up.
Sunday, November 19, 2017
M-day + 4
I'd have to say that I am moved into the new place, mostly.
Still trying to decide where I'd like to sit when I write. At the moment, I have a Mac sitting on the little wood table just to the left of that upright beam. Not sure I like that. Probably stick with the Twilight Zone corner.
I have a growing list of things the building managers need to address in the new place. Just little stuff, though after all the glowing reports I've heard about these guys I'm a little surprised that they didn't go through the loft first and get everything up to snuff. It's as if they want to see what they can get away with.
The first day here I took my walk in the morning. I walked across the bridge that spans the Interstate (the "downtown loop") and went downtown. I walked to the Kansas City Public Library, near 10th and Main, and back. That was about two miles in total. Not bad. Yesterday I took a similar route but went to Cosentino's Grocery, a huge grocery store at 13th and Main. I did this as a test run. Maybe not something I would do if I needed to buy something at the last minute, but OK for a planned shopping excursion. If I bought too much, I could take the street car back. Or, I suppose I could take the street car both ways.
It's all kind of cool.
Saturday, November 18, 2017
The Writer's Nook
As referred to in a previous comment response, here is the writer's nook, occupying a sort of odd corner of the loft. At first I didn't think I would like it, but it has a kind of vibe. I put spacers under the right side table legs so the mouse won't slide off onto the floor. If my writing seems kind of skewed, perhaps this asymmetrical situation is partially to blame.
I have ten days left to completely vacate my old apartment. Unfortunately, on the main moving day, the 15th, I "overdid" it, and pulled something resulting in a doctor's office visit during which I was told not to do any lifting for a few days. So, I have a couple days off before me. Yay, I think.
Speaking of the writer's nook, I made what I think will turn out to be a wise decision in not getting Google TV channels when I transferred my service. I simply got the Internet access. This seems to be conducive to a desire to sit at the computer and write. I hope it indeed works that way.
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| It is the middle ground between light and shadow, between science and superstition |
Monday, November 13, 2017
M-Day -1.5
I am a little amazed that after all the hours of work I have put into my packing, I'm still not finished. All I can say, and I keep saying it, is I'm glad I decided to "get a jump on it," because it wasn't really a jump, but a slog. Did I think I was going to get ahead? Anyway, glad I decided to start on this when I did. If I'm lucky, not too many things will remain unboxed by the time the movers get here.
And I'm not sure how it's possible, but even after the very short duration stay here in this apartment I managed to accumulate some crap.
No one is helping me. I'm not complaining, but I say this because moving, by one's self, is a very lonely proposition, on more than one level. And--correct me if I'm wrong--using the ceiling lights only, after packing up all the lamps, looks very dreary and goddamn depressing. Maybe it's a good thing I didn't start this earlier, because, this way, I don't have to live in this barren wasteland very long.
I admit if I had my critters I might feel better. No doubt that they would be annoying me, cruising in and out of rooms, in and out of boxes, turning up completely missing after I had taped up the tops of all the boxes, causing me to worry about taping a cat in a box. Of course that's never what happens--they delight in this kind of subterfuge.
Tomorrow is another day, and the last full day here at this address, according to my plan. I can finally pack up everything, knowing I won't need it here.
Well, thank you for reading, imaginary person. I feel better ventilating, and I'm ready to get dinner, or make dinner, or something.
And I'm not sure how it's possible, but even after the very short duration stay here in this apartment I managed to accumulate some crap.
No one is helping me. I'm not complaining, but I say this because moving, by one's self, is a very lonely proposition, on more than one level. And--correct me if I'm wrong--using the ceiling lights only, after packing up all the lamps, looks very dreary and goddamn depressing. Maybe it's a good thing I didn't start this earlier, because, this way, I don't have to live in this barren wasteland very long.
I admit if I had my critters I might feel better. No doubt that they would be annoying me, cruising in and out of rooms, in and out of boxes, turning up completely missing after I had taped up the tops of all the boxes, causing me to worry about taping a cat in a box. Of course that's never what happens--they delight in this kind of subterfuge.
Tomorrow is another day, and the last full day here at this address, according to my plan. I can finally pack up everything, knowing I won't need it here.
Well, thank you for reading, imaginary person. I feel better ventilating, and I'm ready to get dinner, or make dinner, or something.
Saturday, November 11, 2017
The Pre-Move Ramble
I have sorely neglected this poor blog, but to tell you the truth, I kind of don't care. I say that only to be totally honest. And I kind of do care. Previously I may have mentioned that I wonder if each creative genre, or type, such as writing, photography, music, all utilize different parts of the brain, and all these various creative outlets compete with each other for blood flow. I am not actually that old, but maybe I don't have that much blood flow to spare nowadays.
I think it's been a pretty eventful year, for all I have complained about boredom. I got out of suburbia a year ago--it was December--and moved here to the edge of Midtown (every city has a Midtown, right? It is that treeless area buffering the suburbs from the urban core, where tattooed, financially disenfranchised Millennials drive older cars with no insurance, and each having somewhere between zero and one-and-a-half jobs and who eat breakfast in the parking lots of gas station convenience stores.) So, yeah, I'm on the edge of that, and after a year, the suburbs still look kind of boring and dismal, and downtown begins to look pretty good.
I'm moving again, as I have said. Downtown, sort of. I found a loft on the top floor of an old metal company warehouse that overlooks the Missouri River, across the street from the end of the street car line. Now, I'm only on the 5th floor, so it's not a truly spectacular view, but it is superior to the view I have at the old place, which is of the side of a building identical to mine about fifteen feet away.
I move next week. I have packed everything in boxes except what I need to live for the next week. Many of the boxes are still unpacked from the last very recent move. This might be a new record for me for the shortest duration occupancy of an apartment. Seems like I'm usually good for about two years.
My two previous cats, Uma and L-Bot, have been given to new homes. I miss them and the only thing that makes me feel better about that is they probably don't miss me--I'm confident that they just kept on being cats, which is a good thing. I think I am better off not taking the Claritin for my cat allergy.
So that's it in a nutshell.
I think it's been a pretty eventful year, for all I have complained about boredom. I got out of suburbia a year ago--it was December--and moved here to the edge of Midtown (every city has a Midtown, right? It is that treeless area buffering the suburbs from the urban core, where tattooed, financially disenfranchised Millennials drive older cars with no insurance, and each having somewhere between zero and one-and-a-half jobs and who eat breakfast in the parking lots of gas station convenience stores.) So, yeah, I'm on the edge of that, and after a year, the suburbs still look kind of boring and dismal, and downtown begins to look pretty good.
I'm moving again, as I have said. Downtown, sort of. I found a loft on the top floor of an old metal company warehouse that overlooks the Missouri River, across the street from the end of the street car line. Now, I'm only on the 5th floor, so it's not a truly spectacular view, but it is superior to the view I have at the old place, which is of the side of a building identical to mine about fifteen feet away.
I move next week. I have packed everything in boxes except what I need to live for the next week. Many of the boxes are still unpacked from the last very recent move. This might be a new record for me for the shortest duration occupancy of an apartment. Seems like I'm usually good for about two years.
My two previous cats, Uma and L-Bot, have been given to new homes. I miss them and the only thing that makes me feel better about that is they probably don't miss me--I'm confident that they just kept on being cats, which is a good thing. I think I am better off not taking the Claritin for my cat allergy.
So that's it in a nutshell.
Friday, October 6, 2017
FB
Interesting segment on an MSNBC news show last night about the effect Facebook could have on such a large number of Americans. Worldwide, there are as many Facebook users as there are Christians. Only, Facebook users don't just look at Facebook on Sunday morning. They look at it probably every single day, at least once a day. And they are getting "targeted ads" and suggested posts and memes.
And if they look (click on) at one ad, they get more like it, and if they use the clickable drop down menu, they can get Facebook to stop showing them ads about certain things, or from certain companies, if they are offensive or not relevant.
So, I think where this is all headed is soon there will be a group of people who, combined, number the same as all the Christians in the world, just to give you an idea of the scope of it, who look at something at least once a day and see only those things that are "relevant to" them or that they have deemed not offensive, or that interest them particularly, and, most likely, nothing else.
Think how happy they will be. And how stupid.
And if they look (click on) at one ad, they get more like it, and if they use the clickable drop down menu, they can get Facebook to stop showing them ads about certain things, or from certain companies, if they are offensive or not relevant.
So, I think where this is all headed is soon there will be a group of people who, combined, number the same as all the Christians in the world, just to give you an idea of the scope of it, who look at something at least once a day and see only those things that are "relevant to" them or that they have deemed not offensive, or that interest them particularly, and, most likely, nothing else.
Think how happy they will be. And how stupid.
Sunday, September 24, 2017
Winter Is Coming
I don't watch Game of Thrones. I don't have HBO. I Googled it just now, and saw in one of the results that "Winter is here." Oops. I'm late. I watched everything I could on a borrowed HBO Now account, last year, until I ran out of episodes. Time passed. Now, I don't actually care what happens to anyone. I know this is some sort of character flaw on my part, however, I'm too old now to change. I have my Gunsmoke and Johnny Carson re-runs.
That was a joke. But I did watch part of a Johnny Carson Show rerun the other night. It was interesting in that so many decades have passed since these aired--about every two minutes someone said something shockingly politically incorrect. Say, do you suppose we could introduce Borat to Trump? That was a joke. No it wasn't. They already know each other. I think. Don't they?
It doesn't seem like winter is coming around here. The weather in Kansas City is remarkably uncomfortable, for this time of year. Too much humidity, and temperatures that are still too high. Sorry. I can't seem to go more than a post or two without complaining about the weather.
OK. Moving on, then. Speaking of winter coming, I'm not getting any younger. This has been going on for some time, and it's slightly alarming. 2/3 of my sparse social life takes place at a coffeeshop where 3/4 of the people there are 1/3 my age You do the math.
Now it seems like this entire blog post consists of complaints. I don't mean it to. I don't know about winter, but fall is coming, which always reminds me of going back to school--a good twelve years of conditioning that hasn't quite faded away yet. And I don't want it to. I can go to the coffeeshop later, where everyone looks good (except, possibly, me,) and, if I still want to complain, I can wait around for another old fart to sit down within ear shot *
*that increasingly short distance where you can carry on a conversation without saying, whut?? Huh?? every few seconds. I blame Blue Cheer.
That was a joke. But I did watch part of a Johnny Carson Show rerun the other night. It was interesting in that so many decades have passed since these aired--about every two minutes someone said something shockingly politically incorrect. Say, do you suppose we could introduce Borat to Trump? That was a joke. No it wasn't. They already know each other. I think. Don't they?
It doesn't seem like winter is coming around here. The weather in Kansas City is remarkably uncomfortable, for this time of year. Too much humidity, and temperatures that are still too high. Sorry. I can't seem to go more than a post or two without complaining about the weather.
OK. Moving on, then. Speaking of winter coming, I'm not getting any younger. This has been going on for some time, and it's slightly alarming. 2/3 of my sparse social life takes place at a coffeeshop where 3/4 of the people there are 1/3 my age You do the math.
Now it seems like this entire blog post consists of complaints. I don't mean it to. I don't know about winter, but fall is coming, which always reminds me of going back to school--a good twelve years of conditioning that hasn't quite faded away yet. And I don't want it to. I can go to the coffeeshop later, where everyone looks good (except, possibly, me,) and, if I still want to complain, I can wait around for another old fart to sit down within ear shot *
*that increasingly short distance where you can carry on a conversation without saying, whut?? Huh?? every few seconds. I blame Blue Cheer.
Tuesday, September 19, 2017
Equinox/Flu Season
It's a fact that a certain percentage of people experience an adverse reaction to the common flu shot each year. The so-called "high dose" flu shot is even more effective against flu symptoms, and causes the same side effects in a slightly higher percentage of people.
These reactions in no way are like having the flu. We're talking mild headache and/or mild fever, for up to seven days after the injection, apparently.
Pretend you are rightfully afraid of being killed by swarthy Chicago mobsters with machine guns, but you can prevent this by bringing in, say, some mice with tiny mouse machine guns and letting them shoot you, and they do, and you go, ouch, cut it out! Seriously. Hey! I said stop that! Ouch. Damn.
I thought I've noticed the side effects before. This year, I was watchful of how I felt, and before 24 hours had passed after my shot, I began to feel kind of feverish-ish. Nothing bad, but I definitely got that feeling like I was "coming down with something."
By the way, the percentages of people getting these side effects is small. Like, one in twenty. But even if your fall within that small category, it's not that big of a deal. In my case, the worst of it was totally blown out of the water with two Ibuprofins.
Hey, I'm old now so I get to talk about my health. It's OK. It's like when your old car won't start and you get into work late and get to talk about it in excruciating detail. Your son has the jumper cables. He went to work early. You call your friend. They come over but now the battery is SO DEAD you have to let the "donor" car idle for awhile with the cables in place in order to charge your battery a little. There's smoke. It's interesting. Right?
In other probably more important matters, each day I get nearer and nearer to pulling the plug on my Facebook account. I really don't know why it hasn't happened yet. The very first thing I do is open my email and find and read my daily "Peace Quote" with inspirational ideas presented in short, palatable paragraphs saying things like, "As the Buddha was fond of saying, the spiritual teacher only points the way; we must do our own traveling." Feel good stuff. Then I open my browser and look at my Facebook page and I'm bombarded with stuff Trump said the day before or, God forfend, earlier that wee hour morning, before the dawn of reason, and spend the rest of the day wondering what the hell is wrong with mankind.
Still not moving. (I mean relocating--I'm moving OK.) Sometimes it sounds like a good idea but that doesn't last long and unfortunately it takes a long time to organize and implement a move that big. There's a certain limit you reach, when you have to try too hard to do something, where you start to wonder if it is meant to be. Not forever, maybe, but not here/now. I'm there.
Time to go. I have three (3) things to do before I take my walk and decide what to do next.
These reactions in no way are like having the flu. We're talking mild headache and/or mild fever, for up to seven days after the injection, apparently.
Pretend you are rightfully afraid of being killed by swarthy Chicago mobsters with machine guns, but you can prevent this by bringing in, say, some mice with tiny mouse machine guns and letting them shoot you, and they do, and you go, ouch, cut it out! Seriously. Hey! I said stop that! Ouch. Damn.
I thought I've noticed the side effects before. This year, I was watchful of how I felt, and before 24 hours had passed after my shot, I began to feel kind of feverish-ish. Nothing bad, but I definitely got that feeling like I was "coming down with something."
By the way, the percentages of people getting these side effects is small. Like, one in twenty. But even if your fall within that small category, it's not that big of a deal. In my case, the worst of it was totally blown out of the water with two Ibuprofins.
Hey, I'm old now so I get to talk about my health. It's OK. It's like when your old car won't start and you get into work late and get to talk about it in excruciating detail. Your son has the jumper cables. He went to work early. You call your friend. They come over but now the battery is SO DEAD you have to let the "donor" car idle for awhile with the cables in place in order to charge your battery a little. There's smoke. It's interesting. Right?
In other probably more important matters, each day I get nearer and nearer to pulling the plug on my Facebook account. I really don't know why it hasn't happened yet. The very first thing I do is open my email and find and read my daily "Peace Quote" with inspirational ideas presented in short, palatable paragraphs saying things like, "As the Buddha was fond of saying, the spiritual teacher only points the way; we must do our own traveling." Feel good stuff. Then I open my browser and look at my Facebook page and I'm bombarded with stuff Trump said the day before or, God forfend, earlier that wee hour morning, before the dawn of reason, and spend the rest of the day wondering what the hell is wrong with mankind.
Still not moving. (I mean relocating--I'm moving OK.) Sometimes it sounds like a good idea but that doesn't last long and unfortunately it takes a long time to organize and implement a move that big. There's a certain limit you reach, when you have to try too hard to do something, where you start to wonder if it is meant to be. Not forever, maybe, but not here/now. I'm there.
Time to go. I have three (3) things to do before I take my walk and decide what to do next.
Friday, September 15, 2017
Summer
The real journey seems to be inside my head. I am still here in Kansas City, in the same apartment, which is one of four condos in a smallish, brownstone 4-plex built in the 20s, I think. The reason for this is the weather in Chico, California, where I thought I wanted to move. Chico is one of the few places in California where you have a fairly big city--OK, you could call it a "town"--and probably even, demographically, a blue area on that red and blue election map that always shows up after elections, and, at the same time, real estate prices that are more or less in line with the rest of the universe. (Not like the Bay Area, where my boyhood home, which was and still is large enough to house a couple people and a cat and one car, might cost you a million dollars.
Here's the trouble. Chico weather, while typical of California with its wet, winter season and its perpetually sunny summer season, has a flaw. Maybe a couple. It gets impossibly hot in the summer. The high temps routinely soar beyond that good old "century mark" as the weathermen here in the Midwest call it, and, not uncommonly, over 105 degrees. 105 is the temperature that any seasoned Las Vegas resident will tell you marks that point where, "dry heat" or not, it's just plain old hot. Like, I'm-not-leaving-the-house hot. The kind of hot where people start doing their gardening at 6:00 a.m. and then stay inside with the A/C cranked up from 8:00 a.m. on.
So, there's that. And this year, combine that with wildfire smoke that apparently will migrate hundreds of miles across the valley to make your eyes burn and itch and water. I think I could live without that. Missouri suddenly doesn't sound so bad. All we get are tornadoes and, unlike earthquakes or wildfires, you are more than likely going to dodge them.
So, you know, here I am.
I took the cats to the animal shelter--a "no kill" shelter--and I can't bring myself to check and see if they have new homes yet. Both of the girls, Uma and Lizzy, are friendly little critters, both seem healthy and, doggone it, they're cute, so I am optimistic that someone picked them out to take them home. Now that I have decided to stay here, for awhile at least, I thought about checking on them and taking them back if no one had adopted them yet, but I also find that without cat dander in the air, my sinuses are much, much better and I have been off the Claritin the whole time. The reality is that a small apartment is not a good place for two cats and an allergic owner. This is just going to be one of those things that I am not happy about, or shall we say, at least mixed feelings.
So, in the way that it does, the universe sent me a squirrel. He spends a good deal of time each day in the attic space above the ceiling of my back hallway, just off the bedroom. He rolls nuts around and then runs and jumps and makes noise. It sounds like a tiny bowling alley up there. It was a little alarming at first, as new noises can be, but I've become adapted to it and accepted his joint tenancy. Squirrels, I was delighted to learn, are not nocturnal, and we are both sleeping well.
Here's the trouble. Chico weather, while typical of California with its wet, winter season and its perpetually sunny summer season, has a flaw. Maybe a couple. It gets impossibly hot in the summer. The high temps routinely soar beyond that good old "century mark" as the weathermen here in the Midwest call it, and, not uncommonly, over 105 degrees. 105 is the temperature that any seasoned Las Vegas resident will tell you marks that point where, "dry heat" or not, it's just plain old hot. Like, I'm-not-leaving-the-house hot. The kind of hot where people start doing their gardening at 6:00 a.m. and then stay inside with the A/C cranked up from 8:00 a.m. on.
So, there's that. And this year, combine that with wildfire smoke that apparently will migrate hundreds of miles across the valley to make your eyes burn and itch and water. I think I could live without that. Missouri suddenly doesn't sound so bad. All we get are tornadoes and, unlike earthquakes or wildfires, you are more than likely going to dodge them.
So, you know, here I am.
I took the cats to the animal shelter--a "no kill" shelter--and I can't bring myself to check and see if they have new homes yet. Both of the girls, Uma and Lizzy, are friendly little critters, both seem healthy and, doggone it, they're cute, so I am optimistic that someone picked them out to take them home. Now that I have decided to stay here, for awhile at least, I thought about checking on them and taking them back if no one had adopted them yet, but I also find that without cat dander in the air, my sinuses are much, much better and I have been off the Claritin the whole time. The reality is that a small apartment is not a good place for two cats and an allergic owner. This is just going to be one of those things that I am not happy about, or shall we say, at least mixed feelings.
So, in the way that it does, the universe sent me a squirrel. He spends a good deal of time each day in the attic space above the ceiling of my back hallway, just off the bedroom. He rolls nuts around and then runs and jumps and makes noise. It sounds like a tiny bowling alley up there. It was a little alarming at first, as new noises can be, but I've become adapted to it and accepted his joint tenancy. Squirrels, I was delighted to learn, are not nocturnal, and we are both sleeping well.
Sunday, September 3, 2017
Infallibility
Like millions of other people, I've been trying to understand how
Trump keeps on being president. In recent news, two people have lost
their jobs because, essentially, they said something stupid,
insensitive, and politically incorrect for today's cultural
climate--to me, it seems that taking away someone's livelihood is a
pretty severe action to take because of simply spoken words, and certainly shouldn't be taken lightly, but I
don't decide these things. I just wonder how these guys can lose
their jobs for saying one thing, but Trump says things just as
stupid and offensive and insensitive two or three times a week, week
after week, month after month, and he still has HIS job.
So, ran across these Facebook groups and if you will notice, in both cases it seems that Trump enjoys the perception of a certain almost religious infallibility, along the lines of those obnoxious "God said it, I believe it, that settles it." bumper stickers we all know and love. Notice the bottom picture, where it says, "No matter what." No shit, apparently.
I am just wondering if we are all underestimating the power of the Religious Far Right in all this. Being fundamentalists by nature (I think) they certainly have already demonstrated their ability to muster and maintain the staggering amounts of cognitive dissonance necessary to support Trump's words and actions, so it becomes obvious that nothing we "liberals" or Democrats or reasoning people in general say or do is ever going to change their minds, but only solidify their weird, unreasonable loyalty to Trump.
So, ran across these Facebook groups and if you will notice, in both cases it seems that Trump enjoys the perception of a certain almost religious infallibility, along the lines of those obnoxious "God said it, I believe it, that settles it." bumper stickers we all know and love. Notice the bottom picture, where it says, "No matter what." No shit, apparently.
I am just wondering if we are all underestimating the power of the Religious Far Right in all this. Being fundamentalists by nature (I think) they certainly have already demonstrated their ability to muster and maintain the staggering amounts of cognitive dissonance necessary to support Trump's words and actions, so it becomes obvious that nothing we "liberals" or Democrats or reasoning people in general say or do is ever going to change their minds, but only solidify their weird, unreasonable loyalty to Trump.
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