A Day of Nothing

While vacuuming, I am racking my brain for what ever I was going to blog about. When you have a pretty set routine, there is no real drama to fill this big blank white area. I was finishing cleaning and got a message from a friend.

She and I discussed happenings of the weekend... and I mentioned my domestic undertakings. She said, "I did all that yesterday... Today is my lazy day."

The spark happened... The neurons started firing. Yes, my mind was "a raging torrent, flooded with rivulets of thought cascading into a waterfall of creative alternatives." (Thanks, Hedy!)

(It's not 'Hedy',  It's 'Hedley', Hedley Lamarr!)

When I returned from 1874*, I asked myself, when was the last time anyone had a 24 hour period where they were asked of nothing.

Sure... Coma patients are pretty much the beginning, middle, and end of the list. I forget the comedian who riffed about, "We don't know what being in a coma is like... It could be the most awesome thing in the world... And here we are... Trying to pull people out of them..."

Seriously, when was the last time you had a day where the agenda consisted of Jack and Shit, and Jack just left town?

For me, starting from Sunday... If it was a payday weekend, every other Friday, I clean house. I figure if I clean house, it will keep me from going out and spending money. Regardless of payday, I also hit the gym. I also spend a spot of time composing this... FOR YOU! You're welcome! I also spend at least 2 hours completely zoned out.. Vegging. This is in order to gird my loins for the upcoming work week.

Monday... Work... Which is not the problem. It is a job... I go... I do have to interact with people... That is taxing. Then gym.

Well... That is Monday through Thursday... At night, after sufficiently cooling down and eating, I will jump in some chat rooms, maybe spin some tunes... Good times.

Friday... No gym. Fridays are good because that means booze and cheat meals. Still went to work... Dealt with people.

Saturday, when weather permits, and sometimes when it doesn't, I will get up early and try to destroy my legs on my bicycle. Laundry is usually done on the Saturdays as well...

So... when is my lazy day?

Even when I was on vacation in San Antonio, in May, the closest I got was the Saturday pool party at the hotel. I was going to hold off on drinking til at least after noon... I then had the epiphany that, "Hey... if I were at the Ren Faire, I would be drinking mead at 10:05... It is 10:08... I have a bottle of mead..." HUZZAH, Bitches!

So, after transferring the elixir to my "water bottle"... We meandered to the pool... Commence Operation: Do Fuck All!

Couple of lady friends asked what I was imbibing... I let them sample... "Oh... that's good!"... "I KNOW!!!"

They both slipped me cash... "Go get us some, pweeeeeeez??????"

I had pretty much killed the bottle, so... Driving was out... "TAXI!"

My friend and I had a mission... In the middle of our Operation... Disgraceful!!!

I bring up that day because it just proves the point, there is rarely... we're talking "Donald Trump making a coherent and well thought out, endearingly delivered, thought" rare... a day that you can just do nothing.

I say this... and I don't even have kids! Kids will fuck up a day of nothing quicker than you drawing comparisons between Donald Trump and Hitler!

I have Lily... And yes, while not the same, if I am home, I will never have a day of nothing. I could... but she would eat my guts, ass first by 7:00 AM. Then she would take a dump in the corner... Which means I would have to get my gutless, ass eaten ass out of bed and clean up shit. That would make for a shitty day... Like "President Donald Trump" shitty.

However... With careful planning, if you have the right number of kids, and once they get old enough to perform the chores... You could maybe, juuuust maybe, squeak out a day of nothing... Slave labor!!! (The kind Donald Trump hopes to bring back!)

That sort of day of nothing is the long con... I mean the four year old can't really mow the lawn...  But their little fingers are good for cleaning out the blade area, getting in all the nooks and crannies.

The preparation for having a day of nothing would be staggering. First... The ground rules for what a day of nothing consists of would have to be established... I would consult the Buddha. This is because that fat bastard always looks happier than Donald Trump shopping for a new wife (aka "The Miss America Pageant").

The Buddha says to eat when hungry, drink when thirsty, when nature calls - answer, and sleep when tired. Anything beyond that is wasted energy.

So, eating, drinking, waste evacuation, and sleeping do not infringe on a day of nothing.

Meal preparation would. So, have to fix the meals the day before. Preferably nothing needed to be reheated... Well... the easiest solution would be to have a chef and a butler... Like Donald Trump has... EVERYWHERE HE GOES. SINCE HE WAS BORN.

I guess that brings up another point. A day of nothing is not cheap. The closest most of us will ever get is when we go on a vacation. I can see sitting on a beach, tasty adult beverage in hand, delivered by resort staff, being a very close approximation.

I posit that vacations and do nothing days are essential... I have this here link to back that shit up. I was also bummed out to read, according to a survey by Expedia, that in 2009, Americans gave up around $436,000,000 in vacation days.

So, doing nothing is not easy, nor cheap. But not doing nothing could kill you.

_____________________________________

In this last tidbit here, I think about skipping the gym. I think, "No one reads my blog anyways, who's gonna care if I skip a week?" (Love you, Mom). I think the laundry will keep til next weekend...

That type of thinking is seductive. It entices you with the promise of "rest and relaxation"...

Then I think of the people on the ship in "Wall.E"... The ones in the hover chairs... Know what they were good at? Doing nothing.

Something in the way,

d

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I Want To Go? Home?

After being social, and writing about it, I was mentally tabulating the questions asked by people when going through the societal equivalent of the dog butt sniff.

The one I threw out a couple of times was, "Always lived here?"

To me, that is a very telling subject.

It brings up this weeks topic... Is it better to have moved around, or have roots in one place.

Having Roots : Pros

It is your town. You, and probably generations of your ancestors, have been a part of that community since it's founding. There is a legacy. Your name is known.

The sense of community also has a security blanket feel... Anything out of the ordinary will stand out like a sore thumb. The sense of "routine" also provides a layer of comfort.

You are friends with your neighbors... They have been your neighbors since you can remember. Kids from all over the town play together from sun up, to sun down...

When confronted on where "I grew up", my knee jerk reaction is Kansas. Hey... it worked for Clark Kent! Having moved around, it was easy to pick out who would remain after graduating. Until leaving this world... Going back to the 20 year reunion, I was correct on some, mistaken on others.

I envy the people who stayed at times. That existence is a known quantity. Life would only be as complex as YOU made it. The "hustle and bustle" does not exist in places like that. I am in no way, shape or form saying it would not be hard...

It would be rewarding. You could provide for you and yours. You could raise a family there. You could have roots.

Having Roots : Cons

The family legacy... sure... That's swell if they were all model citizens. Now, if your great, great, great Uncle Claude was a goat fucker... Your family legacy is one of livestock raping. Your name is known all right.

Sense of community? People know the color of your shit before you do. Rumor is currency, regardless of factual accuracy.  "A sense of routine"... Blogger, Please. That is the nicest way of saying, "SAME SHIT DIFFERENT DAY!!!".

Neighbors... Well... Good fences make good neighbors...And now that I am older, if I saw a gaggle of young kids roaming the street, I would remark at the parenting. Not condemn, of course... "That one kid comes from a line of goatfuckers, or so I heard..."

I am pretty sure every smaller town or community has that one Dairy Queen, that one Whataburger, that one diner, where the local gentry coming for their coffee every morning, and due to dementia, have the same conversation. I worked at the lumberyard next to the Dairy Queen... Saw them in there... Every. Morning. That was another big reason I joined the Air Force. Was time to GO.

There is a whole big ass world out there... You can sit in one place and watch it go by... Or...

Moving: Pros

The exhilaration of striking out... The pioneering spirit... The wanderlust quenched... If you don't challenge yourself, you won't grow as a person. Test your mettle! They say that moving is one of the five biggest stresses one can face. Conquer that shit!

You get to meet all new people that you would have never interacted with. Afforded the opportunity to get acquainted with new mannerisms and colloquialisms (Spelled that word correctly, first attempt... I don't care if this blog sucks donkey balls... I am proud of that shit!) native to the region. You almost can't help but have them become a part of you.

I learned to be self reliant for my own entertainment because of moving around. I discovered the love of reading. I learned how to make friends. The move to KS. in my freshman year, it was fun to have the "new kid" mystique on my side. There were all manner of rumor swirling about my past... Some I entertained, some I had to squash pretty quick...

Also, the folks did realize that moving was "difficult" on the kids... So... BRIBES, BABY! "I want my own room... I want a pool... I want a four wheeler..." Two out of three ain't bad, yo.

Moving makes you tackle the unknown... If you can tackle the unknown in one facet of your life, then the fear of it will be easily vanquished in other parts.

Moving: Cons

Um, "Pioneering Spirit"??? Really? Tell that to the Donner Party. Striking out on your own, or dragging your family along, is sooooooo fraught with peril... I used to play "The Oregon Trail"... I died of dysentery so many damn times that I looked it up.

dysentery : noun : Infection of the intestines resulting in severe diarrhea with the presence of blood and mucus in the feces. Brought on by moving.

Okay.. The last part should be amended to say "to Oregon... by covered wagon... in the 1800s.", but still...

You have to meet people. Ugh... In the vast phalanx of shaven monkeys on the planet, you are going to get along with about 4%... on a good day... You have to learn things like "smoking cigarettes" to blend in... Peer pressure is a bitch, yo!

Why do I have "Subdivisons" by Rush in my head??? "Be cool or be cast out!" Thanks, Geddy, Alex, and Neil. You get me.

Self reliance is neat and all... Turns you into quite the anti-social bastard in your later years. When asked what I do in my "off time" recently, I noticed that all my activities were pretty solitary on the participation scale. Gym, writing, bike riding, listening to music. Yeah...

Don't get to comfortable... May have to move tomorrow. Go to sleep thinking about that... Sweet dreams, pum'kin.

_______________________________________________

I talk to Moms, and she and Dad have wondered if they did the right thing by moving away from all the family in Michigan to Texas, when us kids were all really young. I was four...

I resounding tell her "YES! Hells Yes." Michigan sucked.

She does not wonder about moving the whole fam damily to Kansas when I was a Freshman... By then, Texas sucked.

When my then new bride (X1) and I made the decision to join the USAF, Kansas sucked.

Staying in a place, having a HOME... vs. Venturing out, always moving... Neither is better, neither is worse. I think back to some of the wisest words I have ever heard,

"No matter where you go... there you are." 

Thanks, Buckaroo,

d

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Train Ride To No Importance

Last month, I went to a gathering in San Antonio. It was a group of about 350 peeps. I knew a handful personally, and more than a few from Facebook. Did I know everyone? No... Did I meet some new people, sure did.

My primary purpose was to hang with two of my friends, from a national chat room, that I have known for going on four years now. They are good, good friends who help keep me relatively sane.

Last night, a local group was having a pool party. This group encompasses the Dallas, Ft. Worth area. This area is larger than the state of Connecticut. and has 9,000 times the population. Slight exaggeration, but only slight. If the group is having an event, say a Happy Hour on a Thursday in Arlington, I would have to drive an hour, fight traffic, get there, drink, then when done, drive an hour back.. On a school night... No thanks.

This pool party was two miles down the road. On a Saturday. I was going to drink anyways. Laundry was done... Shit.

So, instead, I found myself in the chat room. I mentioned the pool party, and my comrades asked if I was going to go...

"I went to a pool party last month" (Referring to the event in the first paragraph.)

"Go, you anti-social bastard!" Paraphrasing, but not by much.

This topic of "being social" has been creeping in the noggin for a couple of weeks. I was going to do it last week, but Ali died... This week was Gordie Howe... And awoke to a mass shooting in Florida... Really, 2016, fuck off already.

Being social, for me anyway, is not as easy as it is for others. I can be social, I know not to hump the leg of the person I am speaking to... Well, I know NOW... Social graces and shit are tight!

In a 1:1 exchange, I can be humorous, engaged, and dare I say, a bit charming. In a group of unknowns, I sit back and get to know the lay of the land... Who the bullshitter is, who the wanna be alpha is, who the actual alpha is, who the followers are, who the smart one is... I may let loose a quip or two to really gauge who the smart one is...

The armed forces has an actual thing called "espirit de corps" (Eh spree duh cor). It is basically saying a spirit of the core... Our shop had it in spades. When we went out, it was in a pack. You felt good knowing other's had your back, and you equally good, or better, knowing you had theirs.

We would be in a pool hall, and there would come a call for "Hey, D!!! Enthrall us with a story..."

"So... Me and Evil Ed Crane were bored..."

I had no problem holding court with my brothers in arms.

I couldn't do that with twenty strangers... I would be nervous and awkward. I would stutter and "um" and "uh" may way through, and destroy a great story involving a cheerleader, bleachers, and two merciful cops.

When I was married to X2 (Second Ex-Wife), she had a large family. They made me feel welcome and comfortable. At family gatherings, there was much socializing. No nervousness or apprehension. I could probably show up at a large gathering TODAY and they would say, "Wanna beer? Wanna beer? Wanna beer?" in rapid succession, as I used to not accept a tasty beverage until the third time asked.

Between X2 and X3, there was the SkillsNET Days and Crew... Only thing missing was camouflage uniforms and the constant aroma of JP-4 (jet fuel). And it was there that I began my affair with my Hetero Life Mate, Jack Daniels.

With X3, I withdrew. I was depressed and beat down. I was in an entirely miserable existence and did not want to inflict that upon anyone else.

So, after divorcing... I found that my social muscle had atrophied. I truly think of it as a muscle.

With the advent of "Social Media" in the years of being married, I garnered the fact that it is not really that "social". I could see all the people doing all the things... But really had no desire to participate.

Again, no strength in that social muscle.

Reconnecting with old friends, going back out to Scarborough, and yes, even the ball kicking, gut punching, soul rending activity known as "dating", started the slow process of stretching that social muscle out.

Still... The chat rooms... They give you the gift of anonymity. Gauging the audience? Who gives a flying fuck? I will troll the hell out of them... I will flame the entire room...

The rooms were a boon and a hindrance... They allowed me to socialize without having to put myself out there. Allowed me to let "me" shine through again... And that let me realize, "Hey... I like me some me!" Think of the chat rooms like Kegels for the social muscle.

The other beautiful thing about being a little bit older now, and having moved into the stage of "Hey... I LOVE me some ME!", I have no problem going to an event... A pool party... On a date... and if I am five minutes into it, not digging the scene... I fucking leave.

What are the going to do? Take away my birthday?

____________________________________

We ARE social animals. Some are just more social than others. Thanks, Orwell.

I can think of the times my parents had friends over... All two of them?

My Dad hates people more than I do, and on a larger scale. BUT, when I introduce him to friends or lady friends, he is personable and downright cordial...

Dad found Mom... and I am pretty much of the opinion that, if the rest of the world up and vanished, Dad would just say, "That will help cut down on the traffic..."

I go to the gym, working out muscles of the body. I read books, flexing neurons.

I did end up going to last night's pool party... Socially sore this morning... But that could just be the Jack.

Nodding and grinning,

d

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The Greatest

In sports, the moniker of "Legend" is one not bandied about lightly.

Then, there are the legends who get a name on top of the label. Hockey had "The Great One" in Wayne Gretzky. Football had "Sweetness" in Walter Payton. Basketball had "Air Jordan". Baseball had... I dunno... I think baseball sucks. They had someone named after a candy bar, I think.

Here is why Muhammad Ali, "The Greatest", is on a different stratosphere. Not to diminish those guy's individual accomplishments and talents, it's just that they come from team sports. Payton had an offensive line that would have made ME look pretty decent. Jordan had a supporting cast of future Hall of Famers along side him.

Ali was all by his lonesome once the bell rang. It was him versus his opponent. He entered the ring 61 times. SIXTY ONE. Fifty six of those, he left the ring the victor. Thirty seven of those, opponents were retired early, by way of getting knocked the fuck out. In his amateur career... 100 wins, 5 loses.

I have always admired boxing. There is a difference between a "Fight" and a "Boxing Match". Both have their time and place, satisfying different parts of the brain. A fierce, visceral, fight between two guys who genuinely hate each other... well, you imagine the winner is You, and the loser is the asshole who dinged your car door. You imagine the loser is your boss... Like a Snickers, it satisfies.

A "Boxing Match" between two skilled opponents is like watching chess in motion... with blood.

Muhammad Ali's strength, besides a devastating right, was this thing called "Ring Generalship". Whatever game plan you had, whatever strategy you had prepared... That's cute and all, but you were going to fight Ali's fight.

I am reminded of Miyamoto Musashi, a ronin and master swordsman in old timey Japan... When he would duel, he would find out about his opponent. If his opponent was super punctual, Musashi would show up late. If his opponent was devout, Musashi would be blasphemous.

Ali would jack with his opponents to the point they were scared. Sonny Liston pulled and fired a gun at Ali in a casino. That gun was loaded with blanks. There are reports that he carried a REAL gun to the actual fight with Ali.

Ali would show up on opponents lawns at 3AM with a PA system and start trash talking... He was going to get into your head...

ALL THIS BEFORE STEPPING INTO THE RING!

In his famous fight with George Foreman, Ali employed the "Rope A Dope". He let Foreman, with his unique fighting style of "None", keep swinging. While absorbing all that punishment, Ali would keep asking ol' George, "That all you got?". "That's it?"

In the eighth... Down went Foreman. It was tactically, the greatest boxing match I have, or will ever see. I can appreciate the art and skill watching that fight in much the same way I can appreciate a virtuoso performance by a ballerina. It was that masterful.

 Ali's two greatest fights came outside the ring.

By refusing the draft, he gave big ol' middle finger to the establishment. He took two IQ tests when 18, and was found to have an IQ of 78. That score declared him to be "unfit".

When the war pigs needed more meat for the war machine, they lowered the standards. NOW, he was draft worthy.

"I said I was the Greatest, not the smartest.", Ali said. Knowing this makes me understand his argument even more so. He did not mire his belief with all the weighty social relevance, and what his stance would mean... He simply asked, in his own braggadocios manner, "Why are you sending me to kill someone who I have no quarrel with, when you (the system) are oppressing me, and denying me my rights, right here at home?" (paraphrased - not his actual quote)

Simple fucking question that old crusty white dudes did NOT want to have to answer. Especially when it came from a black man.

The one part I take umbrage with is that a lot of kids felt that way, but were not heavyweight champions of the World at the time, so... they went to jail. Or Canada. I don't know which is worse.

He was called a "Coward" by some. I disagree vehemently with that classification. The legal case went all the way to the Supreme Court. To get a case heard by the Supreme Court, that in and of itself is a fight. You have to lose in court, more that once... I think it is three or four times, and each time, basically say, "No, your Honor, you are wrong." Ali won his Supreme Court hearing, 8-0. Yet another TKO.

I am relatively sure that if he had lost, he would have done his time. I do not know if he would have to boxing after serving the five year sentence. Maybe by not boxing, that would have saved him from his next fight...

Parkinson's is not something I would wish on my worst enemy. The brain works... but the signals coming from the brain... don't. Impairing motor function, and speech. Now, imagine all you ever known, made your livelihood with, and were known WORLDWIDE for, was your physicality and running your mouth!

The last time I saw Ali speak in public was after 9/11. It was on "America: A Tribute To Heroes". Muhammad Ali fought one last time... He fought for reason. He fought for peace. He fought against the wanting to lash out and blindly hurt others because we were hurt.

Parkinson's won. War and ignorance won.

At least he fought.

d

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P.S. - Fuck you, 2016. Please stop taking legends...