Won't Do The Paleo Diet

....So I Did The Beard Instead.

Last November I stopped shaving and didn't start back again.

Isn't there a No Shave November thing?  You know, to raise awareness for cancer research and stuff?

Well, there is, but I'm not that hip (if that's still an acceptable adjective) and didn't know jack about that at the time, so my growth had nothing to do with it.  That is until someone said, "Doing the No Shave November thing?" while looking at my beard.

I may not have known about NSN, but suddenly my laziness had potential purpose.

"Uh....yes," I said, clueless but willing to improvise.  I've always been one to jump on a bandwagon if it happened to roll by.......slowly enough that I wouldn't injure myself.

"So you'll shave it back off in a few days?" she said.  It was almost December.

"Hmmm," (I was trying to think why the heck I'd shave the durn thing off "in a few days")

"Maybe, maybe not.  Not really sure."

That seemed adequately vague.  I really needed get educated, I thought, and find out what the heck "No Shave November" was.  Being vague is great and all, but being educated is better.

I was really more into the Paleo excuse for my new found interest in sporting a beard.  You see, although raising public awareness for cancer research is a noble and worthy enterprise, my excuse had little to do with money.  I really didn't spend a whole heck of a lot of hard earned cash on grooming.

At least not the beard part of things.

I am the guy that Gillette loses money on with their disposable razors.  I used to shave twice a week tops, and I think the twin blade razor I have in the basket on my vanity is about five years old.  The three pack might take me to retirement age.  If it got too damned dull and started deracinating my face, I'd change razors. (deracinate is a great word BTW)

Okay, maybe I'm exaggerating a smidge but you get the point.  Grooming funds from the elimination of my irregular face scraping schedule wouldn't fund much awareness of anything.

Being the moderately honest guy I am, I couldn't go around telling people I was supporting cancer awareness (though you don't need to have an awesome beard to support cancer awareness) when I was only jonesing for the gravitas that comes with fabulous facial fur.

But I digress......

I started this off talking about paleo didn't I?  Yeah, something like that.  Now I can't remember why.  But I do know that I am NOT doing the paleo diet so, maybe some paleo grooming....?

You know, without the bugs, grease, sundry twigs and beggar lice and other junk those paleolithic dudes sported along with the fur.

Now I need some good beard conditioner.  Anyone recommend the Wild Man stuff?

How Many Lightbulbs Does It Take......

to screw up a perfectly good afternoon?

I spent most of the day today doing nothing.  Nothing that I planned to do anyway.  Well, actually I didn't have a plan which would explain why I didn't do anything.....anything worthwhile at least.  What I did do was spend almost the entire day vacuuming, mopping, and doing laundry.

I know, I know.  I understand your envy.  Many people would kill for the opportunity to have a day like that.  Blistering good fun and all.  But not all of it was pleasurable I assure you.

There was a short trip to the library, and the grocery store for a bottle of.......some sort of wine.  For all of you right now who are thinking, "huh?"  A library is a place where you can check out books for free.  Books.....you know, those things you can read.  Pages, words........  Nevermind.

Anyway, I had to return some books, renew a few, and of course check out the hipster, in crowd that was hanging at the periodical section.   So with that in mind, I hit the library and, like I said, did a flyby on the grocery store for libations, and then it was back to the ranch.

Now, where was I?

Ah, yes a perfectly dreadful day was quickly waning and I had done nothing worthwhile at all.  So it was imperative I make good use of the soon-to-be-fading daylight and accomplish something.

"Hey," I thought, "why not replace the burnt out light bulb in the front porch flood light?  The one that has been burnt out for a few days.......okay weeks months?  That'll be a quick job and boost my sense of self esteem without much effort."

I've had the spare bulb just lying around for awhile now.  It's been triggering feelings of guilt every time I accidentally discover it in the kitchen cupboard.  Why not rid myself of that unnecessary bad mojo and just install the damned thing?

Five minutes!  That's all it would take.  Five minutes and I could laze away the rest of the day with a clear conscience.  Mission accomplished, the world a bit better than the way I found it this morning, and all that rot.

With a hearty chuckle, I grabbed the bulb from the deep recesses of the cabinet I had tried to hide it in, and headed out to the front porch.  Five minutes.........yeah, right.

I forgot, after climbing up on the porch railing, that these ridiculous flood lights have a little set screw that needs to be backed out in order to remove the lens shroud to replace the bulb.  Blah blah blah.  Muttering a short epithet, I climbed down and headed back inside.

When I say little set screw, I mean little enough that the average screw driver has no hope of fitting the slot.  That meant rummaging around for about 15 minutes to locate a screw driver small enough to fit.  Mission accomplished, I headed back out to quickly finish the bulb change.

Evidently time and weather had done a great job fixing that small set screw in place.  That tiny-assed screw driver didn't have the torque needed to put the spin on the screw.  A few more choice curses and I climbed back down to find a better device.  For this, I had to go to the tool shed, and after another 20 minutes of digging around trying to figure out where one of my sons had carelessly discarded the precise screwdriver I needed, I was headed back up to the front porch to finally take care of that two-minute chore.

Still no luck.  Apparently some gremlin saw me headed to the shed for the kick ass screwdriver, and while I was preoccupied he quickly welded the screw in place.  Try as I might, I couldn't get enough grip on the screw driver handle to turn the screw.

I'm not Chuck Norris, I can't turn welded screws with my bare hands.  So, curses flying more abundantly this time, down I climbed to grab a pair of pliers with which to turn the screw driver.

Optimist that I am (and a armchair student of physics), I believed, as did Archimedes, that with a lever large enough, (or in this case huge honkin' Channel Lock pliers) I could move the world......or at the very least, that agonizingly frustrating, dinky little set screw.

Apparently, no one explained the principles of leverage to the pliers because even after spending another 10 minutes going back to the shed to get them, they failed to change the course of destiny.  That gremlin welded, tiny ass, mind bending set screw remained steadfastly anchored in place.

Time to go nuclear.

Back to the shed yet a third time.  This time for the propane torch.

As a weekend tinkerer, armchair physicist, and shade tree mechanic, I knew that at times applying heat to a screw and surrounding area causes the different materials to heat at varying rates.  Those varying expansion rates will often break the bond (gremlin weld) created by time and oxidation.

All that nifty science was careening around in my head as I stumbled back to the porch with a lit propane torch in hand, sun beginning to dip below the horizon.

I briefly considered applying the flame to the porch rather than the set screw.  Watching the house go up in flames might be an entertaining diversion, but the thought of burning up the cheap wine I planned on enjoying later that evening kept me from doing the unthinkable.

Needless to say, the idea of watching Rome burn did give me a bit of comic relief, and with a breathless chortle ( bordering on maniacal laughter), I once again climbed up to the light fixture.  I would finally show that screw that it could not defeat the combined forces of; me, science, and true grit.

After I failed to break it loose by heating it up, I was about ready to pop the cork and begin drinking.......whatever kind of wine I had bought.  This was bordering on the absurd!! I had even thrown a few choice curse words at The Tink (my loving dog-friend).  Curse words that were so neglected they` had to be dusted off from lack of normal use.  I was eyeballing the light as if it were my mortal enemy.

This was war..........but I couldn't think of what to do next.  It was a fracking light bulb for cryin' out loud!!!

So I went for a fourth (and hopefully final) trip to the shed for my cordless drill.  I would drill out the damned screw and be done with it.  If I couldn't remove the screw properly, I would remove it by eliminating it.  True victory often lies in total annihilation of the opposing force.  I would bring an apocalypse on that little threaded demon living in my porch flood light.

By the way, at some point in time (probably between swigs from the now uncorked wine bottle)  I had tested the set screw in the other light lens of the same light fixture.  You know, the one that had the good bulb in it?!?  It unscrewed as easily as the day it was manufactured.  Go figure right?  Anyway.....

To make a longer story just long, (and so I can finish this bottle), I went to the shed, grabbed the cordless drill.....with a dead battery.  Charged the battery.  Broke the first drill bit. Went back to the shed for another drill bit, and.......

Finally!!  Mission accomplished, and not a moment too soon.  The sun was down, the wine was almost gone, and I was thinking about destroying every light fixture in the neighborhood.

So, how many light bulbs does it take to suck the life out of an otherwise perfectly good afternoon?  One apparently.

“Anger is the last refuge of fear…..”

       

I read that in a book entitled “Careless In Red” by Elizabeth George.  Good book by the way, but this isn’t a book review.

       

That phrase stuck in my head and rattled around for days after reading it.  Obviously it is still rattling around in there or I wouldn’t be writing this, but needless to say, I thought quite a bit about it.  You see.  I’m an angry man.

       

A lot of people are angry, especially men.  Since I am a man, I’ll refer to men.  It’s not that women aren’t angry; I just don’t understand women.  Someone else cam talk about women’s anger.

       

Actually I’m not really writing about anger either, I’m writing about fear.

       

We all have fear.  All of us are afraid of something.  You are afraid of something.  If you don’t think you are afraid of something, you haven’t lived long enough.  Eventually you will find something(s) you’re afraid of.  When you do, come back here and leave a comment “you were right.”

It’ll make me feel important.

       

Some people act like they don’t have any fear.  They don’t seem like they’re afraid of anything.  They’ll  ski off a cliff, naked, wrestling a lion, and flipping God the bird on a dare.  

But I bet they are afraid of fear.

If you told them they were afraid of something, they’d probably deny it and get angry.  Hmmm….why would they get angry?  Probably because they don’t want people to think they’re skeert?

       

Winston Churchill (old dead white guy who was probably angry) said, “the only thing we have to fear is fear itself,” or words to that effect.  There are plenty of people who fear fear.  They think fear is the sign of cowardice.  

It isn’t, but they think it is.  

So people are afraid of being afraid.   They don’t want to be a coward.

Actually they probably don’t care if they’re a coward, they just don’t want people to think they’re a coward.

       

You see how complicated it can get?

My fears run a bit more broadly than that, and are nowhere near as complex.  I’m just plain afraid of some things.  Of course I am afraid of fear too.   Why am I afraid of fear?

Because:

Fear is what gets your ass kicked in a fight.

Fear leads to passively accepting things which should be viewed as unacceptable.

Fear leads to lying, cheating, and other detestable practices.

Fear sucks.

Fear can lead to cowardice, but fear isn’t cowardice.  I can be afraid and still ski off the cliff, naked, wrestling a lion and flipping God the bird.  Of course that would be fracking stupid.  If you didn’t do that, you wouldn’t be a coward, you’d just be smarter than the average rock.

The point is, I can still act even when I am afraid.

Cowardice is being afraid of fear, or appearance of fear.  Cowardice is debilitating fear.  

Debilitating fear is what Churchill was talking about.  We got to have a righteous fear of debilitating fear.  Avoid the fear of fear.

A guy named Charles Spurgeon (yeah, like the fish) said, “Above all else, avoid cowardice because it makes liars of men.”  Smart dude.  You might want to Google the guy.  

So I think what he meant is, above all else, avoid cowardice, because it makes liars of men.  Wait! That IS what he said.  Like I said, smart dude.

I’ve been a liar in a lot of ways.  I’ve acted a lie, told lies, even lied about lies.  Because I didn’t understand that fear should be feared.  So I gave in to fear and became a coward.  

Then I got angry for being a coward.

You see how complicated it gets?

I get angry because, it disguises my fear and gives me power.  If I’m angry, I don’t stop to think about being afraid.  I can bury the fear in a few layers of kick-your-teeth-in anger.  But it’s still down there.  Like termites eating at the support beam.  It’ll crash, and the fear will be exposed.  

Because it’s in there.

Don’t let anyone try to fool you.  Angry people are scared people.  That’s a fact.  Think about it.  Yes you can.  Think about it.

So, I’m afraid anger really the last refuge of fear.