Living in the U.S.A (United States insane Asylum)

Insanity

Would someone please go out front and look at the sign over the entrance?  I firmly believe we are living in the asylum. 

This story out of NC a few days ago simply lends credence to my opinion.  “You committed a crime against your minor self but we can, and in fact we are charging you as an adult, and oh, by the way, here’s the victim help line number to call since you have been victimized as a minor self from your adult self and…..

Did you hear about that one; about the teen that had nude pictures of himself on his phone?  He was charged with possessing child porn because he was sixteen when the pictures were taken.  The prosecution charged him as an adult because he turned seventeen before they charged him.  So let me get this straight, he's a minor victim of his adult self?!?

So, for possessing pictures of himself nude, he is charged with possessing child porn?

Are we living in an idiocracy?

What about you?  Do you have nude pictures of yourself somewhere?  NO?  Are you sure?

What about those pictures your loving mom snapped of you in the bathtub as a toddler?  What about the ones of you as a baby?  Were you possibly nude in any of those Kodak moments?

Still got those old black and white prints?  Are they in the family photo album?  You could possibly be charged with possessing child porn even though it’s you.

Do you think that could never happen?

Don’t you think the above mentioned story couldn’t possibly happen?

I hope these kids learn moral values and plain old discretion.  I also hope they actually receive justice, not this ludicrous perversion perpetrated by over-zealous morons who call themselves public servants.

Did you look at the sign over the door?  Does it say United States Asylum?

"Nooses" at University of Delaware Expose Idiocy

I've sworn off getting political on my personal blog but if you think (like I do at times) that the lunatics have taken over the asylum, consider this story that appeared overnight in what passes for the news these days.

Nooses found hanging from tree on University of Delaware campus ~ USA Today

*I failed to grab the link earlier and they removed the original article and replaced it with this sophomoric attempt at a retraction.  It essentially says, “yeah, they weren’t nooses but everyone around here is still has racist problems.”

Or

Makeshift nooses found on University of Delaware campus ~ Fox News

Or

Nooses Found Hanging From Tree on University of Delaware Campus ~ NBC News

Or

3 Nooses Found at Delaware School ~ U.S. News & World Report

Those are just a few of the “news” reports concerning what turned out to be leftover garbage from lantern decorations.

This sort of knee jerk, rush to press garbage would be comical if it weren’t so sad.

ABC News follow up article explains the mistake….

"The University of Delaware says three items found hanging from a tree on campus were not nooses, but remnants of paper lanterns left over from an event.

Interim university President Nancy Targett initially announced Wednesday that the discovery of the items hanging in front of a campus building Tuesday night prompted a hate crime investigation. But in a statement posted online around daybreak, Targett says the investigation found that the items weren't instruments of a hate crime, but left over from an event on The Green, a campus open space.

Still, Targett says the incident revealed the campus' sensitivity to the potential issue and shows a need for "continuing dialogue." She invited the community to gather Wednesday afternoon."

But that admission was a day late and oh so inadequate.  It also highlighted the idiocy of those involved in this fiasco.

Check out Ms. Nancy Targett, the university’s interim president (this is the best they could come up with?) who still thought it was important to call it an “incident.”  The only “incident” here was the idiocy of those involved in jumping to outlandish conclusions.  Prior to her (hopefully embarrassing discovery that they weren't, in fact, nooses, here's what she said.

"This hateful display stands in stark contrast to Monday night's peaceful protest and discussion. We condemn this despicable action and ask everyone in our community to stand together against intolerance and hate," Targett said.

I mean, look at the photo again.  This is string, not rope.  There is a wire clothes hanger (go ahead zoom in.  It's a flocking clothes hanger) hanging from the end of some string, and it is all haphazardly arranged.

Do you see “nooses” in this mess?

The person who found this and immediately thought “OMG!! Nooses!”  Needs to be tested to confirm they have a functioning brain; the police who began investigating this as a “racial hate crime” should turn in their badges and resign, and Ms. Targett should shamefully step down with a profuse apology for her own ignorance. 

But no, she still wants to have a gathering of the community to have a “continuing dialogue” about the “issue”  Fine Ms. Targett, have a gathering to discuss the potential issue, but please acknowledge your own error and think about why you were so ready to believe that trash in a tree was a noose.

*Sigh*

If it weren’t so obscenely stupid, it would be funny.

Shoelaces Ain't What They Used To Be

Shoelace……

The very word brings a tear of joy to your eye doesn’t it?  At least it ought to make you smile a little.  They ain't what they used to be.  If adversity builds character, shoelaces used to be character builders.

Back in the day (or as my kids say, “in the olden days when you were young,”), shoe laces were a source of daily aggravation.  Every pair of shoes I had sported at least one broken shoe lace or laces where the aglets were missing.   (I bet you never thought about the fact that those little plastic shoelace caps have a name)

Every time I tried to cinch my shoes on nice and tight, it seemed like I wound up with a 10” length of amputated shoelace in my hand.  They constantly broke.

Or, I’d put my shoes on to find that the (now much shorter shoelaces) had come out of the eyelets at the top of my shoe and I’d have to try and thread the needle with a hairy dog’s tail to lace them up.

Then there were several pairs of sneakers which I was constantly moving the laces up the shoe until eventually the lace was engaging only the top two eyelets in an attempt to hold the floppy sneaker on my foot.

Granted I came from a poor family so we didn’t have a drawer full of laces for replacements.  Maximizing the usage of a worn out lace was almost compulsory.  But even if we’d have had a quizillion extra pairs of laces in a drawer it wouldn’t have helped.  I would have had to carry around two extra pairs at all times just because of the MTBF (mean time between failure) of those crappy laces.   Shoelace technology sucked back then.

There were basically three choices (maybe four tops) and they were all cotton laces.  But you could get them in your choice of white, black or brown.  Brown was usually for Sunday School occasions when you had to wear the crappy dress shoes that otherwise would have been thrown away.

The fourth (potential) choice was leather laces which no self-respecting slum dweller would dream of putting in his “wish-they-were-actually-Chucks” shoes.

It was bad enough that my mom bought our shoes at the Pathmark (super market) out of the big dump bin at the end of the canned goods aisle.  Those kicks had genuine molded plastic soles (ice skates) on cheap canvas uppers and cost $1.89 a air.  That was humiliating enough but we would have been bully bait with leather laces that cost more than the shoe itself.

So we lived with white cotton laces until they were brown and beyond redemption (usually about two weeks) and finally needed to be replaced.  Then it was more cheap cotton laces from the supermarket again.

Back then, every lousy pair of shoes we owned probably needed a dozen pairs of replacement shoelaces before the shoe itself was shot.  Not anymore.

Fast-forward to modern times (nowadays as my kids say) and the current shoelace technology.

Besides having a quizillion different types of shoe laces in a bazillion different colors and stuff, shoelaces last forever now.  It’s like they’re made out of space alien material or something.  I end up throwing out a pair of shoes long before the laces even think of breaking.   In fact, I can’t remember the last time I had a broken shoelace.

And those aglets that used to crack and fall off in one day??  Well now they display the shoe company’s logo on them and you couldn’t get them off the lace with a blow torch and pickax.

Shoelace technology is so great now that my kids may never experience the joy of a broken shoelace in their lives.

And that’s something to smile about I guess.

30 Days of Oil Pulling

I once read an article that gave solid advice for those of us who often think we’d like to turn over a new leaf or try something new.  It said that rather than try to create a new lifestyle or tackle a New Year’s resolution all in one fell swoop, resolve to commit to it for a 30 day stretch.

You can do (try) almost anything for 30 days.  So try it out for 30 days rather than committing to a lifetime of new practices.  By committing for a 30 day trial run, you have no guilt if and when you decide you want to give it up.  If after 30 days you find that you actually want to keep going then by all means, keep going.

It’s that philosophy that has led me to try a few things I might otherwise avoided.  Oil pulling is one of those ideas.

I missed the big oil pulling trend in 2013-2014, (I’m a late adopter) so here I am in 2015 trying oil pulling for 30 days.

As an aid to myself I am going to try and track what (if any) effects it has on me.

For those of you who have just immigrated from outer BF Egypt, here is a brief description of what oil pulling is:

     Put 1 table spoon of oil in the mouth.

     Swish it around for 20 minutes.

     Spit it out in the trash.

     Swish and rinse with salt water.

     Brush your teeth as normal.

That's it, that's all.  It’s supposedly an Ayurvedic treatment with (skeptical sideways glance) thousands of years of use.  Look it up, I’m not kidding.

Anyway, the idea is to do it every morning (or night) and it will have a positive impact on dental health and other health issues.

I'm trying it because I've read that some people have had good results with chronic sinus infections, ear infections and other things.  Since I have Meneir's disease, I'm hoping it might have a positive impact on my symptoms.  We shall see.

On the way home last night I stopped by the store to buy either sesame oil or coconut oil; I've read proponents of both.  Coconut oil was less expensive; I bought coconut oil.

DAY ONE - APRIL 23, 2015

This morning I woke up and began my experiment with oil pulling.

Scooping out a tablespoon of coconut oil is reminiscent of scooping out lard.....and it tastes about the same.  Not a pleasant experience to put solid coconut oil in the mouth, but after a moment it melts and the swishing begins.

The only difficulty I had this morning with the 20 minutes of swishing was trying to get my two boys ready for school.  It's hard to encourage them to "get out of bed" or "eat your breakfast" when you are sloshing coconut oil around in your mouth.  But mumbling and pointing did the trick and we got through okay.

After a (carefully monitored) 20 minute interval, I expectorated, swished with salt water (did you know there is no such thing as organic salt?), brushed my teeth and carted the kids to school.

DAY TWO

It's a weird feeling trying to mouth a scoop of coconut oil off a spoon.  I wish it could come in squeeze type tubes or something; which makes me realize it actually has the consistency of Chapstick or something.

Nothing new to report except to say that I wonder if they came up with this idea to help the coconut oil industry.

Finally, 20 minutes are done and I can spit it out in the trash.  

*NOTE:  I’ve read that the oil turns white from all the toxins it absorbs.  I'm not buying that; it starts off white to begin with.  Also, if you have ever seen the engine oil that has gotten water in it, it turns white-ish as well.  I think the whitish color (if it isn't from the fact that the coconut oil starts off white) is from mixing with saliva.

Yeah, gross but turning white from absorbing toxins?  I have serious doubts about that but maybe time will tell.

Anyway, day 2 down, 28 to go.

DAY THREE

This morning, after a lazy lay in bed till 8:30 start, I began my morning ablutions with the intake of another tablespoon of coconut oil.  It was no easier to put in the mouth than yesterday but at least I knew what to expect.

Which leads me to ask this question, if it's more a solid at room temperature than a liquid, why the heck do they call it oil??  Shouldn't it be referred to as coconut grease?

Anyway, day two led to no new revelations except that even on a Saturday morning there are invariably things you want to use your voice for that sloshing around a bunch of oil prevents.  I had to sternly use notes to get my boys to stop fighting.  You should try sternly writing notes, it’s quite an exercise.

Once again, a 20 minute gentle mastication of oil, a spit and rinse with salt water.  After a careful couple minutes of tooth brushing action, day 3 was in the bag.

DAY FOUR

Maybe I was imagining things last night but it seemed like I had a bit less "blockage" or effects from my Meniere's disease in my left ear; possibly just a normal fluctuation.

This morning (prior to my Sunday-go-to-meeting outing) I started my coconut oil torture and true to form, my two fine lads began raising a ruckus again.  This morning I commenced immediately with the stern look (while mumbling and swooshing oil) and a short, snappy note about time outs and such.  Then I stomped back to my cave and kicked a few puppies.

This oil pulling stuff comes at damned inconvenient moments.  Either that or the inconvenient moments come at damned oil pulling time.

You know the routine so no descriptions this time, although I will stress that when the directions say 20 minutes, I use a watch.  I'm nothing if not a stickler for details.

Rinse and brush and day 4 is in the history books.

DAY FIVE

So yesterday I think I really felt a decrease in symptoms of my Meniere's in my left ear.  I noticed it most when I was out driving with the window down.  Usually I don't really hear the cars passing in the opposite direction with my left ear but yesterday it almost felt normal.  Again, I don't know if that is a fluctuation or an effect of the oil pulling.  If it's oil pulling then wow!! Cool!!

We'll see.

Routine again this morning but in a more hurried fashion as I have to drag my sorry butt to work.  Trust me, I still did the full 20 minutes (21 actually) but did it while hopping on one foot and making  my brown bag lunch.

Swish and a spit and put a big X on the calendar.

.......Oh, and I have learned that gargling with salt water can actually feel rather pleasant after twenty minutes of tonguing coconut oil.

DAY SIX – DAY 30

It gets a bit old talking about how I scooped a tablespoon of coconut lard into my mouth so I am sparing you the day to day run down.  If you've even read this far down, suffice it to inform you that I have religiously performed the duties for a FULL thirty days.

CONCLUSION

After thirty days of carefully following all the instructions and going through a large jar of coconut oil, I can honestly say:  I notice no change in anything.  Nothing.

My teeth are NOT whiter, my gums still feel the same, my Meniere’s symptoms are the same, I have not sprouted new teeth, grown thicker hair, pooped nicer poop, or experienced any other noticeable effects.

Bottom line, do it if you like the routine of munching a mouthful of oil every day, otherwise, don’t bother.

Open Letter to Jeb Bush

The following is an email I submitted to the Jeb Bush for President website contact form.at  https://jeb2016.com/?lang=en

I figured it would probably never see the light of day but I feel very strongly that we most certainly do NOT need another Bush or Clinton in the White House.  That is why I posted here even though politics are a dangerous topic.

My motto for the 2016 campaign would be   "Almost Anyone But Bush!"

I can't say who I would support but I know about a dozen that I will definitely not support.

Anyway, here is what I wrote in it's unedited entirety.  

Mr. Bush:

Please withdraw from the presidential race.  We The People have had enough of the Bush family, and their political ideology, in the executive branch and in politics in general.

While we certainly acknowledge your right to run for the office of president, it's difficult to see what you bring to the table that is good for the United States.

It's time for fresh perspectives.  More accurately, it’s time for perspectives rooted in the wisdom of those who built this representative republic; perspective that understands the admonishments of those who warned us not get embroiled in the affairs of other nations.  We need right-minded perspectives rather than the same hawkish mentality of projected military force, intervention in the affairs of other nations, outright toppling of legitimate governments, feeding the international corporate beasts and the endless trampling under foot of the Constitution.

Your father embraced globalism and your brother took this country quickly down the path toward becoming literal police state.  They both boosted federally centered statism and corporatism while injuring or destroying the quality of life for millions of people around the world.  Your brother ignored the Constitution and put his “war” against “terrorism” above the fetters of the law.  I am sure that you will exercise more of the same dangerous and destructive policies, having shared much in common with his formative upbringing.

We don't need more of the same, and that’s all you have to offer.  You sir look the same as those who have occupied the White House for the last several decades.  You appear to be a blend of the hawks and the apologists; a man whose principles are given to him by the interests which support you.

But we will NOT support you in your bid for the Republican nomination, and if you are successful in achieving that goal, we will certainly oppose you in the general election.

We will not stop speaking out against the same, tired foreign policy that has engendered such misery around the world.

We will not stop opposing the erosion and outright attacks against the Constitution in this nation.

We will not cease from shining the light on the lack of border security and the inherent risks such dereliction of duty brings to our nation.

We will continue to protest against overbearing, bureaucratic controls imposed against our will; squelching industry and destroying industry and the middle class.

We will not turn a blind eye, or deaf ear, to the gross violations of constitutionally guaranteed rights of the citizens of these great states.

You may be legally entitled, but you sir are not fit to hold the office of President of the United States, and we ask that you humbly acknowledge that and remove yourself from consideration.

Respectfully,

Timothy Gaunt

One of The People

Aw Damn it's Spring.

"Narzisse" by Martin Hirtreiter 

So it's Spring again.  Not that I care much for Spring.  Spring only has a couple of things going for it.
It ain't Summer and it ain't Winter.

If Spring were Autumn I'd be okay with that but it isn't.  It isn't really much of anything.

In the southeast, Spring isn't really a season, it's just a temperamental transition between cold and wet (Winter) and hot and humid (Summer) and waffles in a non-committal fashion between the two until Summer finally kicks its ass.

Spring has an identity crisis in my neck of the woods.  One day it's trying to freeze your tenderloin and the next it's going sauna on your butt.  That's Spring.

I don't like Spring that much.  Sure the flowers are pretty but Spring is the harbinger of a lot of things I am NOT looking forward to.  Plus the flowers are pretty much dead by May.

Cutting grass.  I'm NOT looking forward to cutting grass.  Every Spring I revisit my angst about shoving the lawnmower around the yard.  A weekly (more or less) ritual that takes time and energy away from serious things......like anything that does NOT involve actually cutting grass.

Spring makes me feel guilty for not having a garden.

Spring makes me feel guilty for not painting the parts of the house that I failed to paint last year.

Spring makes me have to come up with all kinds of excuses to NOT do yard work and other outdoor chores AFTER WORK because there is still a few hours of daylight left.  It's hard to be a lazy slough when it's light outside.

Spring also reminds me that in about two days it's going to be 2° shy of hell.  That's when Summer kicks Spring's ass and moves in to burn everything to a crisp one day and steam it like clams the next.

Autumn reminds me that cold, miserable Winter is around the corner but at least with Autumn you have the holidays to look forward to.  Spring gives you nothing.

Spring reminds me that bugs will soon be swarming like....well bugs.  Lots of bugs.

Yeah, I'm not a big fan of Spring.

AIGA

The saying goes that “hope springs eternal.”   I suppose it does, at least until you’re fifty.

Fifty brings the realization that hope is an adolescent expectation.

Hope in what?  Hope for what?

Fifty is the watershed moment of life; the point of no return.  The Rubicon so to speak. But the crossing of this river is involuntary.  

(Involuntary unless one opts to check out before reaching fifty)  

At fifty your future is largely determined.  Cast in quickly setting concrete.  

No matter what you do between now and your death, your legacy is already more than half written.

At fifty you can’t go back and pretend that you are 25 or 30.  Maybe you could have pulled that off at forty but not at fifty. You can dye your hair but you aren’t fooling anyone.

Hitting fifty is like hitting a flooded road at 75 mph.  When it happens it changes everything.

I reached fifty years of age yesterday.

Today I am reflecting on the wreckage behind me; the destroyed relationships, hurts, anger, emotional injuries. Looking back I see the sort of barren landscape that selfish living produces.

Such reminiscence greys the horizon, and creates a fog of the present.  The future’s bright light dims to the glow of an exit sign.

Exit stage left.  Does the audience care?  Do they even know you’ve left?  Do they applaud because you’ve performed well or because you are leaving?

These questions take on new significance at fifty.

My parent's generation is at the threshold.  I care, but I don’t really.  

Perhaps I’ll care when they actually shuffle off the end of the pier. But for now I am only thinking of being fifty.

That thought consumes me.  I have no time for thinking of anything else right now.

Perhaps that is why I am who I am today.  

At fifty.

Incommunicado Flagrante

Pssst!!  Hey, you.....

I read a quote by Charles Futrell somewhere.  Maybe it was in a schoolbook in one of my marketing classes, I don’t know.  Anyway, it goes like this:

“In conversation, keep in mind that you are more interested in what you have to say than anyone else is.”

I probably would have said it more like this, “Hey moron! No wants to hear what you have to say more than you do….moron.”  But then, I’m an asshat like that sometimes.   Mr. Futrell is probably a whole lot kinder and gentler. 

Anyway, I guess the point is this; we have all sorts of communication problems, like rambling on aimlessly, all the while clueless that our perceived audience has tuned out, and mentally wandered off in pursuit of more interesting entertainment.  

Actually the "problems" are more like defects.  These communication defects often keep us from ever really connecting on a deeper level than just “how ‘bout dem Cowboys?!” or “Doesn’t this rain suck?!?”

Not that I necessarily want to connect on a deeper level but it sounds Zen-ish and cool.

Communication defects like fingerprints, are unique to each individual but have common qualities.  

I don’t know how accurate that is or if it’s even useful information.  I’m not a psychiatrist, and this isn’t a self-help article so if you want something accurate and useful, go somewhere else. 

I’m just sharing my 2¢ worth of observations about my own communication defects……glaringly obvious defects.

The first, and biggest communication defect I have is a total lack of empathy for other people.  (see the “hey moron” comment above)  Usually I couldn’t care less (or could barely care less) what anyone has to say so I “listen” with only a small portion of one frontal lobe engaged…..or whatever the communication part of the brain is. 

There are times when I do care like when my boss says, “Hey! Good job, I’m giving you a raise.”  I have a LOT of interest in that kind of communication.  My whole brain instantly becomes engaged, thinking of how I’m going to spend the money, whether I can now afford to begin living a little, whether I can now save enough to finally say “stick it!” to the man, etc…  So at times like that I am really empathetic to what he has to say, I'm just not listening anymore.

But when someone says, “I’m really stressed about…..(fill in the blank).”  I kind of give them that vacant stare.  My brain begins this internal buzz-humming thing.  Pithy rejoinders begin vying for my tongue.  Things like, "Hey, don't sweat it.  Everything happens for a reason."  Crap like that.

What I’d really like to do is immediately reply with a loud, “Yeah, so what?!"  maybe with a "moron" thrown it for punctuation (I like punctuation) but I usually don't do that. 

What I do is enter the little hideout inside my head and start thinking about “dem Cowboys” or my motorcycle project, or my on-again-off-again middle-aged crush on P!nk.

I really need to work on that whole empathy thing......soon maybe.

The second biggest defect I have in communication is a short attention span.  I just can’t maintain a high level of engagement for more than a minute or two……usually a minute at the most. 

Seriously, if you are going to make a point, make it!  I’ve got better things to think about.  

Well, at least I have more interesting things to think about, like…..almost anything.  I mean, if I am thinking about it it’s because I obviously think it’s interesting, or I have to think about it; like work…. or something mind-numbing like that.  

Of course I usually do my work while thinking about other things anyway.  That explains why my career hasn’t rocketed to the top of the corporate world.  I can’t find much enthusiasm thinking about the stuff that goes into earning my paycheck. (there goes that raise)

Wait, what was I talking about??  Oh yeah, a “short attention span” and its’ detrimental impact on (real) communication.  That’s number two I suppose.

Right up there near the top of my communication defect list is my tendency toward didactic blathering in everything I say.  Yeah, I’m an asshat and always think I know more about whatever subject is coming out of my mouth than most other people.  The truth is, I can be a pedantic fool.

The other day my daughter told me that this barista dude in the Starbucks drive through asked her what kind of car she was driving.  She told him, and he proceeded to tell her that her serpentine belt was squealing and needed more tension or needed to be replaced.  In a rather pedantic tone of voice, he asked her if she “ever looked at the engine. There are things that need to be checked you know.” 

He droned on about things he obviously thought he knew a great deal about……….like auto mechanics.  His expansive knowledge about serpentine belts is probably why he works at Starbucks.  Manning the drive through gives him ample opportunity to expound the virtues of proper belt tension and general auto maintenance to hapless patrons.

What I can’t figure out is how such an erudite auto guru could have failed to recognize that a ’93 Accord doesn’t have a serpentine belt.  And you know what else Starbucks dude?  My daughter changes her own oil and performs other maintenance checks and services. 

And, honestly, I’ve tasted your coffee, I’m pretty sure she could do that better as well.

But truth be told, I see a lot of myself in the egotistical barista-cum-armchair auto mechanic.  I read an article or two about something and I get all full of myself.  I start dragging my soapbox everywhere so I can metaphorically jump up on it and spout my knowledge to the universe.  I tend to think everyone should benefit from what I have to say so I go all preachy and stuff like Mr. Starbucks.

By the way, it was the van in line behind her that had the noisy belt …….. or squealing pig in the back seat or something.

Lastly, I tend to drone on and on.  Yeah it’s true, you’ve probably already noticed. 

For someone with a short attention span, I can get pretty damned long-winded myself.  It’s probably because (like that Starbucks dude) I think I have important things to say, and the world should stop spinning for as long as it takes to say them. 

Now, I’m not as bad as someone (un-named person) who takes four hours to give a synopsis of a two hour movie; or my boss who leaves voice mails (who leaves those anymore??) that go on and on till the phone company cuts him off because they’re losing money.  But I can be rather verbose.

Along with the droning on and on, come the rabbit trails.  I can wander all over the conversational map and leave a web of rabbit trails that would confuse the most persistent investigative reporter.  Hey, wait a minute, is that what I'm doing now?  Sheesh.

I suppose the moral of the story is; don’t deceive yourself into thinking you’re a blazing genius of verbal repartee.  It’s possible to be blind to your own communication defects and leave people even more confused (pissed off, ignorant, etc...) when you finally shut up.  Take some time to think about your communication defects and FIX THEM!!

George Bernard Shaw said it very well (and succinctly) when he stated that “the single biggest problem in communication is the illusion that it has taken place.”  

Let’s expose ourselves (metaphorically of course) and have some real Zen style connection.

Or not.

Meniers Disease, Change and The Coming Apocalypse

A lot of times it feels like I’m going nuts.  It’s nothing definite, just a feeling I have.

I’m not alone in thinking that, because the people I work around and interact with all think I’m going nuts too.

The reason I think I’m going crazy is because of Menieres disease.  I’ve got it…..or at least that’s what the ENT guy said, but he wouldn’t give a 100% certainty rating.  

Doctors rarely ever do.  Anytime there’s even the slightest doubt, they always seem to prevaricate, or provide a few caveats.

“Well Mr. Gaunt, it looks almost certain that you have Menieres disease.  I can’t be 100% certain, but I’m about 99% sure.  We could run a few more tests at several thousand dollars a pop, or……”

I usually opt for the “or” part and avoid paying scads more money out of pocket for that extra 1% certainty.  Either way, I know I’ve got crazy ringing/roaring in my ears, occasional episodes of vertigo and rare (so far) bouts of nausea.  I’m 100% sure of that, no further testing necessary.

I could do drugs to (supposedly) limit the symptoms, but……nah.  Not yet, let’s see how things go; if it gets worse than…..maybe.  Of course, if the constant ringing “feedback” I have finally does drive me completely crazy, I may not need the meds anyway.

If I was really fed up, I could change my eating habits, and cut out salt too.  Supposedly that helps.  But I hate changing things.  I’m not real good with change.  In fact, change for change’s sake sucks…..or could suck.

Change could also be okay, but more than likely it’s going to suck, at least for someone…..probably me.

Did I say I don’t like change?  I don’t like change.  It’s not that I am boring (okay, I probably am), but I just like things to be where, when, how, I want them and expect them to be.  Like this morning.

This morning I stopped at my usual morning coffee pit stop; the local QT convenience store, and ran face first into some change.

The first problem was that someone had parked in MY parking spot.  The audacity!  I mean, I don’t have a sign, but since I stop there EVERY Monday – Friday at about the SAME time each morning, then everyone should know that it’s MY spot right?  Easy in, easy out.  That’s one reason I chose it, and now some assface was using it.

Grumbling about the rudeness of it all (and it was even an ugly stupid car) I walked inside to get my joe.

When I reached for a 20oz. cup from the dispenser, the colors were wrong.  The middle cup (16oz, 20oz. 24oz.) was some weird, different shade of tangerine or something.  For a second I thought they had loaded the wrong cups in the middle dispenser but no, it was a new cup.

A thick, styro-fucking-foam cup.

The old ones were Styrofoam too, but they were thin, and had nice dimples on the bottom that felt right holding it while I drank.  These were big, fat, ugly cups with the the QT label wrapped around them and no cute dimples.

Unnecessary change.  Aaaarrrrgh!!

So I try to do my coffee routine, except it isn’t routine now.  Now I have to find a new mark on the cup to judge my sugar pouring by.  You see, I also used the little dimples on the old cup to make sure my sugar input was accurate and consistent every day.  It’s going to take a few trial and error attempts to get the right amount of sugar.  I don’t like trial and error either.

After dispensing the cream / flavor shit from the automatic machines (which never work right) I stirred with the new thicker straws they had changed out a couple months back and grabbed a lid.  Wrong size.  The old lids don’t work with the new styro-fucking-foam cups so now I have to use a different lid.

Sheesh!

Well, at least the lids seem to be a design improvement over the old ones.  They have the little flip over tab to close up the sippy hole.  For a chronic spill-fool like me, closing the sippy hole is always a good idea if you aren’t actively drinking.  So you see, some change is okay, but the lousy usually outweighs the good.  And all change upsets my routine.

The reason I like routine is that I can let my mind wander to pleasant thoughts while I go through the motions of living.  I probably look like a mouth-breather while I mentally wander, but I don’t care, it’s my happy time inside my head.  But change?.....change makes me think of strange things.

I start reminiscing about childhood, bad parenting, grade school failure, disastrous relationships and shit like that.

Which then makes me realize that I’m getting older, and if the apocalypse is going to come, it had better get here soon or I won’t have the energy, strength, or…….whatever…… left over to kick ass and kill zombies.

Because kicking ass and killing zombies is what the apocalypse is all about right?

I think the apocalypse will happen when a huge asteroid or comet impact (remember Shoemaker-Levy 9?) causes an almost extinction level event and brings in alien viruses from outer space.  We’ll all die eventually, but in the meantime there will be plenty of ass kicking and zombie killing to do.

If it’s going to happen, I hope it does before I need to use a walker and hearing aid.  No one can kill zombies if they have to hold on to a walker and can’t hear ‘em coming.  Have you ever seen a hero in a zombie flick that scootches around using a walker?  I haven’t, and judging from the rate of deterioration I feel like is happening with my body, I’ve got a couple years left before I am just zombie food.

Which brings up this thought; apocalypse happens to every person at some point.  Whether it’s death dealing cancer, heart attack, bear mauling, garbage truck smack down, or being eaten by sharks, everyone suffers their own personal apocalypse at some point eh?

Usually it’s totally unexpected, and often happens when the person is old and decrepit.  

Maybe that’s why zombie apocalypse stuff appeals to people because you can see it coming.  That gives you the opportunity to scream a lot and kill the undead in the process, but eventually you’ll be zombie food, or worm food, or something.

I’m okay with that, I’ll be crazy by then anyway; wandering around, listening to the loud ringing in my ears, mouth-breathing and grumbling about how things have changed so damn much.

Task "A:" Every Ten Years (or so)

Every spring, something makes me decide, against all better judgment to do some yard work.  

Mount Leaverest

There are two times of year when I have that urge, autumn, and spring.  Usually I resist the urge until it goes away. 

Occasionally I succumb and do something stupid like prune bushes or try to fertilize stuff.  It never ends well and I usually only succeed in spending money in a totally unnoticeable way.

This year, the weather started warming up and on a particularly beguiling Saturday morning I decided to clean out the accretion of leaves from the azalea beds.  

Not being a complete bone head, I stopped to evaluate my mental health, and assess the amount of work needed to complete the task. All this preparation prior to even putting on my work clothes.  I was going to KILL awesomeness today!!!

It seemed like a simple enough task; rake out the old leaves from under and around the azaleas, and spread some fertilizer.

Simple enough.

I glanced at the sun beginning its climb up the eastern slope of the sky, and smiled to myself.  With some enthusiasm, I could be finished by mid-afternoon, and have the rest of the glorious day to waste any way I wanted to.

This is the kind of thought I usually have right before some Armageddon like event.

It’s like when I go to the auto parts store to inquire about the likelihood that I can do some sort of Zen level repair.  The guy behind the counter that was born with a torque wrench in his hand says, “Sure! It’s easy!  All you gotta do is…..” 

Then he proceeds to tell me three easy steps to a new engine and I get all excited, jumping up and down and yell, “SOLD!”

Twelve hours later, after suffering defeat after humiliating defeat at the hands of an alternator, I’m convinced cars were built for the sole purpose of destroying my sense of manhood.

Anyway, that’s cars and this is just a bunch of leaves so……

A quick trip to the shed and I secured everything I needed. Or I would have if I had actually been able to make a quick trip to the shed and secure everything I needed. I can't do quick trips; my quick trips are punctuated with long, frustrating interludes.

I’m one of those people who can’t simply accomplish task “A.”  Task “A” usually requires that I finish task “M” which was started a month ago and never actually completed.  Task “M” didn’t get done because it required that task “F” be fixed again.  Task “F” was never properly accomplished the first time because while doing task “Q” I used the wrong part/chemical/bolt/beer. The subsequent effect was that task “X” (which task “F” relied upon) never actually got finished………. leaving all dependent tasks deficient.

By the time I get the backlog of tasks updated, I’ve often forgotten what the original task was that I was setting out to do. It’s okay though, the next time I try a new task, I’ll be reminded what I've forgotten to do and I can get it done then.  This is a messy system but effective given enough time.

But I digress as usual.

After repairing the shed door, setting a mouse trap, sharpening the pruning shears, rearranging paint cans, and washing the dog, I finally pulled out the rake, ground sheet and other miscellaneous tools and set to work.

A quick glance over my shoulder told me that the sun had somehow managed to get from the east to the west without ever once warning me the day was slipping away.  Stupid sun!  Of course, that realization made me also realize I had missed lunch.

Well, no time like the present to tuck into a good sandwich.

An hour later, after loading the dishwasher, putting in a load of laundry, and gobbling a banana while remembering I had failed to get sandwich fixin's the last time I was at the store, I was back outside to “get this bitch knocked out!”  I attacked the job of raking out the azalea beds (a loose euphemism for scads of azaleas gone wild)  with gusto.  

Later that “gusto” would become desperation punctuated with bursts of maniacal laughter, but for now I still had some positive enthusiasm.

One thing I failed to take into account before embarking on this ridiculous yard work project, was that I had never actually done it before; at least not in the last ten years or so.  The “build-up” of leaves was so deep, it would have taken a track hoe half a day to dig down to the bottom.  

By the time I had excavated down to the level of the early Pleistocene epoch, the sun was low in the sky and all I had managed to do was create several piles of moldering leaves large enough to be spotted from the ISS.

Obviously the neighbors must have been using my azalea beds to dump their own leaves.  They must have carted loads of them in bag by bag over the years at night while I slept.  Funny I had never caught the scoundrels doing this heinous deed, but clearly there had been mischief afoot.

Now I had raked them all back out in a slightly scaled down version of the Himalayas sculpted from organic material.  It was going to take more than a little while to rake all these mountainous piles onto a ground sheet and cart them across the back-forty to dump them in the woods.  A task I didn’t relish doing another day, but light was fading almost as quickly as my will to continue.

For one brief, mad moment, I considered bringing out lights and working into the darkness.  If I could just make a hard push, and get it done…….. but pain, hunger, depression, and thirst drove me indoors for the night.

The next day, Sunday, dawned even brighter and more glorious than the day before.  Of course that was merely Mother Earth's way of mocking me, because she knew I had an assload of work to do and wouldn’t actually be able to enjoy such a gorgeous day.

Determined not to let incomplete task “W” side track me, I gulped a quick cup of coffee, downed a banana (while making a mental note to PLEASE remember to get some damn sandwich fixin’s soon) and headed out the door with substantially less good will than the day before.

To make a longer story long, I spent the entire day spreading the ground sheet, raking moldy leaves onto it, half-carrying-half-dragging load upon load (each load the approximate size of an adolescent elephant) across the yard and dumping it in a spot near the edge of the woods.  During that entire time, my dog Tinker spent her day alternating between galloping through the piles of leaves, lying in the sun / shade, or romping about.  The whole time she kept eyeing me with that “stupid human” look and telepathically suggesting we give up this madness and head to the park instead.

I had reached an out of body state by that time and could not be dissuaded.

By the end of day, with all the repetition (the mind numbing, back breaking repetition) of raking, cussing, grabbing, dragging, cussing, dumping, raking, dragging, cussing, etc…, I had gotten pretty efficient at moving the mountainous piles.  Such was my efficiency that before the sun had crashed on the second day, I had transported everything overland and had created one humongous pile of leaves. A mound of organic material substantial enough to eventually become a new feature on Google Earth.

Even though I had totally wasted one of Mother Nature’s best weekends on record, I had to admit that with all the fun stuff I could have been doing instead of cleaning out the azalea beds, nothing would have been nearly as satisfying.  At least that’s the lie I will keep telling myself in the hopes that one day I might believe it.

On the other hand, with all the experience I gained, it’s good to know that things should go far more quickly and efficiently the next time I have to do this……say in ten years or so.