Tag Archives: exercise
Choosing to be a nonchoosy beggar
“Who will go first?” Lee heard the question as if the train engines rumbling past, playing hide-and-seek through the treed hedges at the edge of the grocery store carpark, had blasted the words with warning horns at the road crossing next to the neighbourhood recycling centre.
Word-by-word, phrase-by-prepositional-phrase, his thoughts followed in unison.
At what level of explanation did he need to understand the recent crossroad of decisions concerning a group of people intent on fighting each other over philosophical differences, yet another internal squabble that had little to do with Lee directly but much to do with his understanding of human suffering and politically-centred international commerce.
What of his species had been accomplished without military involvement? What of his species had been sustained with military involvement?
What did the word “military” mean, exactly, another dictionary definition that barely had anything to do with complicated interaction between sets of states of energy that had convinced themselves they were separate from the universe, independently able to make their way above, across and under the earth?
For some, the ironic battle cry was “War is not the answer.”
For others, the rallying quote was “Evangelism is one beggar telling another where to find bread.” [Credited to D. T. Niles]
In this cultural rewind, forgotten from generation to generation, ad infinitum, of the popular (and not so popular) definitions of gender roles, what constituted the aggressive “testosterone” version of international aid and what constituted the sympathetic “estrogen” version?
In a situation like this, Lee was not confused.
He knew he depended on the whole species for answers that were never final, constantly re-evaluated and reworked as much as an individual’s set of states of energy fluctuated from moment to moment despite our willingness to give a set a name like Dick or Jane as if the name alone meant that a set of states of energy at seven years of age was in any way the same as the set at 70 years of age that collected more memories and changes in cell structures, organ health, etc.
The answers were not simple, Lee knew that.
He looked at his current set of friends, comparing them to friends from the past, friends he had met because of mandatory school attendance or by self-deception that having a job was mandatory to be a fully-responsible member of a hierarchical culture.
His personality determined the people with whom he connected best who changed his personality, thus changing the next types of people with whom he connected best — a cycle of change that did not complete a single revolution, leading to new loops that swooped in and out of each other like the drawing of a Celtic animal in a geometric pattern.
Lee looked back but he also looked forward.
What gave him hope?
Was it the moment his wife, Karen, finally told him, “Go on. I know I’m slowing you down. I’ll be all right.”, without lacing the words with guilt-inducing tones?
Did he call that a healing moment that gave both of them a freedom they had not willingly conceded due to a deep-seated uncertainty about the early days of their relationship, before they were married, when Lee dated many women at once, Karen often feeling ignored, he always focused on Karen as a stable part of his life who met much but not all of his gender-driven needs?
Hadn’t they survived the transition from platonic friends to trusting lovers without their relationship falling apart when they were tested later on by shocking deaths in the family and outside temptations including demanding work schedules that kept them apart for months at a time, halfway ’round the world, calling each other almost everyday, feeling guilty if they hadn’t, sharing every sordid details about their separate existence?
Trust and flexibility applied at macro levels, too, didn’t they?
What solution did his species find to resolve the military-based conflict between two groups of people in Syria?
How many medical discoveries were funded by governments that employed military-style bureaucracies?
How many social programs were initiated because of wartime conflict?
The only way to get two opponents together was to let them know they could.
“Who will go first?” What did that mean — who would step forward first or who would be the first to die?
For Lee’s family and his subculture, the local issues at stake for Syrians seemed inconsequential. Freedom from tyranny? Access to better healthcare? These were the same unanswered questions plaguing Americans: the cruel tyranny of international commerce that shone a blind eye toward un/underemployed Americans; healthcare costs spiraling upward out of control.
Lee’s subculture wanted its answers first before some small country full of people killing each other indiscriminately would seem worth unexplained government involvement, adding more military/international aid expenditures to the national debt accumulation.
How relieved Lee felt when Karen dropped the guilt complex from their relationship, aided by their recent friendships with Eoj, Bai and Guin, the latter at first a perceived threat to Karen and her marriage to Lee until she realised that Lee’s love for new friends willing to push Lee to become a better person did not diminish his longterm love for Karen, he ignoring her in the shortterm to become a closer friend for life. Lee had not changed who he was before or after their marriage but Karen sometimes lost sight of the big picture.
The same could be said for international relationships.
The United States of America had often stepped up to be the responsible adult in the room, bullying its way into a crowded room full of countries with questionable agendas, bettering the world economy in the longterm.
History is an illusion but still useful for establishing goals that indicated consistent trends.
Syria was not a single person with simple needs.
Neither is freedom.
Listening to all sides of an argument takes patience and understanding that some people will be unhappy, no matter what, and others’ happiness will change for the better, relatively speaking, when asked to get involved improving the miserable life of people they may never to go know.
A part-time worker in a US retail store, living week-by-week, may just feel a little happier knowing that her country was able to help someone in worse shape even if both of them end up living week-by-week in the future.
How do we give people hope that international corporations competing for Syria’s marketplace potential is in their best interest?
Lee didn’t convince Karen that their separately and together going through a myriad of emotional uncertainty when Lee spent more time breaking down his personal space and getting rid of old thought patterns while practicing dance routines with Bai and Guin, spending hours alone with them, would strengthen their friendship that existed outside of labels like “marriage,” “husband,” “wife,” “military” and other arbitrary symbols imposed upon them by a subculture that grew and changed with them.
Karen had to see it for herself.
Sometimes, you don’t ask permission and you don’t ask for forgiveness, either — you let your actions speak for themselves when you choose to go first, knowing you’ve got the best interests of people in your thoughts through-and-through, even though circumstances will change people’s perception over time, good or bad in the short-term.
Integrity speaks for itself, not beholden to the whimsical interpretations of morals by subcultures distracted toward flavour-of-the-month scandals — it was right to help one group of people who called themselves Syrians with as much conviction as their opponents — sometimes we compete with bullets, sometimes we compete with love, and sometimes we compete for the best-looking PE ratio reflecting strong quarterly earnings and a growing stock price, public opinion and newspaper tests a forgotten afterthought, telling the people there’s a higher chance their fortunes will increase, a rising tide helping all of them, if we do something rather than sit by and watch, doing nothing to support a country’s defenseless citizens crying for help.
Campus gameday
Solo
Dancing by myself is helpful but not nearly as much fun as dancing with a partner.
A new character enters the picture
Eoj was hired by the Mars Tourist Bureau to train travelers who would spend a few weeks in a space capsule, their bodies confined to not much more than a water closet there-and-back on their Moon-to-Mars holiday.
Eoj, half-Greek, half-Egyptian, had survived wars and skirmishes his whole childhood and jumped at the chance to serve aboard the ISS Dionysius, the flagship vessel that traveled from the Moon to Mars, packed full of tourists and their supplies needed to feed and care for them during their whole time traveling through space, in acclimation facilities orbiting Mars and on the Red Planet itself.
During the offseason, when Earth and Mars alignment made the trip prohibitively expensive, Eoj took martial arts and dance lessons which he in turn was able to share with tourists during their spaceflight, using a small corridor between their living quarters to exercise tourists in small groups of two or three.
Before his Mars Tourist Bureau job, Eoj had met Guin at an Earth dance studio when Guin was first brought in for physical therapy. They had become dance partners because they shared the love of dance over many of their other hobbies and interests.
As Guin was finishing her PhD in rocket propulsion, she accepted the assignment to become an integral part of the ISSA Net, allowing her body to be monitored in realtime, accelerating her physical conditioning, with a bonus network interface that gave her the ability to simply think her thoughts to members of the ISSA Net without talking or using archaic input devices like phones or computers.
Eoj had opted not to accept full ISSA Net interfacing, believing that a “real” man kept himself in reserve.
Eoj and Guin excelled in their dance training and soon become part-time instructors at the studio, each taking on a small number of students, sometimes passing one student to the other when their regular work schedules conflicted with the students’ availability for lessons.
From this perspective, Eoj was able to observe more about Guin.
Eoj saw that he was not the only one who wanted to dance with her.
He had taken on Lee and Lee’s wife, Karen, as dance students early in Eoj’s dance instructor days so the three of them were guinea pigs for the dance studio owner, Disdry, a veteran of the World Peasant War, a set of military skirmishes that spread around Earth, wiping out whole sections of the peasant population desperate for food and a meaning for their miserable existence, including jobs or positive views of them in the mainstream press.
Thus, Disdry, although a smooth dancer, was a stern taskmaster with his instructors, a little rough around the edges.
Vulnerable during their first few months on the job, Eoj trying to get back on his feet after a tough job loss and Guin during the mental recovery associated with her physical therapy, Eoj and Guin gave Disdry more leeway to control them than had they been stronger socioeconomically.
Eoj worked with Lee and Karen under Disdry’s watchful eye. Sometimes, after a particular tough time getting Lee or Karen to learn what should have been a simple dance move, Eoj would sigh and plop down in Disdry’s office. Disdry would frequently offer constructive criticism but sometimes he would lash out, using cold, cruel humour to knock Eoj’s ego to the ground, which didn’t help Eoj at all for the next lesson with Lee and Karen, conditioned to expect verbal abuse from Disdry if Eoj was unable to show progress with a couple who sometimes just didn’t get it, regardless of Eoj’s instructing ability.
One day, Eoj was out of town and asked Guin to teach Lee and Karen.
Although Lee and Guin already knew each other, they walked into the dance lesson as newbies.
Guin had her own problems with Disdry’s treatment of her but had not yet received beratement in relation to training Lee and Karen so she was able to look at them without fear or trepidation.
Guin spent most of the lesson showing Lee the leader part of the waltz and foxtrot moves he had learned the week before, the two of them moving more easily as one than Lee had been dancing with his wife. Karen spent most of the lesson watching and feeling ignored, not wanting another lesson with Guin because she felt that all Guin had done was teach Lee had to dance with her rather than with his wife.
The next week, Eoj noticed a change in Karen, sensing that she was more interested in him as an instructor and devoted his time to teaching them, getting more progress in that lesson than in the previous two months, even showing them a few fun moves that were not part of their official curriculum. Although they had fun, Eoj was scolded by Disdry for going outside of the syllabus, dampening any enthusiasm Eoj had for seeing Lee and Karen the next week.
Because of this up-and-down treatment at the studio, Eoj built up expectations for the weekly social dance on Fridays when the students had the opportunity to try out their newly-learned moves in an actual social setting, the instructors available for advice and social dancing. Eoj anticipated dancing with Guin and she with him, so they could practice moves they wanted to perfect for other venues.
As much as Eoj liked dancing with Guin, and noticed she did, too, he also observed that he was not the only one.
There seemed to be a virtual line of guys waiting to dance with Guin, including single and married men willing to leave their women alone in order to get a dance with Guin.
Added to that, Disdry informed Eoj that one of the students, a single women in her early 40s named Eternia, desired to dance with Eoj but Eoj always seemed to dance with Guin just when Eternia got up the nerve to ask Eoj to dance with her, or just felt outright ignored by him altogether, complaining that Eoj and Guin spent the whole Friday night dancing with each other rather than with their students.
Eoj accepted his “punishment” and reduced his dancing time with Guin, asking students, both his and those taught by Guin or Disdry, for individual dances.
Guin followed Eoj’s example and danced with students, including her boyfriend, Kirby, who showed up occasionally but had a problem with large crowds so he tended to avoid coming unless he had to. Guin found herself dancing more often with Jersey, a shy man who had started social dancing lessons in order to look and feel more comfortable when he ventured out to nightclubs.
Guin was an encouraging instructor and boosted Jersey’s confidence, taking him with her to a dance competition in New Orleans. Even though they didn’t win, it gave Jersey the impetus he needed to try other things, such as volunteering at the local youth symphony and competing in mountain bike races, eventually leaving Guin without a competitive dance partner once again.
When, with guidance from her new friend, Bai, Guin got the assignment to go to Mars, Eoj began questioning why he was stuck at the dance studio “alone” with Disdry. Guin wanted to help Bai so she convinced him to get a job working with Kirby transporting blood products to hospitals and clinics in the area.
Eoj enjoyed his transportation job as the “Blood Man,” every now and then running into a former student or someone who knew who he had to be because of his unique rugged look as a GrecoEgyptian, shorter than average but built like a football player — broad shoulders, large chest and muscular arms — able to lift and throw a woman like Guin, several inches taller than him, with ease and grace.
A member of the board of directors for the Mars Tourist Bureau, Minten Kyun, badly injured in a helicopter crash and in critical need of blood transfusions, later heard, during excruciating recovery, that the well-thought-out, timely-but-safe driving by Eoj of blood from one hospital to the one where Minten was being pieced together, saved Minten’s life.
As soon as he could, Minten sent the word to Eoj to see him.
Eoj had never heard of the Mars Tourist Bureau so he was surprised that a complete stranger would offer him a job in such a specialised field as space travel.
“Welcome, Eoj Cappernopolus. I’m Minten Kyun. Please have a seat.”
Eoj plopped down into a plush red leather chair beside Minten, whose eyes flicked back-and-forth every now and then, a sign that he was communicating over the ISSA Net using the visual neurons of his brain.
“Thanks for asking me here. So, your voicemail said you want to hire me for the Mars Tourist Bureau? You know I don’t have any astronaut training, I assume.”
“Yes, Eoj, I do. But not every job at the MTB requires a specialised pilot’s license.”
“Uh-huh.”
“If you knew nothing else about the job, would you take it?”
“Umm…”
“I mean, how would you describe what you think about a job like this?”
“Well, that’s the thing. I don’t know what the job is.”
“Good point. What have you heard about the MTB?”
“Not much, frankly. I’m sure I’ve heard of it in the news but I haven’t been focused on it, if you know what I mean, my financial situation not geared toward exotic space travel.”
“Of course. So you’re not a fanboy of space exploration? You don’t fantasize about a life on the Moon or Mars?”
“Not really. Does that mean you aren’t interested in me, then?”
“Quite the contrary! I want someone for this job who wants a challenge but doesn’t go into it with starry eyes wearing rose-coloured glasses, or who holds high hopes for a job and makes a mistake because he was so disappointed by reality he lost focus.”
“Yes, sir.”
“That’s the other thing about you. You follow orders from others without letting your questioning authority get in the way of the whole organisation achieving its goals. Do you know how hard it is to get someone who thinks independently outside the box but knows there are larger issues at stake? I believe you are the man for this job.”
“Thank you.”
“Don’t you want to know when you’re going to start?”
“Haha. Isn’t there paperwork I’m supposed to fill out, a personality profile and physical fitness test I’m supposed to take or something?”
“Yeah, yeah. We’ll put you through the formal wringer but I’m assured you’ve already passed.”
“So, when do I start?”
“That’s what I wanted to hear! You start right now. Welcome aboard, Eoj!”
“Thank you, Mister? Misses?”
“Ah, I appreciate you not assuming anything about me. Just call me Minten. If you don’t mind, I’m going to hand you over to my assistant, Naad, who will get you started on a career that only two other people have been offered and accepted. Eoj, you are an exclusive club member now. I hope you know that.”
“Thanks. I’m sure if you say it’s as good as it sounds, it probably is, being who you are and all that, a megabillionaire they say.”
“Don’t let money fool you, Eoj. Wealth does not make you wise. I hope I’m richer in wisdom than the rest. But let’s get you on the road to your own riches, shall we? Once you’re part of the MTB, you get shares in the corporation just like me and everyone else. Here’s Naad. Best wishes, my friend. I’ll see you soon, perhaps on a trip to the Moon or Mars, if not sooner!”
Months passed before Eoj saw Guin again, his training schedule filling his days, simulating the space trip several times in a row so that Eoj was fully capable of handling both calculated emergencies and unanticipated calamities as well as integrating his personality traits into the ISSA Net for processing and compatibility training for the other crew members as they were hired and put through the simulator training.
Entering the simulator phase of the MTB “boot camp,” Eoj had resisted being wholly integrated into the ISSA Net so his trainers had offered him a track of gradual sensory input connectivity enhancements, showing him how his body became more alive and alert with the aid of ISSA Net body monitoring, holding off on full mental connectivity until Eoj convinced himself it was for not just the betterment of society but also his personal gain.
Working on posture
After watching the self-filmed video of myself Lindy hopping with my shadow at the dance studio this afternoon, I SEE what I look like – a slouch!
I know why Joe, Jenn and Abi have been telling me, “Stand up straight!”
Time for fixing my bent-over back.
I’m just glad I’ve 26 pounds since the first of the year. I want to get down to 215 pounds by the 21st of September. I’m at 218 now, well within range. Maybe I should make 200 a stretch goal and 205/210 intermediate targets?
Can this blog have any influence on reality? What if I said that I’m envious of men who have humbly joined in matrimony with their Church of God wives who dress modestly? Would I see more of them shopping at Walmart the next couple of days or, as I’ve commented before, writing about it draws my attention to subcultures that aren’t part of my daily life?
I’ve been told I’m a role model for others whether I want to be or not because I let my light shine, in good [mental/physical] weather or bad, in my words, images, videos and links to your wonderful lives/stories. The role I play in your lives is whatever you want it to be — I thank you for your consideration of any influence I may give you because the seven-plus billion people on this planet influence me in so many different directions I have no way to count.
The little boy and the postsecondary school party guy inside me can’t believe they co-exist in this middle-aged guy who’s miraculously still alive and discovering what life is all about in this vast universe.
For those reasons, I’m practicing how to stand up straight and overcome the pain in between my shoulder blades that runs up through my shoulders and neck.
For you and you alone (the cats don’t care), I’m willing to overcome slouching.
What basic Charleston should look like…
Next up: what a 51yearold guy with no graceful athletic training looks like!
Tapping all reserves
Sometimes love is not enough to keep me going so I nurture and let loose my self-loathing to break down barriers built up by old habits. For 27 years, in fact, I have nurtured a large reserve of self-hate-filled thoughts that I was able to let loose last night.
I dare not go back and read them because, having lived with them, I know how ugly they are — the grotesque, macabre, hurtful creatures in my thoughts that lurk in the background, looking for weaknesses, waiting for the day to turn me into the Ogre of Ogres, proving that I am a fraud rather than an empty vessel, hoping I will pick up their banner and march in their name rather than meditate on the beauty of the universe.
I figured out this morning why pop songs have been playing in my thoughts lately and it’s because I have been sleeping in the bedroom with my wife as the alarm goes off in the morning, the alarm being a local radio station that plays “oldies.”
The song playing this morning was another doozy, quickly influencing my dreams as I woke up to jar my wife’s shoulder and wake her up:
I can’t seem to face up to the facts
I’m tense and nervous and I
Can’t relax
I can’t sleep ’cause my bed’s on fire
Don’t touch me I’m a real live wirePsycho Killer
Qu’est Que C’est
Fa fa fa fa fa fa fa fa fa far better
Run run run run run run run away
Psycho Killer
Qu’est Que C’est
Fa fa fa fa fa fa fa fa fa far better
Run run run run run run run awayYou start a conversation you can’t even finish it.
You’re talkin’ a lot, but you’re not sayin’ anything.
When I have nothing to say, my lips are sealed.
Say something once, why say it again?Psycho Killer,
Qu’est Que C’est
Fa fa fa fa fa fa fa fa fa far better
Run run run run run run run away
Psycho Killer
Qu’est Que C’est
Fa fa fa fa fa fa fa fa fa far better
Run run run run run run run awayCe que j’ai fais, ce soir la
Ce qu’elle a dit, ce soir la
Realisant mon espoir
Je me lance, vers la gloire … OK
We are vain and we are blind
I hate people when they’re not politePsycho Killer,
Qu’est Que C’est
Fa fa fa fa fa fa fa fa fa far better
Run run run run run run run away
Psycho Killer,
Qu’est Que C’est
Fa fa fa fa fa fa fa fa fa far better
Run run run run run run run awayOh oh oh oh oh oh oh oh….
[Songwriters: BYRNE, DAVID/FRANTZ, CHRISTOPHER/WEYMOUTH, TINA]
Death would be too kind OR: opposite pep talks work, too, when you work through the emotions of the moment.
The silence of purgatory suffices ce soir. Being tonight what amounts to the feeling of only the empty shell of an action that one imagines is the definition of a gentleman leaves me sans espoir, the brass ring lost in my desire to be kind to a childhood friend and confidante who also happens to be my wife who is supportive of traditional heterosexual monogamy only. To that suffocating circumstance I knowingly submitted myself, death is the only exit? Tell me it is not so! Yet, I spent precious funds on a portrait of said lady to give her for our 27th wedding anniversary on Friday, in remembrance of good moments I’ve recently remembered were sugar-coated over time.
I once promised myself to keep escapades to a minimum in our town, should opportunities present themselves, even in imaginary/magical terms on the dance floor, an extension of self-love.
I have fallen out of love with myself and thus the dance, nothing inside me to offer a dance partner because the boy who just followed his wife to have some casual fun on the dance floor died Monday night, unable to convince himself he’ll ever give his wife a partner (or partners) with whom she can enjoy the same extramarital flirtatious fun he enjoys. Burdened by kindness toward his wife who tends to sit lonely at the dance club, no one asking her to dance, he can no longer find the energy to share himself with others in a dance. The magic vanished.
If I can’t feed the wild man from Borneo inside me, then why bother caring about my life, let alone the species?
Let others stick to whatever works. I already accepted my unhappiness being locked in the institute of marriage a long time ago, fulfilling my gentlemanly duties.
Is there anything else left for me? Maybe. They tell me people talk, some who even read this blog, which I write as if it is a hidden diary, not tied to real life except accidentally/coincidentally, my literal literary escape mechanism. If nothing else, there may be a life story of theirs I can write about and take my thoughts off of my hopelessness.
Let the silence begin — I never was good at the subtle/obvious signals of the dating game which some have mistaken as true love for my wife but actually is my fallback “safety from personal harm” mode — I can return to my contemplative misery that is my long wait to die, childless and lonely, returning to the states of energy to their lower inertial conditions.
Either that or say, “Damn it! Long live the dance! This merry-go-round carousel makes revolutions. Screw the negative emotions and try for the brass ring again!”
Yeah, that’s the ticket. Thanks for the contrarian’s pep talk, Rick. 🙂










