Flies On Glass

This day I would prefer to avoid physical contact.

I want to clear my thoughts of male aggressiveness that has pervaded our culture in the news about Donald Trump, Sarah Palin, Charlie Sheen, and Arnold Schwarzenegger, to mention the latest usual suspects.

Above my head, it appears a raccoon coughed up a strawberry on a skylight (or gorged itself and couldn’t finish the feast of spoiled strawberries thrown out in the yard for the backyard wildlife, dropping one on the sunroom roof).

Flies finish the meal, one dissolved bite at a time.

On to another subject.

A dancer.

Started dancing lessons four years ago.

Then, a horrible automobile smashup.

“I share DNA with a road intersection,” she’s been quoted as saying, a large amount of blood spilled on the motoring surface.

Body damage, possible brain damage.

Permanent brain damage?

Hardly.

Not if she’s the graduate student in aerospace studies that they say she is.

Wears glasses and contact lenses.

When wearing the latter, her eyes shine bright.

Thus inspiring a dance partner to reminisce about youth.

Glad that a young driver recovered her form.

Days after days of physical therapy have paid off.

May she glide through life on light feet, finding the dance partner she’s suited to meet.

Life is full of missed opportunities.  I have made only one commitment to myself and to society to which I hold my lifelong trust – marriage to one person until death, for better or worse, richer or poorer, etc.

Without that trust and that commitment, all other foundations that prop up the subculture I was given as a child have no meaning.

With no meaning, anything goes.

And if anything goes, there’s no end to the possibilities.

Only one life to live, forty-nine revolutions around the Sun old.

Better focus on something else, Rick.  Otherwise, you’ll lose track of who you were raised to be and become those who dominate the news whose childhoods were not like yours, their parents giving guidance that made narcissistic headlines.

The choices we make in this moment create the next moment’s framework.

How do I want to be framed?

Arrrrrgh

Did I watch a baseball game, softball game, basketball game, hockey game, golf game, tennis game, poker game, car race qualification or horse race today?

No, I stepped into a large room with a curved wall to watch a film about people pretending to live out the realities behind the characters of an amusement park ride.

Were these professional actors good at what they did?

I would venture they are better than average.

The movie itself was geared toward the 3D IMAX experience, I felt, giving a depth that a regular 2D experience would make flat.

A franchise from a franchise machine.

Otherwise, the story would make no sense.

Will people start building IMAX-type home theatres so they can enjoy these experiences with projectors built for the purpose?

“Honey, I’m converting the garage to a planetarium/IMAX theatre.  I hope you don’t mind parking your car in the street.”

“Sure, dear, because I’ve contracted HGTV to record my converting your putting greens in the backyard to a re-creation of the gardens at Versaille.”

Let’s see…thanks to Lindsey, Robert, and Lindsay Blaire at RAVE; Stephanie at Beauregard’s; the 18-year old for graduating high school and getting a basketball scholarship at Belmont, working toward a degree in exercise science/physical therapy; Juliet and the owner of Carson’s Grille; so many more I’ve forgotten while managing an imminent family decision.

Speaking of which, time for some more jokes from the Grand Lady of Grinder’s Switch, or some she might’ve overheard:

There were two old men sitting on the front porch of their nursing home, rocking in their chairs and watching people pass by.  Then one of the men said, “You know, I think I’ve got to get up.  My hind end is falling asleep!”  The other said, “I believe you.  I think I just heard it snoring!”

* * *

A man and his wife were on vacation in the husband’s hometown.  They hadn’t been back there for forty years.  They enjoyed the trip so much that they went back the next year.  They went to the same parks, cafes, and motel where they visited the year before.  The wife even went back to the same beauty shop.  While the wife was there, the owner asked the lady if she was from their town.  Then the owner added, “I don’t know you, but you look familiar.  Have you ever been here before?”

The woman replied, “Yes I have, but it’s been a year ago this month since you’ve done my hair.”  Another lady in the shop, in a sweet, small, elderly voice, piped up and said, “Well I’ll be, Honey!  It sure did keep good!”

* * *

A self-educated old farmer who had never owned a fancy car was looking at a brand new Cadillac.  The salesman said, “This particular model will cost you $75,000.”  So the farmer reached into his pocket and counted out $75,000.  When the salesman saw this he said, “Well, if you’re paying cash, I can give you a discount.”  Not knowing what the salesman meant, the farmer asked for a minute and went next door to the beauty shop.  Inside, her asked the beautiful girl who worked there, “Do you know what the word discount means?”  She explained, “It means to take something off.”  So he asked her, “Well, how much would you take off if I gave you $75,000?”  She answered, “Would you mind if I kept my earrings on?”

* * *

An older lady went on a routine visit to the new young doctor in town.  After he checked her over he embarrassingly asked, “Because of your age I have to know if you have S.E.X.”  She said, “Wait just a minute and I’ll see.”  So she opened the door to the waiting room and yelled out to her husband, “Honey, the doctor wants to know if we have S.E.X.”  He replied, “No!  All we have is Blue Cross and Blue Shield.”

* * *

The Waltons or the Jeffersons, Sanford and Son or Chico and the Man, Are You Being Served or Fawlty Towers, You Can’t Do That on Television or The Brady Bunch, jokes like these vibrated over the airwaves to people’s homes when I was a kid.

In the current multichannel world of the Family Guy and Adult Swim, such jokes are tame, viewable on TV Land or your favourite Internet rebroadcast service.

But I don’t mind.

Just as I have friends from my boyhood school days who have same-sex relationships or seeking transgender changes, I have male friends who open doors for my women friends, say “Thank you” and “Yes, ma’am,” and read their religious texts with daily devotion.

Some are a mix of the above.

Such is the normal flow of civilisational growth.

And why I live with seven billion people, hoping I never ignore one group for the personal benefit of another.

How are we going to move with that flow and respect the rights of those who wish to preserve the beliefs and practices of decades or hundreds of years ago?

Just because you don’t condone someone’s behaviour in your subculture doesn’t mean you have to block that person from finding a place to fit in a subculture somewhere else.

Although the United States is more of a government-dependent population than we may like to think, where government employees and government contractors enjoy greater benefits than the average U.S. citizens who pay the taxes to support the government [I ought to know], wanting me to joke we’re similar to a socialist/communist country, “Animal Farm” style, like the USSR or Cuba of old, thus swapping places with former enemies…

Never mind, I promised myself not to talk about government or, by implication, politics.

Political entities are just another business, where executives and the legal staff are selected by eligible customers.  You voting customers out there can decide what you want to do about your local political entity, or not – the repercussions are yours to enjoy/suffer – just like any shareholder.

Anyway, time to quiet down for the evening, prepare questions before a visit to yet another assisted living facility and finalise the spreadsheet from which my wife will use her wise financial judgement to select a place for her 93-year young mother to reside a while, if not for the rest of her life.

And then get back to composing my usual satirical riffs, from whence I derive my greatest joy, all while ruling the universe through a network of associates and computer programmers you see everyday but never notice!

Ahahahahaha…a pirate’s life for me, indeed!

What does “filmy” mean?

If I am a prism or funhouse mirror, there is a film over my shiny surface.

A “fil-uhm,” if you will.

Not a movie or flick.

Not a celluloid or cellulose substance.

The film is made of a bunch of threads that say “what if…?”.

Some days, making my own way, having no signposts I consider permanent guides down a path because I’m mentally trailblazing, I get caught in webs of “what if…?” threads.

The threads become reality and reality is lost in a filmy haze, a background to minor mental dramas a spider or muddauber wasp would not understand.

Learning more about how my central nervous system works would not help me today.

Whether the brain is an imaginary center of my universe or a switchboard without a soul doesn’t matter.

I’m dimly making myself take steps – away, from, to, fast, slow…

Escape or rescue?

I’ve been here before and I still don’t know the answer.

The solution is to make myself disappear, become wallpaper, build a barrier that hides whatever is left of the self from the rest of a species of selves.

I do not exist.

I am unimportant.

These states of energy make their own way, slowly, carefully, a journey, sooner or later, to death.

Leaving?

A blog that gives thanks to others who do exist: Crystal at Apollo Cafe, CeCe’s yogurt shop, Lowe Mill, Flying Monkey Theatre and its support crew, Christabel and the Jons, Helen Keller’s Ukelele, Fred Bread.

To see the world of beautiful young people having fun on the dance floor…

I am an old man, older than I try to deny.

To see my time has come and gone, no longer able to create illusions of youthful hope for my grownup future…sigh…

Well…”my troubles are few,” I can console myself with, “I have an extremely comfortable life in comparison to most others of my species, no survival challenges, no children to worry about or grandchildren to dote upon.  I have what I asked for, so be happy, dammit!”

The private self is in conflict with the public persona, that’s certain.

There are days when the simple act of socialising with others is uncomfortable because, as a person who tries to please everyone all the time, I can find no value in sharing my melancholy thoughts that sometimes border on depression and other less self-assuring attitudes.

To know I am not alone in this mood is even less assuring, due to imagining there’s got to be something about me that’s original even though I know nothing under the sun is completely new.

This mood shall pass.

I shall return to accepting the role I assigned myself a long time ago, making sure our species carves out resources for securing a place for us in the cosmos off this planet.

If that’s all I believe I’ve accomplished, I will not have lived as more than a weather vane that points wherever the winds of change are blowing.

I look across the room, briefly staring into the eyes of a singer who’s sung the same tunes many times, occasionally running into audiences that have no appreciation for the dance style that goes with the music she (or others) wrote but giving her best singing/acting performance every time, no matter what.

She looks back.

Normally, I would give her a look of reassurance.

But last night, I could not.

There was nothing inside me with which I could match/equal or exceed her place in the moment and into the next.

She’s living a real life, trying to earn enough money to go on to the next moment, traveling with her bandmates to strange or semifamiliar towns, seeking and giving honestly, not trying to steal money from LinkedIn through a botched IPO price fix, or selling a dream that the overpriced car in front of you will not only empty your bank account but also make you well-respected by other fools soon parted with their money, regardless of how they, too, acquired wealth from fools.

A look.

There’s no barter exchange in a look.

There’s just two people involved in external stimuli activating two central nervous systems.

Two sets of states of energy in a giant universe completely unaware of itself in any cognitive manner.

Is that too much to ask of me, to participate in that moment with another person, pushing aside a minor issue or two that pales in comparison to what that other person faces everyday?

I can’t wait until I get my mother in-law settled into wherever she and my wife will be happiest, taking into account as much as possible the feelings and wishes of a niece, a nephew and a sister in-law.

Then I can return to my imagination or even create a reality where looks become regular conversations, topics relatively unimportant in the moment, the future completely unknown.

Thanks

A belated thanks to many is due: to the dance instructors at Kinesthetic Cue, who taught a young couple a wonderful showcase performance they demonstrated for us last night; Dairy Queen workers putting in overtime because teenage employees decide to take Friday off; Gibson’s BBQ owners/staff; assisted living facility marketing managers giving their best effort; Beauregard’s; McDonald’s McCafe; local farmers; more to follow.

A Bumper Crop of Birds Next Year

The start of a warm day.  Retelling thoughts to myself of previous moments.

Noting the difference between a public persona and the private self, no matter how in/famous one may be (or imagine one is).

Allowing that some will control their selves with drugs – the so-called modern life – crafting states of energy like a microscopic logic board designer or chainsaw-wielding ice carver.

Some subcultures maintaining a separation of gender roles.

Others going with the flow, allowing people to assume they know best what they want to learn/do best.

Is monogamy innate or learned?

And if innate, is it gender-specific?

And if gender-specific, how does one gender teach the other the perceived importance of monogamy?

As our population continues to crowd in, how many other innate behaviours become commonplace in place of the formerly common behaviour of lifetime monogamy?

How do we signal zygotes to become antisocial and will RNA independence later wreak more havoc in one’s genetic tendencies?

Does the sound of a lawnmower influence the mating behaviour of cicadas?

What about an old B-17 flying overhead?

Will cosmic rays change space travelers into a distinct sub/super species due to changes in our copassengers: bacteria in our guts and pores?

The following was going to be part of this blog entry but I’ve decided to challenge myself to stop blogging about politics as a unique category of our human behaviour…

[Someone told me that if my culture eliminated Glenn Beck it would also eliminate the usefulness of a person named Jon Stewart because of the duality present in our cultural subconsciousness.

What if I don’t believe in duality?

Could Tina Fey then complete against Sarah Palin for mass media supremacy and have more real nonviolent power than anyone in the U.S. government?]

Seven billion people, no matter how unimportant or unempowered they may feel, lead this planet but rarely do we act like wise leaders.

We play at competing against each other while ignoring our effects on the states of energy around us that aren’t our species.

Is this a 100% redeemable quality?

Can I lose myself in the fun of the moment and yet be aware of my effect on the environment and the future?

On the dance floor last night, looking into the beautiful eyes of a stranger, having a brief conversation, and then changing dance partners, I felt the concept of opportunity costs and sunk costs as it pertained to social relationships rather than business management.

Soon, I will celebrate 25 years of marriage, my first and only marriage.  According to statistics, less than 50% of my local culture has households with two people being married as the single head of household.

How those statistics account for widows/widowers, young people buying a first house or renting a first flat before finding a marriage partner, or others who believe in marriage but are unmarried at the time of the statistics-taking, I don’t know.

The statistics do not imply, and we cannot infer from the statistics, that monogamy is no longer a preferred innate trait of our species.

Marriage and monogamy are not synonymous.  Neither is marriage and compatibility or monogamy and harmony.

For the most part, our species reproduces by sexual intercourse between the male and the female and subsequent fertilisation of egg by sperm.

We can prevent the fertilisation through contraception and we can fertilise eggs without sexual intercourse.

If contraception and artificial insemination were universally available for subcultures that accept these modern conveniences (and gently encouraged for subcultures that don’t), would we in those subcultures naturally breed monogamy out of our genetic trait set?

If we removed headlines that say overpopulation is an inevitable fatal train wreck for our species and started noting that we had solved the problem of overpopulation and are now managing resources for our population, would our bodies’ reproduction systems adjust accordingly and stop producing antisocial types?

In other words, when we see natural changes of other species in population sizes that peak and shrink, can we honestly tell ourselves we’re just as susceptible to these changes, including nonmonogamous relationships?

My thoughts are clouded by a stressful family situation right now so I can’t be sure if I’m looking at today’s blog as if I’m staring at us outside our species and/or applying [non]relativistic moral/ethical constraints on my suppositions.

We talk about the birth and death of civilisations and cultures as if we’re not the same as any other social species on this planet.

Take away the labels “civilisation” and “culture” and look at simple population growth statistics.

Certainly, as a population grows, the social interconnections grow and thus the population’s interface with the surrounding environment grows more complicated.

The birds in these woods are fattening up on cicadas this year.  Next year, assuming no major environmental disasters in the next nine months, we should have a bumper crop of birds born of this year’s wellfed avian breeders.

Eliminating all our innerspecies squawking and carrying on, I observe our change in population growth.

In previous overpopulation studies I’ve read, not knowing the mindset or intent of the researchers or the sponsors/producers of the studies, a species that contains a supermajority of paired-off male/female breeders will start producing offspring that do not exhibit male/female breeding preferences.

Of course, we say we’re the only species that can objectively observe the behaviour of other species (we are not the only organisms that can control the behaviour of other organisms), which makes us believe we may be similar to other species but we have a great advantage over them because we don’t have to just react to environmental changes.

In fact, we can create our own environmental success or destruction stories!

If marriage, as a cultural example of monogamous behaviour, is no longer necessary for species survival in our current global civilisation’s modern condition, is it just a temporary reaction to our population growth or a permanent change in our genetic makeup?

Concluding this train of thought, if a sudden environmental megadisaster reduced our population dramatically, how would we view marriage and/or monogamy?

And finally, as a test of my mental state, has this blog entry indicated a family crisis fogged my usual rational yet humourous reasoning?

Can You Smell The Future?

Sheer curtains.  Shearing scissors.  Sheer numbers.

The number of Chinese on the Internet exceeded the total populations of the U.S., Australia and New Zealand.

Next, it will exceed the population of the US and EU combined.

Then, it will exceed the the population of the US, EU and Russia combined.

What about India, Africa, the Middle East and Central/South America?

Shearing sheep for clothing.

Should there be an international curriculum for all students who will join the electronically-connected social life?

A global code of online ethics?

A course in detecting false logic, Internet scams and the natural growth/death cycle of emailed/texted/tweeted urban legends and fear mongering?

Sure, an educated populace sees through the thinly-veiled subcultural policies of selfish, hoarding rulers, but the educated populace can also better live and prepare itself for a continually successful future.

What if all videogames had to show some social value other than teaching kids how to build hand-eye coordination through basic reading skills, social values including: 1) the ability to drain testosterone in virtual wargames rather in bullying, 2) a sense of meaning for lonely, awkwardly social lives, 3) measurable tension relievers and 4) separating great civilisation builders from the lucky mediocre ones?

Money makes the world go around but let’s be wise and put our profitmaking talents to longterm use rather than shorttermshortsightedness.  Our grandchildren might remember to thank us one day.

People’s Edition

“Did you try the the Curler burger?”

“Sure did.”

“Well, I’m originally from Illinois but my wife here is from South Carolina. Her daddy invented the Curler burger. He had an outdoor stand not far from the factory…I moved there because my company relocated me…anyway, he…”

“Excuse me. Do y’all want more to drink?”

“Yes, please.”

“Y’all want a cup to go?”

“Ya think she wants us to leave? It’s 1:45, fifteen minutes after closing.”

“No! Y’all stay as long as you want.”

“Just fill up my cup. I’ll sit here and drink it before we go.”

“About your father in-law?”

“The Curler burger was so popular, he always had a long line, ten to twenty deep, of people waitin’ to get one, even though they could’a eaten somewhere else closer to the factory. He finally opened up an inside place but it wasn’t nearly so popular.”

“Some people like to eat outdoors…”

“Like on a day like this?”

“So how did you all meet?”

“I worked at a plant for a soybean company, Continental Green…you ever heard of ’em?”

“No.”

“They were pretty big in mid-Illinois back then. Well, they relocated me to a new plant in South Carolina. That’s where I met her. Then I was relocated to Alabama and we retired here. She runs this place and has the Curler burger in memory of her father.”

“My husband was quite the catch.”

“I was a plant manager.”

“She’s still got that South Carolina lady’s charm.”

“Why, thank you, honey. The stories I could tell you…”

“We aren’t in a hurry if you’re not.”

“For starters, you know what’s the matter with today’s economy?”

“No.”

“You don’t? Well, I wish you did, ’cause here’s what I’d do…”

Just then, a fugitive from the law, Janous the Giant, walked in and shot up the place, taking a Curler burger with her on the way out as she emptied the cash register out of habit.

Orange background colour is a registered trademark

Woz is the wizard of Id…or is it, Superego?

Reminder to self: spend years planting ideas in spouse’s thoughts that a propane tank in the side yard is good insurance fueling gas-powered heat pump and oven/stove when electricity is unavailable in the unforeseeable future.

Memory helps.

Dual-use 3D maps – are you taking your government-backed project to the open market?

Best comment of the day

I bet Bin Laden regrets allowing his iPhone app to “use his current location”. — from Megan, under Yahoo comments.

Flush out the covey and watch the hunters take pot shots at the rest of the flock.

Anyone for guessing who the next official “Public Enemy No. 1” will be?  My inquiring mindful bookie wants to know.

Thanks to the anonymous neighbour and his son for checking to make sure my wife and I hadn’t succumbed to CO fumes pouring out of the generator that was running hours after we had power.

Time to read what my ants had built and see if this here future is all they say it’s gonna be – them wooly worms ain’t been as good a fortuneteller as my Crab Orchard neighbour promised me that night we finished off a jug of ol’ “mountain dew.”

Six-legged creatures are just as good, I reckon.

That’s all she wrote for this evenin’ – my bottle of muscadine wine has run its course through muh veins.

Night, y’all!