This match.com thing – if I send a 'wink', I assume that means I wait for her to send a 'wink' back, and then I follow up with an email. Is that right?
I'm winking, but no one is winking back. I'm not surprised, of course, but maybe I'm not doing it right.
I've noticed a few recurring themes in profiles I've viewed. Lots of Jesus (I'm in the Bible belt, of course), lots of "I want life to be an adventure," and lots of "I like to par-tay." I've seen a couple of profiles encompassing all three – Christ-centered adventurous par-taying.
None of those, of course, describe me, but I can't even get a wink back from the women who say they enjoy quiet evenings and philosophical discussions.
Sunday, October 30, 2011
Saturday, October 29, 2011
Negativism
You may have noticed something about my posts: many of them, even if they have a generally positive tone, include at least a few negative asides or parenthetical statements.
In my previous post about my fifth grade teacher, for example, I make a passing reference to how poorly my other teachers thought of me, because of my grades and my general family reputation.
Yes, I am a very negative person. I didn't become persuaded of this myself until I was about fifty years old, even though people had been telling me so since high school.
Up until that point, I thought to myself, 'Well, hell, yes, I'm negative. You treat me like I'm a pariah because I'm smarter than you, or because I didn't come from as good a family as yours, or because I'm clumsy and near-sighted, or because you think I'm goofy-looking. What am I supposed to do, motherfuckers, smile and pretend I like being treated this way?'
(Oh, and thank you, Johnny Hart, for introducing a clumsy, near-sighted caveman in "BC" and naming him 'Clumsy Carp.' Yeah, thanks a fucking lot.)
Plus, negativism was consistent with the way both my parents viewed the world, especially my mother. I picked up a lot of it from them.
Eventually, late in life, I came to see that way of thinking as just a dead end. I wasn't wrong, but carrying all that negative energy poisoned me nonetheless, and made an unpleasant situation even worse.
But after an entire life of negativism, getting rid of it has been difficult. It's habitual with me.
When I read other people's posts that are continually cheery and positive, I find myself thinking, 'WTF is the matter with you? You sound like Pollyanna.'
Yet one of the most persistently positive people I know was one of the last victims of childhood polio in this country. She spent most of her life on crutches, and now, in her sixties, is in a wheelchair. She has far more reason to be negative than I do. But she stays more positive and upbeat than I ever am.
In my previous post about my fifth grade teacher, for example, I make a passing reference to how poorly my other teachers thought of me, because of my grades and my general family reputation.
Yes, I am a very negative person. I didn't become persuaded of this myself until I was about fifty years old, even though people had been telling me so since high school.
Up until that point, I thought to myself, 'Well, hell, yes, I'm negative. You treat me like I'm a pariah because I'm smarter than you, or because I didn't come from as good a family as yours, or because I'm clumsy and near-sighted, or because you think I'm goofy-looking. What am I supposed to do, motherfuckers, smile and pretend I like being treated this way?'
 |
| Possibly an early ancestor. Maybe I should use this as my Facebook profile picture. |
Plus, negativism was consistent with the way both my parents viewed the world, especially my mother. I picked up a lot of it from them.
Eventually, late in life, I came to see that way of thinking as just a dead end. I wasn't wrong, but carrying all that negative energy poisoned me nonetheless, and made an unpleasant situation even worse.
But after an entire life of negativism, getting rid of it has been difficult. It's habitual with me.
When I read other people's posts that are continually cheery and positive, I find myself thinking, 'WTF is the matter with you? You sound like Pollyanna.'
Yet one of the most persistently positive people I know was one of the last victims of childhood polio in this country. She spent most of her life on crutches, and now, in her sixties, is in a wheelchair. She has far more reason to be negative than I do. But she stays more positive and upbeat than I ever am.
108 Days of Gratitude - Day 15
As a child, I had a hard time understanding my teachers' attitude toward me - I knew they didn't think highly of me, but I didn't know why. I can speculate on it now from an adult perspective, but I don't know the reason.
Ben Matthews was the first male teacher I ever had, and the first that seemed to believe in my potential. In spite of my bad grades and general 'poor white trash kid' image, he got me into an accelerated learning program in the school district. Two days a week, I went to classes at another school, where we learned things that they didn't think an average fifth-grader would understand.
And I flourished in those classes. Mr. Matthews realized I would do better with a more challenging curriculum, and surrounded by other students who were as bright as I was.
I remember studying archaeology and the Cretan civilization. To this day, I have an amateur's interest in archaeology and ancient civilizations that began with that class.
I guess that was when I realized I wasn't the worst damn kid in the school.
Friday, October 28, 2011
Adventures in Depression
Hyperbole and a Half: Adventures in Depression
If you don't experience clinical depression, this may help you understand what it's like for those of us who do.
If you don't experience clinical depression, this may help you understand what it's like for those of us who do.
108 Days of Gratitude - Day 14
But first, this:
I sort of know what I want to write here, and yet I don't.
As I think I mentioned several days ago, I have been feeling a little more 'aware', for lack of a better word, over the past few months than I previously had.
It's as if I had been lightly drugged for perhaps two or three years, and suddenly the drug wore off.
When there's a full moon, I always stop and look at it. And I look at it alone. It's been that way for years and years. I can't tell you the last time I sat and looked at the moon with a companion or partner.
During the time that I seemed as if I was lightly drugged, I had eventually reached a state of equanimity regarding that. I had settled into my place in the universe, found the flow of the Tao, and saw that whether I understand or don't understand, things are just as they are.
Now, suddenly, that answer seems inadequate. It's still the correct answer – I remain convinced of that. But it's an answer that, at the moment, doesn't satisfy.
Yes, this is craving. This is attachment. It's a spiritual shortcoming to be experiencing this. At the moment, I don't care.
I am at a crossroads. In one direction, I can turn the flute and singing bowl music back on. I can meditate, sit quietly, and lull myself back into that sense of being mildly drugged. The craving and attachment will not disappear, but they will subside to a point I won't be continually distracted by them.
Or I can forge ahead on the other path, down which I have gone before. I have no reason to believe this trip will end any differently than the others did – with either someone overcommitting to me and suffocating me, or me overcommitting to someone else, and receiving yet another patient explanation about how I'm a nice guy, but I don't offer drrrrama, passion, glamor and intrigue! and blah and blah blurp snort fart grunt.
I said I wasn't going to talk about this for a year, because I talk and talk about it and nothing ever changes. But it seems as if something has changed. It hasn't changed enough to produce a different outcome. I'm no thinner, younger, better-looking or more outgoing than I was before.
But I'm sort of slogging ahead into that emotional quagmire, doing the same I do over and over, hoping against all common sense for different results.
108 Days - Day 14
I'll toss this in while I'm at the computer. I'm grateful for my home and neighborhood. I own my home free and clear. No bank can take it from me.
My neighborhood is on a seesaw. It could go either way. A block to the north, they're rehabbing and gentrifying along NW 16th. A block to the west, they've busted meth labs and crack houses.
But my little corner of the neighborhood is doing well. A new family has moved in across the street, and following the lead of the previous owners, sunk thousands of dollars into upgrades and improvements. When I first moved here ten years ago, the owner at the time was in the process of evicting a heavy metal wannabe band. The sheriff had to forcibly remove them, and crews in contamination suits had to come in and make the place bearable for remodeling contractors. They pulled about twenty big lawn bags full of garbage and trash out of the house. It has come a long way since then.
My newest neighbor on the east is a young woman who is executive director of a nearby neighborhood commercial district that is enjoying a revival after decades of neglect and deterioration. She's been very active in working to improve the neighborhood. She has a lot of energy and drive, which we need around here. She's also an artist, and it's pleasant to have another creative person nearby. I'm grateful for her presence and her commitment to the neighborhood.
I sort of know what I want to write here, and yet I don't.
As I think I mentioned several days ago, I have been feeling a little more 'aware', for lack of a better word, over the past few months than I previously had.
It's as if I had been lightly drugged for perhaps two or three years, and suddenly the drug wore off.
When there's a full moon, I always stop and look at it. And I look at it alone. It's been that way for years and years. I can't tell you the last time I sat and looked at the moon with a companion or partner.
During the time that I seemed as if I was lightly drugged, I had eventually reached a state of equanimity regarding that. I had settled into my place in the universe, found the flow of the Tao, and saw that whether I understand or don't understand, things are just as they are.
Now, suddenly, that answer seems inadequate. It's still the correct answer – I remain convinced of that. But it's an answer that, at the moment, doesn't satisfy.
Yes, this is craving. This is attachment. It's a spiritual shortcoming to be experiencing this. At the moment, I don't care.
I am at a crossroads. In one direction, I can turn the flute and singing bowl music back on. I can meditate, sit quietly, and lull myself back into that sense of being mildly drugged. The craving and attachment will not disappear, but they will subside to a point I won't be continually distracted by them.
Or I can forge ahead on the other path, down which I have gone before. I have no reason to believe this trip will end any differently than the others did – with either someone overcommitting to me and suffocating me, or me overcommitting to someone else, and receiving yet another patient explanation about how I'm a nice guy, but I don't offer drrrrama, passion, glamor and intrigue! and blah and blah blurp snort fart grunt.
I said I wasn't going to talk about this for a year, because I talk and talk about it and nothing ever changes. But it seems as if something has changed. It hasn't changed enough to produce a different outcome. I'm no thinner, younger, better-looking or more outgoing than I was before.
But I'm sort of slogging ahead into that emotional quagmire, doing the same I do over and over, hoping against all common sense for different results.
108 Days - Day 14
My neighborhood is on a seesaw. It could go either way. A block to the north, they're rehabbing and gentrifying along NW 16th. A block to the west, they've busted meth labs and crack houses.
But my little corner of the neighborhood is doing well. A new family has moved in across the street, and following the lead of the previous owners, sunk thousands of dollars into upgrades and improvements. When I first moved here ten years ago, the owner at the time was in the process of evicting a heavy metal wannabe band. The sheriff had to forcibly remove them, and crews in contamination suits had to come in and make the place bearable for remodeling contractors. They pulled about twenty big lawn bags full of garbage and trash out of the house. It has come a long way since then.
My newest neighbor on the east is a young woman who is executive director of a nearby neighborhood commercial district that is enjoying a revival after decades of neglect and deterioration. She's been very active in working to improve the neighborhood. She has a lot of energy and drive, which we need around here. She's also an artist, and it's pleasant to have another creative person nearby. I'm grateful for her presence and her commitment to the neighborhood.
Tuesday, October 25, 2011
Apple Face Time
I guess this product has been around a few years now, but I had not used it until yesterday.
I was able to video chat from Full Circle Books, using my iPhone, with someone on a Mac laptop in Edmond. The sound was just as good as you'd hear in a regular phone conversation, although there was a little static as I walked around the book store.
Frankly, the thing is just amazing to me.
I was able to video chat from Full Circle Books, using my iPhone, with someone on a Mac laptop in Edmond. The sound was just as good as you'd hear in a regular phone conversation, although there was a little static as I walked around the book store.
Frankly, the thing is just amazing to me.
So, I'm running a little behind
It's not that I've quit being grateful. I have a list of pending gratitude items, and Blogblah! helped me focus my thoughts in this regard over the weekend.
Saturday, October 22, 2011
108 Days of Gratitude – Day 13
You've probably seen me post here from time to time that I would like to disassociate my consciousness from my body and just float free like a cloud. I'm kind of a sedentary egghead anyway, so I would get along without a physical form better than some people.
But every time I wrote that, I was aware that if I didn't want my physical body, there were a few people I knew who would have been glad to have it.
Friday, October 21, 2011
Revisiting match.com
I am going to slightly bend my ban on love life-related posting here. I feel OK doing it, because this is more like a consumer report than another 'forever alone' post.
I decided to rejoin match.com this week. I had been a member for a few years, and cancelled the account about four and half years ago.
A lot appears to have changed since then, and not for the better.
During the first 24 hours my account was active, I received about ten winks and a couple of emails. That was certainly better than the results I had gotten the first time.
None of them lived anywhere close to me, but they all seemed genuine – no sultry 'Russian beauties' with garbled English pleasing to be making the contact of me. One of them even commented on specific things I had written in my profile.
But within 72 hours, all but one of those contacts had disappeared. They were all fake, possibly the same person or group of people, probably planning to phish me for credit card data or lure me to a malware site.
Doing a little Googling today, I see that match.com has been the target of a few lawsuits over the past few years, alleging that perhaps more than half of its user accounts are fake.
This did not seem to be the case the last time I was a member.
They deserve credit for aggressively tracking and deleting the bogus accounts, but it is a little disconcerting to see ten winks at eight pm, and all of them gone by the next morning.
The user interface is also different. It almost seems designed to force users to click around all over the place, trying to figure out how to respond to an email or look at winks.
Twenty bucks a month seems like a lot to spend for this kind of service, and I suspect I will keep it maybe ninety days and then let go of it again.
I decided to rejoin match.com this week. I had been a member for a few years, and cancelled the account about four and half years ago.
A lot appears to have changed since then, and not for the better.
During the first 24 hours my account was active, I received about ten winks and a couple of emails. That was certainly better than the results I had gotten the first time.
None of them lived anywhere close to me, but they all seemed genuine – no sultry 'Russian beauties' with garbled English pleasing to be making the contact of me. One of them even commented on specific things I had written in my profile.
But within 72 hours, all but one of those contacts had disappeared. They were all fake, possibly the same person or group of people, probably planning to phish me for credit card data or lure me to a malware site.
Doing a little Googling today, I see that match.com has been the target of a few lawsuits over the past few years, alleging that perhaps more than half of its user accounts are fake.
This did not seem to be the case the last time I was a member.
They deserve credit for aggressively tracking and deleting the bogus accounts, but it is a little disconcerting to see ten winks at eight pm, and all of them gone by the next morning.
The user interface is also different. It almost seems designed to force users to click around all over the place, trying to figure out how to respond to an email or look at winks.
Twenty bucks a month seems like a lot to spend for this kind of service, and I suspect I will keep it maybe ninety days and then let go of it again.
108 Days of Gratitude - Day 12
Not to rehash old material, but I spent 25 years as a reporter – a job that allows scant time for alone time and reflection. I was married during 10 years of that time, so my alone time at home was limited as well.
But everything about the way my synapses are wired encourages me to solitude. It's part of what keeps my mental state steady.
I'm glad to have the opportunity to finally spend plenty of time with my own company.
Thursday, October 20, 2011
108 Days of Gratitude - Day 11
I see John about once every two weeks, usually at Beverly's 24/7 Restaurant near Baptist Hospital. Like me, he keeps irregular hours, so I'm likely to see him there at some odd hour when most decent people are tucked into bed.
Sometimes we head over to Penn Square and watch a movie – generally, the crappier the better.
But what I value most about visiting with John is that I don't have to measure my words around him. He's not offended by my politics, or my skepticism and/or cynicism, or my lack of a 'proper attitude' (whatever that is) about women, sex and love.
I'm also fond of his sister Mary (aka mindovermary), who deserves her own Day of Gratitude in the near future.
Wednesday, October 19, 2011
108 Days of Gratitude - Day 10
I am not immersed in Zen like I was even a year ago, but the basic understanding I gained from my study is still with me, and will be, I believe, for the rest of my life.
The Buddha said his teachings were like a raft one uses to cross the river. After reaching the other shore, the traveler continues on his journey, but leaves the raft for another to use.
I feel as if I am that traveler. I don't think I will ever again walk around with dharma talks playing in my headphones, but I have not forgotten:
"If you understand, things are just as they are. If you do not understand, things are just as they are."
Tuesday, October 18, 2011
108 Days of Gratitude - Day 9
I work best in near-complete seclusion, with maybe one or two other people around to provide some conversation and occasional distraction.
But I am not a team player, and of course, team players are what corporate America cherishes most.
I was in a restaurant for breakfast the other day, and there were quite a few suits in there. Guys with moussed cubicle haircuts, heavily-starched oxford cloth shirts, cordovan tasseled wing tip slip-ons, and suits that were a little tight around the waist.
That used to be me.
Perhaps those guys thought I was some kind of bum in my black linen peasant shirt, hardware store jeans and shoulder-length hair. But I bet they'd like to be me a lot more than I'd like to be them.
I worked for thirty years, so I feel like I did my share. It's just dumb luck that I got to retire maybe ten years early. But I'm grateful it happened.
Monday, October 17, 2011
108 Days of Gratitude - Day 8
We get along better than most divorced couples. In fact, except that we don't live together and we see each other only every few months, we get along about the way we do when we were married.
Even though I was in my mid-thirties when we married, I still wasn't mature enough to be married, and I wasn't responsible enough to be a husband. I'm still not, probably.
I was more like a big kid than a husband to her. As I've said before, she deserved better than she got out of the ten years she spent with me. Don't get me wrong – I don't think we should still be married.
But I'm grateful she's still in my life in a small way.
Sunday, October 16, 2011
108 Days of Gratitude - Day 7
Kat has been my occasional housekeeper for about five years now. Being my housekeeper is no easy chore, because I'm a slob. You remember Oscar Madison in The Odd Couple? That's nothing.
Most of my slovenly housekeeping is just the way my brain functions, or malfunctions. In addition, though, I have a lower back problem that doesn't bother me much when I lift heavy objects, but does cause pain when I do things like sweep or mop or push a lawn mower. (Yeah, I know: how conveeeeenient!)
About two or three times a year, Kat, sometimes accompanied by her fellow housekeeping ninja Annie, sweep through this house and do in a day what I could not accomplish in six months.
When you don't see me at the coffee shop for weeks or months at a time, it's because Kat has made my house livable.
I am also grateful for Kat's mom, Rena, who occasionally goes through my mountain of unopened mail and sorts out the crap from the real stuff for me.
Saturday, October 15, 2011
108 Days of Gratitude - Day 6
Religious intolerance is at a higher level in this country now than at any time in my adult life.
I didn't think much about this when I was a fundamentalist Christian years ago, or when I was a passive atheist. But when I became interested in Taoism and Buddhism, I realized how easily I could be targeted because of my beliefs. There are countries where people practice their religions in secret for fear of persecution or even death, and I'm glad that the USA is (so far) not one of them.
Friday, October 14, 2011
Why I support Occupy Wall Street
I support Occupy Wall Street because I believe the financial sector - not the manufacturing sector, not the retail sector, nor the small business sector - has acquired power and influence completely out of proportion to its role in our society. America is not a couple of huge banks and brokerages with 300 million people just sort of milling around outside of them.
I also believe, and have believed since I was a teenager, that Congress responds reliably to two things. The first, and most efficient, is big wads of cash. The way big businessmen resolve their legislative differences is to hire lobbyists, have the lobbyists throw money at the legislators, and whoever throws the most money wins. Very elegant, very polite, very businesslike.
But the other thing to which Congress responds reliably is external irritants, usually in the form of people marching in the streets, screaming obscenities and hurling bags of shit at them. So, if you don't have millions of dollars to spend, you go with the number two choice.
I recognize that some of the people in this loosely-organized protest are far to the left of even me, and some have a personal axe to grind that has little or nothing to do with Wall Street.
In the late sixties and early seventies. we had all kinds of people protesting the war in Vietnam. Some were Marxists and Maoists. Some were peacniks. Some were just John Lennon fans. But if they had not all gotten in the streets, regardless of their particular motivations or causes, I guarantee you we'd still be fighting the Vietnam War right this minute, always throwing just enough ordnance to keep the thing chugging along and keep the cash flowing to the people who hire the people who throw wads of cash at Congress.
The people who are 'way out on the fringe, the anarchists and such, are the ones who push the envelope to the left, making it 'safe' for pundits and legislators to move into the space between them and the so-called 'center'.
Even if you don't agree with them, you have to credit them for creating that space for those who will probably actually get the job done, but not until it's politically safe for them to undertake it.
Remember, Big Polite Money hated Franklin D. Roosevelt, but they feared Huey Long.
That's why we need a Huey Long.
I'm going to the mall now.
I also believe, and have believed since I was a teenager, that Congress responds reliably to two things. The first, and most efficient, is big wads of cash. The way big businessmen resolve their legislative differences is to hire lobbyists, have the lobbyists throw money at the legislators, and whoever throws the most money wins. Very elegant, very polite, very businesslike.
But the other thing to which Congress responds reliably is external irritants, usually in the form of people marching in the streets, screaming obscenities and hurling bags of shit at them. So, if you don't have millions of dollars to spend, you go with the number two choice.
I recognize that some of the people in this loosely-organized protest are far to the left of even me, and some have a personal axe to grind that has little or nothing to do with Wall Street.
In the late sixties and early seventies. we had all kinds of people protesting the war in Vietnam. Some were Marxists and Maoists. Some were peacniks. Some were just John Lennon fans. But if they had not all gotten in the streets, regardless of their particular motivations or causes, I guarantee you we'd still be fighting the Vietnam War right this minute, always throwing just enough ordnance to keep the thing chugging along and keep the cash flowing to the people who hire the people who throw wads of cash at Congress.
The people who are 'way out on the fringe, the anarchists and such, are the ones who push the envelope to the left, making it 'safe' for pundits and legislators to move into the space between them and the so-called 'center'.
Even if you don't agree with them, you have to credit them for creating that space for those who will probably actually get the job done, but not until it's politically safe for them to undertake it.
Remember, Big Polite Money hated Franklin D. Roosevelt, but they feared Huey Long.
That's why we need a Huey Long.
I'm going to the mall now.
108 Days of Gratitude - Day 5
I know a lot of people who are more gifted artists than I am. But my talent has been sufficient for me to live on twice.
I had two jobs, spaced 27 years apart, that were dependent upon my design and graphics skills. During those 27 years, literally everything changed in the design, layout and prepress world. There was not one gadget in my 1970's toolbox full of rubber cement, burnishers, X-acto knives and Rapidograph pens that was of any use to me in the Photoshop/Illustrator world of 2001.
Fortunately, I had kept my skills mostly up-to-date. It still took me a couple of months to get up to speed, but the basics – composition, design, typography, etc. – had not changed much.
I was able to create that '108 Days of Gratitude' graphic in about 20 minutes. (And if I'd let it sit overnight, and come back to it the next day with fresh eyes, there are things I would have changed.) I tend to take it for granted that anybody can do this, and I forget that most people can't.
Thursday, October 13, 2011
Apple updates
Apple released a series of updates yesterday that allow iPhones, iPads and Macs to work with the company's new iCloud feature. The upgrades were frustrating for me, to say the least. I think the whole process took about 14 hours. I was up most of the night with it.
I'm not even sure this iCloud is something that will be of particular benefit to me, although I can see where other users may be quite happy with it.
I'm not even sure this iCloud is something that will be of particular benefit to me, although I can see where other users may be quite happy with it.
108 Days of Gratitude - Day 4
It created a job for me when I left television. It allows me to feel as if I'm in touch with the whole world from my desk.
There have been some stories in the media suggesting that the Internet causes people to withdraw from society and become brooding loners. I can't speak for anyone else, but I think I would have withdrawn from society and become a brooding loner with or without the Internet.
Rather than cause my isolation, I think the 'net has helped alleviate it.
Wednesday, October 12, 2011
108 Days of Gratitude - Day 3
It's fun to drive and easy to park.
And it's paid for.
I considered trading it in for one of these newer, sleeker 2012 Beetles, but the new ones don't look Beetle-ly enough for me.
And I've become attached to the one I've got.
Tuesday, October 11, 2011
Like a bowling ball
I know I've said this before, but it seems like everything I eat sits on my stomach like a bowling ball swallowed whole. It's been this way for a couple of years or more now.
I've just returned from Cattlemen's, where I ate about half of what I ordered, and I feel like – well, like I swallowed a bowling ball whole.
My father's appetite and weight both diminished when he got to be about the age I am now, so maybe it's genetic.
Lord knows it wouldn't kill me to lose some weight.
I've just returned from Cattlemen's, where I ate about half of what I ordered, and I feel like – well, like I swallowed a bowling ball whole.
My father's appetite and weight both diminished when he got to be about the age I am now, so maybe it's genetic.
Lord knows it wouldn't kill me to lose some weight.
108 Days of Gratitude - Day 2
Today I am grateful for the Logitech Performance MX mouse.I had been using its predecessor, the Revolution MX, for five or six years. The innards of the mouse had gotten loose and a little 'sloppy', so that if I even hit the leg of my desk with my foot, stuff would jump around on my monitor, being 'scrolled' by the mouse's wheel.
I didn't even know the Revolution MX had been supplanted by the Performance MX until I found it on Amazon. The Performance MX weighs less, has a replaceable battery, and unlike its predecessor, can be be recharged from a USB port, which frees up an outlet in my 80-year-old home's den.
As much time as I spend at the computer, these are all big improvements for me.
Another Google analytics note
Not surprisingly, most of the traffic that reaches this blog comes from inside the United States. But the second largest source of traffic is... Austria.
Hmmm.
Hmmm.
Monday, October 10, 2011
108 Days of Gratitude - Day 1
My plan, since I'm taking some time off from one of my regular space-fillers here, is spend 108 days recounting things for which I can be grateful. Some will be big things and some will be tiny things. Some may even strike you as silly. (Tomorrow, for example, I plan to be grateful for a computer mouse.)
But by the time I'm done, maybe we'll all see that my life isn't as awful as it sounds if you read this blog regularly.
So...
DAY 1
The death last week of Steve Jobs at age 56 reminds us that even with great wealth, power and prestige, health is not something to taken for granted. Jobs was two years younger than me.
I am afflicted with hypertension and an occasional attack of Howling Bowel Syndrome, but other than that, my health seems quite good. I've been hospitalized only twice, and one of those times was following a traffic accident when I was eight.
I am grateful for my good health.
Sunday, October 09, 2011
Popular Keywords
I've had Google Analytics on this site the whole time it's been up, but I hardly ever look at it. The last time was probably two or three years ago.
I noticed this evening that over the past month, 15 people came to this blog by searching Google or Bing for the expression "catshit safari" — a term which I'm pretty sure I invented to describe the search for cat shit in hard-to-reach corners of the house.
But the search expression that brought the most people here over the past month was "nothing to live for", which brought 64 visitors.
Sounds like they might have heen depressed. But I'm sure they left here completely cheered up.
I noticed this evening that over the past month, 15 people came to this blog by searching Google or Bing for the expression "catshit safari" — a term which I'm pretty sure I invented to describe the search for cat shit in hard-to-reach corners of the house.
But the search expression that brought the most people here over the past month was "nothing to live for", which brought 64 visitors.
Sounds like they might have heen depressed. But I'm sure they left here completely cheered up.
Using the Dictionary
I used the word 'mawkish' in the preceding post. I realized as I wrote it that I wasn't sure what it meant.
I have a larger-than-average vocabulary, but it's full of words whose meanings I intuited from their context in a written passage, rather than by looking them up.
Like "intuited", for example.
Blogblah! used to frequently refer to himself as 'peckish'. Months went by with me thinking 'peckish' meant something like 'peeved', rather than 'hungry'. I think it was Lark who eventually straightened me out on that.
I remember using the word 'erstwhile' in a news story once. It was years – decades, in fact – before I discovered I had used it completely incorrectly. Of course, no one else in the alleged 'newsroom' caught it, either.
If you search the word 'physiognomy' on this blog, you'll find it somewhere, a few years back. I meant 'physiology', but it was again years before I discovered my mistake.
The Macintosh has a perfectly good built-in dictionary. There are several others available online. I have begun, at age 58, a habit I should have begun at eighteen, or even eight: looking up words when I am unsure of their meaning.
I have a larger-than-average vocabulary, but it's full of words whose meanings I intuited from their context in a written passage, rather than by looking them up.
Like "intuited", for example.
Blogblah! used to frequently refer to himself as 'peckish'. Months went by with me thinking 'peckish' meant something like 'peeved', rather than 'hungry'. I think it was Lark who eventually straightened me out on that.
I remember using the word 'erstwhile' in a news story once. It was years – decades, in fact – before I discovered I had used it completely incorrectly. Of course, no one else in the alleged 'newsroom' caught it, either.
If you search the word 'physiognomy' on this blog, you'll find it somewhere, a few years back. I meant 'physiology', but it was again years before I discovered my mistake.
The Macintosh has a perfectly good built-in dictionary. There are several others available online. I have begun, at age 58, a habit I should have begun at eighteen, or even eight: looking up words when I am unsure of their meaning.
A One-Year Moratorium
This blog begins its seventh year next month – or is sixth? I'm never clear on these anniversary things.
When I began it, I didn't have a clear idea of what it would be about, except that it would be very personal and mostly about my daily life. I wasn't writing it with the intention that it become popular. but only that it give me an outlet for my own thoughts. I have kept very few secrets from this blog. It's almost like a personal journal available to everyone who finds it.
As it turned out, the blog's central topics pretty much found themselves, and I'm not entirely happy with them. The Taoism and Buddhist material is OK, but all the 'Diary of an Unloved Guy' stuff strikes even its author as tedious and self-pitying.
I once forced myself to take a one-year hiatus from writing about my non-love life. I came up a couple of weeks short, but I essentially reached my goal. I'm going to do it again. If you look at the entire six-year run of this blog, you'll see that nothing has changed in that regard.
In fact, if you could read the barrage of posts on this subject I wrote on The Well before this blog began, you'd see that the general stasis in my love life has been constant, with a few interruptions, since 1998.
I feel reasonably confident that when I resume my mawkish loneliness postings in October, 2012, nothing will have changed.
But trust me, during those twelve months, I'll still be feeling as sorry for myself as I always do.
I'll wrap up with a quote that came in e-mail the other day. The sender seemed quite angry with me at the time, so perhaps her tone was affected by that. Here's what she wrote:
If you want to comment on that quote, feel free. But I will let it stand as is, and will have nothing further to say about it.
When I began it, I didn't have a clear idea of what it would be about, except that it would be very personal and mostly about my daily life. I wasn't writing it with the intention that it become popular. but only that it give me an outlet for my own thoughts. I have kept very few secrets from this blog. It's almost like a personal journal available to everyone who finds it.
As it turned out, the blog's central topics pretty much found themselves, and I'm not entirely happy with them. The Taoism and Buddhist material is OK, but all the 'Diary of an Unloved Guy' stuff strikes even its author as tedious and self-pitying.
I once forced myself to take a one-year hiatus from writing about my non-love life. I came up a couple of weeks short, but I essentially reached my goal. I'm going to do it again. If you look at the entire six-year run of this blog, you'll see that nothing has changed in that regard.
In fact, if you could read the barrage of posts on this subject I wrote on The Well before this blog began, you'd see that the general stasis in my love life has been constant, with a few interruptions, since 1998.
I feel reasonably confident that when I resume my mawkish loneliness postings in October, 2012, nothing will have changed.
But trust me, during those twelve months, I'll still be feeling as sorry for myself as I always do.
I'll wrap up with a quote that came in e-mail the other day. The sender seemed quite angry with me at the time, so perhaps her tone was affected by that. Here's what she wrote:
"You think that women's initial repulsion of you is about your clothes and lack of hair combing. Trust me...it's about how you hate them and don't even know it."
If you want to comment on that quote, feel free. But I will let it stand as is, and will have nothing further to say about it.
Why I'm an atheist
If I had to explain why I'm an atheist, I think this little graphic circulating on Facebook could just about sum it up.
I really doubt that God, if he actually existed, would have meant me to be the person I am now. Or that he would have surrounded me with the people who were around me for most of my life, such as during my TV career.
God would have to have a pretty perverse sense of humor.
My front porch
I slept about half the night on the front porch, listening to the rain.
I bought a very expensive outdoor wicker sofa a couple of years ago, and it has been worth very penny I paid for it. It's long enough that I can stretch my entire six-foot frame out on it, and the cushions are soft enough to sleep on.
Every so often some loud manmade noise would intrude on my sleep - one of my neighbors pulling a car into the driveway, or a plane passing overhead. But mostly if I woke up all I heard was rain and occasional thunder.
M. Gastón jumped on the sofa and slept by my feet.
Eventually I got hot – even in the winter, I have to have a fan blowing on my head and shoulders when I sleep – and I came inside and finished the evening on my regular bed.
But it was nice to spend part of the evening at least a little closer to nature.
I bought a very expensive outdoor wicker sofa a couple of years ago, and it has been worth very penny I paid for it. It's long enough that I can stretch my entire six-foot frame out on it, and the cushions are soft enough to sleep on.
Every so often some loud manmade noise would intrude on my sleep - one of my neighbors pulling a car into the driveway, or a plane passing overhead. But mostly if I woke up all I heard was rain and occasional thunder.
M. Gastón jumped on the sofa and slept by my feet.
Eventually I got hot – even in the winter, I have to have a fan blowing on my head and shoulders when I sleep – and I came inside and finished the evening on my regular bed.
But it was nice to spend part of the evening at least a little closer to nature.
Saturday, October 08, 2011
Should have knocked on wood, I guess
After having an August and September almost completely free of allergy problems, my sinuses have finally started reverting to their usual late summer/early autumn stuffiness. It's not as bad as years past, and it's six weeks late. An early frost will help, but my sense is that the first frost is going to come late this year.
Friday, October 07, 2011
Thursday, October 06, 2011
Last American Who Knew What The Fuck He Was Doing Dies
As usual, The Onion uses satire to get to the truth in this Steve Jobs obit:
Last American Who Knew What The Fuck He Was Doing Dies
Last American Who Knew What The Fuck He Was Doing Dies
On Death
“No one wants to die. Even people who want to go to heaven don’t want to die to get there. And yet death is the destination we all share. No one has ever escaped it. And that is as it should be, because Death is very likely the single best invention of Life. It is Life’s change agent. It clears out the old to make way for the new." – Steve Jobs
-posted from my iPhone
Wednesday, October 05, 2011
Long-haired slugs vs short-haired slugs
In the comments to the preceding post, Blogblah! asks the question:
I've thought about that myself, and I don't know the answer.
I like my hair longer, and as I mentioned, I get some favorable comments on it. But when I see other men with hair this long, especially if they're my age or close to it, they look to me like skid row bums. Of course, some of them are skid row bums, and maybe I'd view them more favorably if they were wearing something other than wife beaters and corduroy cutoffs.
As for the guy on the couch, well, that photo was a real eye-opener for me - the difference between the way I perceived myself and the way I look to others.
I might mention that the photo was taken by a woman to whom I once thought myself rather attracted, and who clearly felt no such attraction to me. We had a lot in common, or so I thought, but one thing we did not have in common was that she did not look like a beached whale when sitting on a sofa.
If I had applied my rule of thumb right from the start, I would have seen that instantly.
Did I answer your question? I don't think I did, but that's all I've got.
1. MCARP, does the length of your hair and/or beard impact in any way your struggle with the guy on the couch picture/self image?
I've thought about that myself, and I don't know the answer.
I like my hair longer, and as I mentioned, I get some favorable comments on it. But when I see other men with hair this long, especially if they're my age or close to it, they look to me like skid row bums. Of course, some of them are skid row bums, and maybe I'd view them more favorably if they were wearing something other than wife beaters and corduroy cutoffs.
As for the guy on the couch, well, that photo was a real eye-opener for me - the difference between the way I perceived myself and the way I look to others.
I might mention that the photo was taken by a woman to whom I once thought myself rather attracted, and who clearly felt no such attraction to me. We had a lot in common, or so I thought, but one thing we did not have in common was that she did not look like a beached whale when sitting on a sofa.
If I had applied my rule of thumb right from the start, I would have seen that instantly.
Did I answer your question? I don't think I did, but that's all I've got.
Internal narratives
When I was in love with the willowy, ethereal Buddhist, she chose another man instead of me. I came up with all kinds of rationalizations for this, which I won't enumerate here.
But the story I made up for myself about this ignored the obvious truths which now, having disconnected myself emotionally from her, are quite evident. Simply put, he's better-looking than me, more charismatic than me, younger than me and more interesting than me.
But for years – years! – I would not accept that plainly evident truth, even though one mutual friend told it to me outright. Instead, I clung to my own internal narrative, which had her mind clouded by the machinations of a meditation instructor, or cringing in fear from the affections of the one man who could truly bring her happiness, blah, blah, snort, berffle, grunt.
Even I can get hooked on internal narratives that substitute comforting falsehoods for truth. Those years of self-deception about her weren't fair to her, or to me.
But the story I made up for myself about this ignored the obvious truths which now, having disconnected myself emotionally from her, are quite evident. Simply put, he's better-looking than me, more charismatic than me, younger than me and more interesting than me.
But for years – years! – I would not accept that plainly evident truth, even though one mutual friend told it to me outright. Instead, I clung to my own internal narrative, which had her mind clouded by the machinations of a meditation instructor, or cringing in fear from the affections of the one man who could truly bring her happiness, blah, blah, snort, berffle, grunt.
Even I can get hooked on internal narratives that substitute comforting falsehoods for truth. Those years of self-deception about her weren't fair to her, or to me.
Intelligence
I am, frankly, a fairly intelligent guy. When I was given an IQ test in grade school, I scored in the top five percent nationally. I'm probably smarter than the president, but not as smart as the actress Sharon Stone, who is a member of Mensa.
The only person I know personally who is in Mensa has loud, voluble arguments with himself and once showed up at the coffee shop dressed as Zorro. But he's almost certainly smarter than I am.
But what bothers me is the people who tell me that being intelligent is offensive. I've heard this several times over the past twenty years or so. During the last two years I was in television, I was scolded by management for making my coanchor 'feel stupid'. I did this by knowing answers to questions that she didn't.
If an intern asked me who Queen Noor was, for example, I would make my coanchor 'feel stupid' by knowing the answer. So, I was obliged towards the end of my career to protect my coanchor's ego by pretending to not know the answers to fairly straightforward questions about news and current events. My silence allowed inaccurate news stories to get on the air, but I didn't care, anymore, and I knew my coanchor and my supervisors didn't care, either.
In another workplace, I deeply offended and hurt the feelings of a coworker by using the word 'profligate' in a sentence. (Have I told this story before?) She didn't know what 'profligate' meant, and was pretty sure I knew she didn't know. She thought I had deliberately chosen that word to make her 'feel stupid'. After thinking about it a minute, she also began to suspect that 'profligate' was a profanity that I had chosen because I knew I could sneak it past her moral outrage radar.
That intelligence or awareness of the world is now considered a character flaw should come as no surprise to anyone watching the Republican presidential nominating process. Good god, what a bunch of dim bulbs (and bright candidates pretending to be dim bulbs to avoid offending the base).
This began, I guess, when someone asked then-candidate Ronald Reagan to name the leader of some foreign nation. "I don't know his name," Reagan replied, "but if I'm elected, I guarantee you he'll know mine." Thunderous applause erupted from the Republicans in the audience as Reagan offered swagger and bluster as a substitute for knowledge – a practice George W. Bush would make the basis of an entire political career.
Rick Perry may have pushed institutionalized dumbassery so far even the base can't accept it, but I'm not sure about that, yet.
Corollary to this uplifting and celebrating of fundamental ignorance is the notion that all opinions are the same and all opinions have equal weight and validity. Under this line of 'reasoning', your opinion, based on your knowledge of science and current events, is no more valid or valuable than my opinion based on Bible numerology or the teachings of a Melchizedek Cosmic Shaman or something I think I heard on Alex Jones's show.
Everyone is entitled to an opinion, but that doesn't mean opinions based on paranoia or superstition are just as worthy as opinions based on facts and sound reasoning.
Sorry if I made you feel stupid by posting this.
The only person I know personally who is in Mensa has loud, voluble arguments with himself and once showed up at the coffee shop dressed as Zorro. But he's almost certainly smarter than I am.
But what bothers me is the people who tell me that being intelligent is offensive. I've heard this several times over the past twenty years or so. During the last two years I was in television, I was scolded by management for making my coanchor 'feel stupid'. I did this by knowing answers to questions that she didn't.
If an intern asked me who Queen Noor was, for example, I would make my coanchor 'feel stupid' by knowing the answer. So, I was obliged towards the end of my career to protect my coanchor's ego by pretending to not know the answers to fairly straightforward questions about news and current events. My silence allowed inaccurate news stories to get on the air, but I didn't care, anymore, and I knew my coanchor and my supervisors didn't care, either.
In another workplace, I deeply offended and hurt the feelings of a coworker by using the word 'profligate' in a sentence. (Have I told this story before?) She didn't know what 'profligate' meant, and was pretty sure I knew she didn't know. She thought I had deliberately chosen that word to make her 'feel stupid'. After thinking about it a minute, she also began to suspect that 'profligate' was a profanity that I had chosen because I knew I could sneak it past her moral outrage radar.
That intelligence or awareness of the world is now considered a character flaw should come as no surprise to anyone watching the Republican presidential nominating process. Good god, what a bunch of dim bulbs (and bright candidates pretending to be dim bulbs to avoid offending the base).
This began, I guess, when someone asked then-candidate Ronald Reagan to name the leader of some foreign nation. "I don't know his name," Reagan replied, "but if I'm elected, I guarantee you he'll know mine." Thunderous applause erupted from the Republicans in the audience as Reagan offered swagger and bluster as a substitute for knowledge – a practice George W. Bush would make the basis of an entire political career.
Rick Perry may have pushed institutionalized dumbassery so far even the base can't accept it, but I'm not sure about that, yet.
Corollary to this uplifting and celebrating of fundamental ignorance is the notion that all opinions are the same and all opinions have equal weight and validity. Under this line of 'reasoning', your opinion, based on your knowledge of science and current events, is no more valid or valuable than my opinion based on Bible numerology or the teachings of a Melchizedek Cosmic Shaman or something I think I heard on Alex Jones's show.
Everyone is entitled to an opinion, but that doesn't mean opinions based on paranoia or superstition are just as worthy as opinions based on facts and sound reasoning.
Sorry if I made you feel stupid by posting this.
Tuesday, October 04, 2011
30 Days, More or Less
I have been almost completely secluded for the past 30 days. Sure, I get out for breakfast every morning, but I don't talk to anyone except the servers. It's been very quiet, very pleasant and very calm.
I've visited with Blogblah! a couple of times, had lunch or dinner with my friend Diane maybe three times, and dinner with my old Wednesday/Friday group one time.
I haven't been in my old coffee shop hangout at all.
What I have been doing is drawing – nothing worth showing, but at least releasing some creative energy nonetheless. I've struck up some casual acquaintances online with other digital artists, and I hope I can glean some helpful information from them.
I had to replace a tire on the VW. This is the third tire in six years that I've had to replace because of crap in the road, but the other two were on the minivan. In this case, it looked like a roofing nail, but it made a hole so big it couldn't be repaired. Tires for the VW cost from three times to six times as much as they do for the old minivan. Thank God there's a Firestone place within walking distance of my house.
Visited with my stock broker today. For the first time in my life, I've put money in a fund and not only lost the accumulated return, but part of the original investment as well. I'm not broke, but things aren't looking rosy.
I mentioned awhile back that I had a bout of gastrointestinal distress. That has mostly cleared up. I suspect, although I don't know, that I had a mild case of this listeria infection that's been going around the country. These problems began when I started eating cantaloupe at breakfast every morning, and I thought at the time that might be the culprit.
I did a little Googling and discovered that cantaloupe itself can indeed cause digestive upset, so I quit eating it. But nothing changed. Then, weeks later, I read about the listeria outbreak connected to cantaloupe from a single farm in eastern Colorado. I don't know for a fact that my cantaloupe, which I got in a restaurant, came from there. Nor did I have the fever, body aches and other symptoms associated with listeria. But the timing is suspicious.
Whatever the facts (TMI ALERT), my ass is no longer spraying like a fire hose.
I wrote previously that I had this sudden and inexplicable resurgence in my libido. I was so cranked up that for awhile I seriously considering getting a pro, which I have never in my life done, or even a couple of pros. Because the only threesome I've ever been in was me and both hands.
But then, suddenly, I was back to normal again. Thank god. Some sort of testosterone burst caused by sunspots, I guess.
I saw an interesting-looking redhead in a restaurant yesterday. I applied my rule of thumb: if I think she's attractive, that means she's too good-looking for me. I need to go to Catfish Cabin or Furr's Cafeteria and ogle the Aunt Bee types.
I've visited with Blogblah! a couple of times, had lunch or dinner with my friend Diane maybe three times, and dinner with my old Wednesday/Friday group one time.
I haven't been in my old coffee shop hangout at all.
What I have been doing is drawing – nothing worth showing, but at least releasing some creative energy nonetheless. I've struck up some casual acquaintances online with other digital artists, and I hope I can glean some helpful information from them.
I had to replace a tire on the VW. This is the third tire in six years that I've had to replace because of crap in the road, but the other two were on the minivan. In this case, it looked like a roofing nail, but it made a hole so big it couldn't be repaired. Tires for the VW cost from three times to six times as much as they do for the old minivan. Thank God there's a Firestone place within walking distance of my house.
Visited with my stock broker today. For the first time in my life, I've put money in a fund and not only lost the accumulated return, but part of the original investment as well. I'm not broke, but things aren't looking rosy.
I mentioned awhile back that I had a bout of gastrointestinal distress. That has mostly cleared up. I suspect, although I don't know, that I had a mild case of this listeria infection that's been going around the country. These problems began when I started eating cantaloupe at breakfast every morning, and I thought at the time that might be the culprit.
I did a little Googling and discovered that cantaloupe itself can indeed cause digestive upset, so I quit eating it. But nothing changed. Then, weeks later, I read about the listeria outbreak connected to cantaloupe from a single farm in eastern Colorado. I don't know for a fact that my cantaloupe, which I got in a restaurant, came from there. Nor did I have the fever, body aches and other symptoms associated with listeria. But the timing is suspicious.
Whatever the facts (TMI ALERT), my ass is no longer spraying like a fire hose.
I wrote previously that I had this sudden and inexplicable resurgence in my libido. I was so cranked up that for awhile I seriously considering getting a pro, which I have never in my life done, or even a couple of pros. Because the only threesome I've ever been in was me and both hands.
But then, suddenly, I was back to normal again. Thank god. Some sort of testosterone burst caused by sunspots, I guess.
I saw an interesting-looking redhead in a restaurant yesterday. I applied my rule of thumb: if I think she's attractive, that means she's too good-looking for me. I need to go to Catfish Cabin or Furr's Cafeteria and ogle the Aunt Bee types.
Sunday, October 02, 2011
Oh, let's talk about this some more
Upon reading my previous post, mindovermary wrote:
First, on a practical note, response to my long hair has been mixed. Some people think it looks better long, and others prefer it short. I grew my hair very long between 1998 and 2000. I kept it in a ponytail while I was living in Texas, and I will say it seemed very popular with women there.
I cut it first to go on a job interview. Later, I cut it even shorter simply for the sake of convenience. For most of the past decade, I have worn it 3/32 of an inch long, and cut it myself with a Panasonic shower-friendly electric shaver. At right is a picture of how it looked this morning. Someone told me I'm starting to look like the Dude, and another said I resemble Meher Baba, either of which I'll be happy to take as a compliment.
On to this thing of self-confidence. I think I am secure and confident in who I am. If I wasn't, I would be spending a lot more time and effort managing my 'brand' or my image, and I simply don't.
I'm confident enough, in fact, that I've been called 'arrogant' more than once. My experience has been that women find arrogance attractive in certain men, but I'm not one of them.
The person I see in the mirror every morning while I'm brushing my teeth seems to me to be a lot better-looking than women generally seem to find me. As I've said before, I've had trouble figuring out where this face fits on the scale between Matt Damon and the guy who played Newman the letter carrier on Seinfeld. I seem to rate it more highly than the general population does.
Why in God's name do I keep posting about this? I guess because I don't have anything else to talk about, but I want to keep the blog going.
I was reading MCARP'S blog today and as usual, he is talking about how unattractive and uninteresting he is. I don't happen to agree with him. I will say that with his hair long and his beard scraggly, he is not as good looking as he was with short hair and groomed beard. I think he is rather handsome when he grooms.
It doesn't matter what I think when he thinks differently. Whether someone is attractive or not is directly linked to how that person feels about themselves. I, and the women I know, are attracted to men who are secure and confident in
who they are.
First, on a practical note, response to my long hair has been mixed. Some people think it looks better long, and others prefer it short. I grew my hair very long between 1998 and 2000. I kept it in a ponytail while I was living in Texas, and I will say it seemed very popular with women there.
On to this thing of self-confidence. I think I am secure and confident in who I am. If I wasn't, I would be spending a lot more time and effort managing my 'brand' or my image, and I simply don't.
I'm confident enough, in fact, that I've been called 'arrogant' more than once. My experience has been that women find arrogance attractive in certain men, but I'm not one of them.
The person I see in the mirror every morning while I'm brushing my teeth seems to me to be a lot better-looking than women generally seem to find me. As I've said before, I've had trouble figuring out where this face fits on the scale between Matt Damon and the guy who played Newman the letter carrier on Seinfeld. I seem to rate it more highly than the general population does.
Why in God's name do I keep posting about this? I guess because I don't have anything else to talk about, but I want to keep the blog going.
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