White stuff on your tongue

One thing (among many) that pornography has ruined for me: catching snowflakes on your tongue. Amid a particularly productive snowstorm last week, I decided to enjoin the classically innocent pastime of catching snowflakes on my tongue.

Standing with my head back, eyes closed and tongue out as far as it would go, I couldn't help feeling... well, creepy and awkward. Some things you can't "un-know." Such is life, so be it.

Web links, gift ideas

A few web items catch my eye this week:

• Valley Springs has a new Martial Arts center: Lohsen Martial Arts. They feature Brazilian Jiu Jitsu, just like my heroes on "thuh teevee," at the UFC. What a great sport. Maybe I can get a few lessons for my birthday...
  
  That preceding paragraph was a hint, in case you're wondering...
  
  They could also benefit from a new website design, about which I've already made first contact. Hmm - perhaps a trade is in order...!
  
• Also, I found a neat website to get ornamental, outdoor, tree-humping jewelry. I'm partial to the "Cairn Opener Sandblasted," myself, but I'm only just beginning my window shopping.

Conversation: a symbiotic relationship

The world is full of know-it-alls, dime-store connoisseurs who have never done what you're thinking of doing, but they know more about it than you. They know because they've seen something on T.V., read it in a magazine, or had a friend who had an Uncle who worked at a company that did that type of thing. "...I think he was the janitor, but hey, he worked there, man..."

Adding to the tedium is their unwillingness to entertain other points of view, even for the sporting aspect of it. Even if they're unconvinceable, it would be good manners and good fun to consider an alternative viewpoint.

But oh, no - their third-hand pseudo-knowledge is much more valuable, potent and important than your conjecture and the anecdotes you may have collected, carried and offered to share. So shut up, breathe deeply and listen politely until you can make up an excuse to escape the vortex of hot air.

You didn't have anything to contribute anyway, did you?

Gym report

I was feeling really good last week about going to the gym. I hadn't gone in weeks, but I had some excellent excuses. Almost as good as achievement, is justification.

I feel yucky

My son brought home a gift for me last week: bacteria! The gift that keeps on giving!

I felt a twinge last night in my chest - odd, as this type of thing usually starts in my sinus. Anyway, I now feel increased sensitivity to temperature extremes in my extremities, and coughing is my new hobby.

Then again, there are those out there who have it much worse, so my despair is definitely in perspective.

More of the same

Every time I bring up my blog page, I feel a pang of self-disappointment in that I don't write often enough. Then I begin writing, and the stuff I write just sucks. That's when I realize (one of the reasons) why I don't blog as much as I used to; it's because I don't blog as well as I used to. Sometimes, it just doesn't flow. Is there any paler feeling than when you go to the well that has served you so well for so long, and it's dry? Bleah!

I suspect it's largely because I don't do many exciting things lately, and -- worst of all -- I've temporarily lost the ability to find the humor, wonder and conflict in everyday events. The same weird shit is out there; I've just got to tune into it.

Also, taking up more-exciting/fulfilling endeavors would help a lot. As it is, I work, watch TV, take care of the house and family. Those are great for starters, but there's an element missing.

I gotta get off my ass. Soon, soon.

Finally, it doesn't help that I'm out of practice. Perhaps some blog-based throat-clearing is in order. Brace yourself as I jot some mildly-interesting-even-to-me junk just to get my fingers and frontal lobe flexible again...

Joe Rogan: occasional genius

When I sat down to write my last post, I nearly continued the winey-drama of the previous one, about how I need more time to myself, and can't conecntrate. I couldn't face blogging more bitching and angst, so I wrote some shit about how I need a new car instead.

I went on about my business, and not much later I came across Joe Rogan's blog archive, containing these sage words, summing up the contents of my head much better than I could:

Remember back when you were a kid, and you thought there were actually people that knew what this thing we call "life" was really all about? Remember when you thought there really were "grown ups?"

Then, all of a sudden one day you become a "grown up" yourself and the terrifying revelation occurs to you that there really are no "grown ups," just kids that got old and had kids of their own, and no one really knows what the fuck is going on.

Well said.

Snow on the mountains means trouble in paradise

I am seriously considering (if weakly pursuing) trading my two-wheel drive babe-magnet in for a more rugged, two-fisted, 4x4, snow-crunching mountain machine. Unfortunately, I don't need the babes my car magnetizes, and the last five miles of my drive to work is often blanketed in snow, rendering it nearly useless. Getting me 95% of the way to work isn't nearly as successful as it sounds.

I can borrow my wife's truck, but this puts her out, and for some reason I let that make me feel bad. Plus, swapping vehicles back and forth is a pain, and maximizes the possibility that one of us will forget something vital (like keys or a wallet) in the swapped carriage.

Although the weatherman no longer dictates my wife's workweek, he is severely impacting mine. The jerk. It's getting so that every snowstorm causes tension in my life, like an old fart who can feel the impending rain in his bones.

So, I'm considering a different vehicle. We're looking hard at some used Jeeps, with good reputations for reliability that won't put us further in debt. Other vehicles may make the short list, but Jeeps have good buzz. My boss thinks I should get a Subaru. I'm not one for vanity, but a Subaru just sounds like a geekmobile, and not in a good way. This from a guy who's proudly driven a Honda!

No, I think we'll get something in which I can hold my head (and my ass) up high, and that will haul me over the occasional rough terrain come summer. I invite you to share your reviews of rugged vehicles you've owned, if you have any such reviews.

I Can't Hear Myself Think

I need time to myself sometimes. I don't just like it, want it or appreciate it. I need it. It's just a part of who I am.

My personal life (which is the only life I live that matters at all) has been dominated of late by a creeping oppression - that of noise pollution, bordering upon self-specific torture. It's a subtle form of psychological warfare that is particularly effective on me.

Unfortunately, it's also a part of who I am that I don't insist upon periods of solitude. I give away blocks of time that would be better spent in solitary pursuits, as far as my mental health is concerned. And hey, let me be honest: these chunks of time that I "give away" aren't necessarily some golden, blissful, heartwarmingly familial moments. I am well beyond the point where I suffer silently or happily, trying to watch a television show that I can't hear, or maintain a train of thought that is periodically but reliably disrupted like a television broadcast with a cheap Chinese vacuum cleaner running nearby.

An example: I received a much appreciated gift, a DVD, for Christmas that I immediately wanted to watch. I couldn't wait to see this show. Today, a full month later, I got to watch it unmolested. I've tried several times to sit down, take a deep breath and watch 90 measly minutes of private, quiet, televised entertainment, and it took me a whole month to set aside that kind of time.

Clearly I don't brook irritation well like I used to; I'm no longer that tough. God help me, I'm petty and reactionary, and I seethe and mope and glare and become more volatile. I wait until I'm completely fed up before I decide to abandon the situation, and storm off - what a little kid I am. Who but a child does that?

Yeesh...

I'm still looking for a solution to this predicament, that correct course of action that pleases everybody. I know from experience that such solutions exist, if you have the right brand of wisdom. Unfortunately, such breakthroughs usually come to me externally. Either they appear as a sudden epiphany, or as someone else's suggestion. Rarely am I able to achieve the clarity needed to think myself out from between a rock and a domestic hard place.

Once I find it, I feel it will untie the knot I have found in my personal life, making peace with both my family (I love my family) responsibilities and my own desires for peace, time and creativity. The sooner the better, because I want to be a good person to my family, and to myself.

We friends again?

As so often happens, I found a way through my frustrating dilemma just as my weapons were loaded and unsheathed.

It's fixed, and I feel better. I need to find something easier to do that doesn't involve stupid electric boxes...

I keel you

Echh - inadequate sleep (due to too much wine; "too much" being two whole glasses - how frigging old am I??), a slow internet connection and difficulty implementing what is advertised as a 5-second web utility have conspired to put me on the brink socially unacceptable behavior.

What the fuck are you looking at?

A Royal Bitch?

France's former first lady, Cecilia Sarkozy (now going by the divorced name Cecilia Ciganer) is quoted recently in a book mercilessly slamming her ex, President Nicolas Sarkozy. According to news accounts, she is said to have ascribed to him such with such unflattering phrases as: "womanizer," "stingy" and "a man who loves no one, not even his children." Such caustic backbiting reflects more on the mudslinger than the target, in my opinion.

But was it meant to be aired in public? Apparently not, according to the lawsuit brought by the vitriolic vampire, saying that the journalist who put the conversation out for all to see betrayed private conversation.

It's troubling, no matter how you slice it.

France 24 goes all-French

Forbes.com reports that French President Nicolas Sarkozy will put the kibosh on French News channel France24's English version, whose website I have visited intermittently since it launched in December of 2006. I'll miss it all the more since we've been too poor to enjoy the TV5 channel from our satellite provider.

Good news, though - according to the report:

Sarkozy said a new channel, France Monde (France World), would be created 'as fast as possible, at any rate this year', grouping the resources of the existing networks Radio France Internationale, TV5 television, and France 24."

Operation France encore - étage un

My nefarious plot has begun, and a landmark in its progress has been set.

Tonight, my wife responded to the following, pivotal question:

"Would you want to go to France with me again, if money wasn't the issue?"

My heart sang as her answer trod through the shadows of teeth, gum and freckle:

"Yes..."

...

Oh, it's on now... I believe that I can make this happen.

If you want a postcard from France, place your order now, because this new year is all about some "can-do" shit.

I've tried pessimism, and it's got me bupkis. Let try some optimism for a change. I've heard good things...

Things I don't understand - #2

Why bust on MC Hammer they way they do in the media? I don't understand that.

For those of you who don't recall, MC Hammer was a pop/rap star in the 1990's - had some hits, made a ton of money and then went bankrupt, and now lives around Tracy, CA.

Now, he's starting up a YouTube.com-type niche website called DanceJam.com, planning to collect and share dance moves all around the planet. Good idea, bad idea, who knows? Reading in The Record newspaper today (I'd link to the blurb, but I don't see it online, only saw it in print), there's an article reporting this event, but every other sentence is taking a potshot at the once-was Hammer or setting up such a barb. It snarks at how he's 'taking time away from doing nothing' to take up his new endeavor. Ouch!

Why pick on Hammer? He was one of the most positive pop figures of his time, exhorting his audience to use their brains, stay away from dope and make money by earning it. Now that he's back in the papers, they still take every opportunity to swing at the balloon-panted media pinata.

Sure, he made his money and lost it. I don't know how he lost it, I've never done the research. Honestly, I was never a fan. As a teenager, I heard: "...can't touch this..." until I developed a facial tick. But I certainly never saw him convicted, arrested, Hell, even accused of anything deserving such constant derision; but every time his name's in the paper, they take another whack. They whoop on him so bad, I'm pretty sure Ike Turner's last words were: "Damn, take it easy on a brother."

As I recall, one of Hammer's albums was named: "Please Hammer, Don't Hurt 'em." Sounds like fair advice for the other side as well.

Douche bag

I'm so bored with beer. I need a new intoxicant.

It's a little bracing to realize that I require an intoxicant, but once I made peace with it, I can move on to other things. Most things seem so damn dull. Maybe this is why people sky dive, mountain climb or marry ugly girls. They can't afford decent weed.

Come to think of it, I can't afford good weed either.

Maybe I just need to find something to cut through the callous, crack the shell. I would think one would find an interest or activity that is so absorbent that one would fear external intoxicants for their distracting effects. Not me. Love, hate, fear, pain... meh. French, camping, exercise, art... meh.

I probably need therapy of some kind, but even the several stabs at that - attempts to untie my cognitive knots - have availed me so little.

I read/see/hear about poor people - real poor people, like: "West African, can't-find-anything-to-eat" poor, not "can't-afford-a-new-video-game" poor - in the media, people who wish for years to have half the opportunities I have, the belongings I have, the life I have. I feel like a real jerk, whining in my pseudo-private techno-journal about the minuscule angst that rules my thoughts. What a douche bag.

Maybe what I need is the limitations that make these modest achievements and possessions seem so untouchable. Maybe that's what this past year has been about: loss, and the constant prospect of even more loss. It's probably a large part of the lesson I'm supposed to have learned. Instead, the most noble and insightful question I've come up with is a choice between beer and pot.

Yeah. Douche bag, for sure. I need to get my head right.

This post is not at all what I sat down to write, but I feel better having thought this "out loud," so I'm going to post it. It's odd, disjointed and probably not appropriate for public viewing, but it's also personal, and still seems like the right thing to leave "up." I think I'll go find something constructive to do.

Whether life or death, it's too good for them

My God.

I just got around to reading the news story whose headline has been on my screen for days, about a Washington couple who killed 6 people, including two small children. When I got to the part about the three-year old boy trying vainly to put batteries back in the phone to call for help... Jesus.

Terror, pity, shock, revulsion - there just aren't words for this. It's heartbreaking.

Our legal system simply isn't capable of applying a suitable punishment to these heartless dogs in human skin. I don't think we should take a chance on there being a Hell and sending them to it - we should carefully construct one, and condemn them to it to be certain a thorough job is done of it.

Those poor people...

Gym report

I'm happy to note that my discipline towards exercise, measured in visits to the gym we joined, is holding up pretty good overall. I went last night when I really didn't feel like it, had a solid workout, and left feeling satisfied about it.

It being the first workout after a few days' rest/neglect, I always have a little more drive than back-to-back workout days. The off days couldn't be helped. It's been an alternately busy and tiring week, requiring a lenient approach to formal workout days.

I am even more proud of my wife, who has historically taken a, shall-we-say lackadaisical approach to fitness. She noted that although her weight was on the fast track to Slimville, she wasn't feeling as strong and healthy as she wanted. She took it upon herself to do something about it, and then stuck with it. Not necessarily a holiday miracle, but given my own disjointed handling of problems vs. solutions, watching someone close to me take responsibility and control over a circumstance and see it through is really something noteworthy.

So there; I noted it...

But back to the important topic at hand: me.

As much as I'd like the abs of Adonis and pectorals of, well, anybody with better pecs than me, I think my overall goals are going to have to shift. I've never thought much of conditioning my lower body, largely because my body-image and idea of strength always assumed an upper-body stacked with beef, letting the lower half look after itself. Considering my medium- and long-term goals, though, I am rethinking this. Those goals:

1. I'd like to get out and hike/camp/fish next year. A lot.
2. I'd like to look not so much like the Michelin Man's pregnant mistress.
3. I'd like to have buttcheeks that didn't flap in a stiff breeze like two hairy windsocks.
4. I'd like to have both knees not hurt and threaten to give out so often; one of them is clearly defective from the factory, and I've just got to make do with what I have.

You add all that up, and it all points to legs. Aerobic workouts to lose weight, strength training to develop strength, muscle tone, bone density and joint health. By spring, I would dearly love to have legs like a mountain goat (hey, hooves and all, I don't care). I'd like to have gams like a mountain troll marathoner. I'd like to have strength, agility and endurance. I'd like to have an ass that my wife can slap without spreading ripples through my backfat up into my forehead.

It's tough, because I've always felt I wasn't built for speed. Or motion in general, for that matter. I've always felt deep in my brittle, flaky bones that running was a torture visited upon man by a cruel, pitiless creator, and that I should have as little part in it as humanly possible, to avenge the moral wrongness of it, if nothing else. Now it looks as though I'll be spending lots of time on treadmills, lunging, squatting (hideous in name and deed, if you ask me). Yechh.

Deep down (maybe not all that deep) inside me there is a pessimist, who has seen many efforts bear puny fruit. He truly doubts in his pathetic, cynical heart that all the effort in the world will bring me closer to the above goals. That little bastard needs a kick in the nuts, and it would do me a world of good.

But, I am encouraged by my wife. She took it upon herself to declare a goal and work fastidiously towards it. If she can do it, maybe I can, too. Ain't she great?

Things I don't understand - #1

Why is it that:

• the faucet in my shower has a six-inch span, from left to right, for hot-to-cold water, but
• the span that produces water that won't either blister your skin or induce hypothermia is at best three-quarters of an inch wide?

Merry Christmas, almost everyone

My family and I had a great Christmas - lots of gifts and love, no bad news. I'll take that any day.

My son got overstimulated by too many great gifts and a blood-sugar spike that would give a hummingbird heart palpitations (he had no breakfast and then >WHAM< a big chocolate Santa, straight to the bloodstream). This caused a condition that lasted several hours and inspired visions of belt-whippin's to dance in his Daddy's head.

Grandma stepped up and invited the little... DARLING... over to her house for much of the remainder of the day, and I got a closer look at all the wonderful things Wifey Claus brought me. One of them was a nifty telescope - as soon as I put it together, a thick layer of cloud cover moved in, and all attempts to ogle the moon were over before they started. I'm still looking forward to it.