Middle Age

I was talking to a friend last week about middle age. He is older than I am, and told me not to worry about that, because it's still a few years out yet. I looked at him quizzically (which isn't easy because I haven't perfected that expression), and it brought up the meaning of middle age. I always took it to mean the forties, or roughly half your reasonable life expectancy. At the rate I'm going, I would consider myself fortunate to be at the halfway point now, and I'd less surprised if the sun didn't come up tomorrow than if my true, chronological midway point was still ahead of me. The only useful observation I have on the subject is that I've recognized one warning sign of maturity: you become the one who sends holiday greeting cards, as much as or more than you were the one who sits around waiting for them.

In any event, it raised the question of middle age, including an ever-popular subject inside my head, the midlife crisis.

I have always been the first to admit that I am an odd duck. If I were a cow among the mooing herd, I have no doubt that I would stand around all day going: "Mehhhhh..." in an innate, irrepressible expression of individuality, and giggling when I fart, with a conspicuous distance between me and the other, rightly-nervous cows. If midlife crisis is a time in a person's life where he is hit with a jangling, unavoidable reflection of his life and its direction, then I've been in such a crisis since my preteens. I've been trapped in a pulsating, recurring loop of myopic introspection, complete with gaping blind spots, for years. I've always been had this sensation of rudderless self-doubt, and I suspect I always will. My friend Joe would likely decide that I have a lesson to learn about certainty, or confidence or some shit. It's as good an explanation as any I have thus far.

The good news is that my wife and employer can expect that I won't thrash about in a sudden, flailing attempt to right my leaky, wandering vessel and change its heading on the ocean of my life, especially by taking up abruptly with some skank or buying a Corvette (not that my credit would allow it anyway). It's just not in me.

The bad news is that I certainly will thrash about, reliably and often, with moderate, less-frightening but still-moderately-bizarre decisions like doing stand up comedy when I have the chance (and enthusiastically seeking out more of those chances), and keep a vigilant vigil for a lifetime pursuit that feels right and true and rewarding. That is most definitely within me. Lots of people can happily watch television for years on end and not feel like they're missing anything. Although I have a lot in common with those folks, I can't quite escape the nagging feeling that something truly fantastic is whistling quietly by, and that if I don't snap out of it I'll wake up at the end of a very steady, boring ride to discover that I've slept through the best parts. It's a very petulant, fearful feeling, but that's usually the only thing that will motivate me, so I guess it's as good as anything.

The above paragraph is a fair description of midlife crisis as I understand it, but it's always been there. The only difference today from when I was twelve is that I'm not getting any taller or thinner, and the bottom of my hourglass is getting noticeably fuller and it makes me sweaty thinking about it. Maybe this is just splitting hairs so that I can still feel set apart from the other cattle, but it's a distinct enough distinction that I feel it's worth noting.

Nike should strike endorsement deal with Herzog

CNN features an article about film director Werner Herzog, where he offers advice to film directors:

"Rejection is not something you should be afraid of," Herzog advises filmmakers just starting out. "It happens to all of us, in particular when you are beginning. You have to have the courage to move on anyway."

He goes on to advise, and I'm paraphrasing: "just do it," highlighting the value of experiencing things, especially in relation to learning things in academic settings. The story offers nuggets, saying: "the world reveals itself "to people who travel on foot. Period.""

For good measure, he throws in the value of the threat of bodily harm to an impossibly difficult cast member:

On the set of "Aquirre: The Wrath of God," in 1972, Herzog admitted he threatened to shoot Kinski if the actor made good on his threat to walk off the set.

"I told him it was impermissible for him to walk away," Herzog said. "I explained to him calmly that he would not survive if he tried. I had a rifle ... and I told him I would shoot him. He screamed for the police. The nearest police station was 40 kilometers away."

I think I like this guy.

Empty

Just feeling empty this week. Desolate, running on "E." I don't feel strong, and I don't like it. Maybe I need more Jesus in my life.

Hah! That felt good; I needed a laugh.

I've been lower than this, often and recently, so I know it could be worse and that gives me some strength. Still, I feel spent and I get the sense that a remarkable change is necessary to alter this course; half measures won't cut it. If I knew what to do, I'd do it. I guess that's the fun of free will and the human condition: we're all just scrambling around in the dark, hoping to stumble into something that smells like joy.

If I bump into you, try to smell like joy, will you? It's not really that much to ask. I'd do it for you.

Snow, man

Sunday morning (yesterday) woke up to an unusually snowy condition, in Valley Springs and elsewhere in the state. Newsworthy, even.

We wrapped up my boy and sent him out to frolic in the flakes, his gear including a boy-sized pair of house-slippers. Hey, we never said we were good at this.

We even managed to put together a pretty fair snowman. One departure from the norm: we didn't have any carrots, so the part of his nose was played by a dill pickle. I had to discourage a boy who'd skipped breakfast for flurrying fun not to eat the snowman's proboscis.

Overdose

My wife made a stop on the way back from an out-of-town trip this weekend, and picked up a treat for the two of us: sushi! As requested, she also picked up extra Wasabi, which is a spicy spice that I prefer over those found in Mexican cuisine, because it typically only burns once.

Skilled sushi-snarfers will attest that mixing soy sauce and Wasabi (is "Wasabi" capitalized?) make for a most excellent paste that tastes fantastic and is easier to apply to your food. Therefore, I mixed up a lean batch of Wasoybi (trademark, Liberated Pachyderm Productions) and enjoyed it.

The trouble came when I, rather than dipping a fat morsel into my soylent green concoction, I lost control of it and splopped the entire gob into a small, homemade vat of Japan's revenge for Nagasaki. Dumb as I am, I thought: "No matter - if I enjoy a dollop of this culinary battery acid, think how much I'll enjoy an entire fistful of octopus and rice that's been dumped, turned over and fished out of such a potent potash!" Into my stupid maw it went.

At first, I tried to tough it out. "No need to panic; we've been here before... I've taken borderline-regrettable hits of Wasabi before, and survived; I'll be fine." It only took a moment to realize that I was in over my head. First, the pain. The great thing about the Wasabi experience is its purity on multiple levels. If used correctly, you don't just taste the sting; it wafts through your sinuses and slaps your stupid brain for allowing the body to consume such a wonderful abomination, and then continues to scald its way out your nose. In small doses, a pleasurable extreme. In larger doses...?

In the blink of a watery eye, I couldn't breathe, couldn't chew, and was concerned that swallowing would lead to hideous some combination of barfing, snorting and shitting my pants, none of which had any future (although there are those upon whom I could call, had I needed the voice of experience).

As I wondered idly about the number for the Poison Control Center, I made the decision to cut bait (unfortunate fish reference noted). Eyes watering freely now and with my wife by my side (surely feigning concern while she stifle inward torrents of laughter), I nodded at her questions about whether I was about to die and leave her with two mortgages and a five year-old psychopath who's just learning to spell, and I expelled the entire unholy mess back into the styrofoam tray where the painful nightmare had begun.

Having rejected the malignant mass, I coughed and choked entirely without dignity until my eyes pointed in the same direction again, at which point I assumed the stance of a cat who'd just clambered drunkenly off a bookshelf and careened into an aquarium, strutting away as if to say: "Yes I meant to do that, and what's more, I stuck the landing. I can teach you that, you know."

Can't wait to see what's for dinner.

Stunted, convoluted

I am chagrined at my lack of blog postings. I lean on the fact that the busier I am, the less time I have to ponder and pontificate on the subject of my own life. Sometimes I'm just jerking around, but lately, I've been making changes, learning, growing. These events will make worthwhile blog posts, but they'll have to wait for retrospect. I'm a little caught up in the moment lately.

In other news, the November 21st Comedy Night at La Contenta in Valley Springs is selling tickets hand-over-fist; if you haven't scored your ticket yet, it's getting late. They're over 85% sold.

In related news, this show keeps asking more and more of me, beyond the initial arrangement. I am bending, reaching and growing to fit the shape that is required of me.

Onward!

Happy Anniversary

My wife and I took yesterday to celebrate our tenth wedding anniversary. We spent it in true middle class fashion, driving into a real town with movie theaters, shopping centers and other civilized services, and spending money.

We held hands the whole drive.

We spent money in amounts that would embarrass the poor by their extravagance, and the rich by their paltriness. For us though: just right.

I shopped for books, she shopped for candy, and we were both happy. We talked about tattoos, music and how silly conditions at work are. We ate like denim royalty and at the end, we were full.

My brother's the shit

My brother is the only guy I know who can choke on a taco and turn it into a regional event. Way to go, Bickle.

After a brief but harrowing incident that led him to the brink of death, he is rebounding nicely under a physician's care. He's been brave and relatively good natured (depending on whom you ask) through most of his troubles over the last few years, and I'm proud of the gutsy little troll. I say that with the utmost of familial warmth and respect.

I have not lied a bit in this brief and cryptic account, but I admit that I have wantonly misrepresented a few details in the hopes that my bro will hurry home and counter-blog to defend his good name. I'm not good at manipulation, but I'm learning, and that's what counts.

Passion II

Following some good advice, I took another look at what I love to do, rather than the things I must do. I departed from the comfortable norm, and drove two and a half hours to downtown Manteca last night, performing a four-minute set at a two-hour comedy show for a good crowd.

The upside: I got a respectable amount of laughs. I stolidly acknowledge that I didn't bring down the house and that there were many funnier, more experienced comics in attendance. No posing here.

That said, I must also say that it was thoroughly exhilarating to have done some time and not only not embarrassed myself, but to have acquitted myself reasonably among local peers. As wordy and mild as that last sentence is, the buzz of the experience carried me home and kept me awake for hours last night. Opiates have nothing on the joy I felt last night.

Passion, and lack thereof

While I had a few days off, I never really got much done, other than housework and minor fiddling around. I can't seem to muster enough passion about any one subject or endeavor to really dig into it. This must be what ADHD feels like: a broad-but-not-deep fascination pool, and the inability to focus on anything for long.

When I do try to burrow into something that attracts my interest, I find the interest flagging after not too long. The only good news is that it always comes around again, like some great merry-go-round. Trouble is, progress is disjointed, scattered, and many things must be re-learned, sometimes several times.

This is no way to run a psyche...

Know what I mean? Or are you just saying that?

You ever get the feeling that there's almost no one you can relate to? And even fewer that you can trust? I've got that feeling right now. Cold. Alone. Not lonely, just... isolated. Hell, maybe it is loneliness, by another name. I dunno. I've got that right now.

...

I waited a while to post the above, and it's a good thing. It gave me time to reflect, and realize that there a few - a precious few - that have got my back, and wouldn't hurt me for anything. That is a comfort, and I'll lean on it.

Still, it's discouraging what people do to each other, and unnecessarily. Out of fear. Out of greed. Out of malice. With a few notable exceptions, people really just bum me out.

Problem solver

If people are ever forced to carry around RFID-type chips in their bodies (I assume I'll be dead by then, or in jail from firebombing to protest lost civil liberties), one piece of information that is absolutely vital is one's résumé, in editable form. Carry around your driver's license, your medical history, passport. Sure, carry all that, but for god's sake, don't forget your résumé.

Because when I return to work after two scheduled days off and find a note from you that says: "we're out of hand towels in the bathroom," I want to be able to (again, I realize I'll be dead - fair enough) bring up your vocational credentials and on the bloody spot irrevocably delete the portion that says you're a "top-notch problem solver," and replace it with "useless, barking moron."

Squirrel! Part two

I finally offloaded the pix of my squirrel hunt, and I even got a few useful ones. More than I expected, really.

A last, evil laugh

You remember that scene in the first "The Lord of the Rings," where the group struggles through some dark, stinky crevices underground, running from a fiery, angry demon, and although Gandalf makes a portentious stand, ruining not the ugly demon but the ground upon which he stood, sending him to the anonymous darkness never to be seen again? And then the evil demon, hurtling towards its ignominious demise lost in a forgotten hole lashes out with one final, desperate and unlikely bid to save himself and ensnares Gandalf by the ankle, dragging him down with himself? It was like that.

In other, unrelated news, she quit recently, but staged a spirited comeback attempt by appealing to an uninformed and apparent democratic majority when her chief critic was out of town.

I only mention the two because, you know, it's faster than making two separate posts.

Front page, baby

A few days ago, I happened upon a water line break along the road. Any geyser is visually interesting, but this one was directly behind a CCWD (Calaveras County Water District) sign promoting water conservation as hundreds of gallons of water pissed futilely into the sky. I'm all for conservation, but I giggled as I caught this visual irony on "film."

I submitted it for publication into the Valley Springs News, and they used it in today's edition! I have to admit, it's pretty exciting to be a part of the giant behemoth that is the mainstream media. I hope to do more of this type of thing as soon and as often as I can.

I've got a black and white sample here because I'm not at a place where I can get a color scan. You get the idea, eh?

Squirrel!

I bought this new camera recently, and I've been making an effort to use it and get to know its features. It's my first dSLR, a pro-sumer camera with a lot more under the hood than my years-old Kodak point-n-shoot.

One of the things I've looked forward to photographing is wildlife. I'm lucky that my rural area is rife with critters, as is my workplace. Every morning as I drive to work, sans camera, I note hawks perched on power lines or winging their way to nearby treetops. At work, where squirrels are already braver than your average rodent due to routine human exposure, squirrels chitter and chase each other over ground, up trees and across limbs, just feet away.

On my days off, when I have time and bring my camera, the route I normally take to work is practically a desert in times of winged wildlife. Even the crows hide from me. Escorting my 300D on a lunchtime stroll, the roads and trails are silent. It is maddening that these clowns of the forest, normally all but climbing into my shirt pocket and juggling acorns, have now vanished. I walk my normal route, and back to the office where I work without spying a single one of these bloody Sierra Nevada rats.

I was just about to give up when I found one. He even did me the favor of posing - in the afternoon heat, heat sprawled on his belly along a split-rail fence. Unfortunately, the sight of a pudgy amateur photographer clumsily stalking him with a small, gray device clutched to his chest was too disturbing for the little guy to remain in his vulnerable position long enough to snap his photo. I got some other shots, and I wish I could post a sample or two here. But, I haven't had time in my busy life to get them onto a computer screen for review. Maybe later... Still, I'm glad I found one, anyway.

Sort of stupid

As if my fellow humans didn't do enough things to irritate me, here's one more: the superfluous adding of "sort of" or "kind of" to their sentences. It wouldn't be so annoying if people didn't reach for it so quickly and lazily, and adopt so easily it as a posing habit. I noticed people adding these qualifiers recently, as if they just couldn't hit on a sufficiently accurate descriptor, often during a self-indulgent traipse down memory lane:

"I don't know, I guess the experience just sort of opened new doors for me as a person..."

Did it? Did it sort of open new doors for you, or did it just open new doors for you? Oh yes, that's right, your story and its slippery little point are simply too complex and elusive to be captured by mere and common turns of phrase; but you, ever the bon vivant and irrepressible storyteller will just have to make do with the paltry language that human civilization has patched together over the past few thousand years. Do struggle on, won't you, and sort of patch together your high-minded repartee, in a kind of grandiose pastiche of sloppy metaphors and unnecessary, trendy figures of speech? Oh, won't you, do?

I admit, I am easily annoyed.

Meta Blog

Nearly another week gone by and I've written darn little of personal import. I used to love writing in this thing, and now it's becoming an effort. I feel that I'm losing a grip on something important, and I don't know if it's so that I can have a hand free for what's next, or if something's just slipping away.

Sometimes I feel like I'm turning into one of them - one of the norms, the everyday zombies who lack introspection, irony and the sense of being just out of sync enough to remind themselves that life is weird and once you're comfortable, you're probably dead. "It's warm and welcoming, here in the herd. Give in to our embrace..." It sounds tempting, inviting and creepily like a suspense thriller film, and I know it's not right.

Tumult

My boss quit a few days ago, and the workplace is in relative chaos. As much as livelihood issues square dance around my panic button, I find it very instructive to watch how individuals and groups react to the stress, strife, threats and opportunities that upsetting an apple cart provides. It's pedagogical to see who grabs for apples, and who tries to right the cart.

Even more so, it gives me an opportunity to read people and their reactions, which become transparent when there isn't sufficient time to cloak skulduggery in the sleight-of-hand that usually accompanies ulterior motives. With haste, these feints and grabs become naked, and even those like me who find human nature fairly impenetrable can perceive them easily. Instructive, but I find every lesson disgusting and repugnant.

Rut

My personal life is great in a lot of ways. Most ways, even. However, there is a rut that I've fallen into, only in my own head, and I don't like it. I am working to break out of the status quo persona, but it's tough.

On other other hand, it's a great (worst) problem to have. Generally speaking, I need to work out the kinks in how I spend my free time. I feel like enlightenment and progress are right around the corner. It's a great time to be alive.