This Man is Choking to Death

This is William Windom. He's a character actor who played a ton of memorable roles, including Kevin Bacon's father-in-law in the John Hughes movie "She's Having a Baby". 

Of all of John Hughes' movies, "She's Having a Baby" is my favorite. Sure, "The Breakfast Club" did an incredible job of capturing my generation's angst, but it didn't get etched in my brain as deeply as "She's Having a Baby". 

One of the scenes I don't seem to be able to shake features William Windom. I was, and am, obsessed with his dog tag or health alert tag, or whatever it is hanging around his neck. The chain is tight. I know the goal was probably to give a visual cue that this guy has some quirks that justify him getting a dirty steak (watch the movie). But, wow, that chain is tight. 

A walk I took a few days ago may have unlocked for me why William's chain is so friggin' tight. 

See, during my walk, I noticed how tight my shirt was. If I lifted my arms, it would expose my ever-expanding gut. It was a shirt that I've worn for years, and I wasn't giving up on it even if it made me a match for Barney Gumble. I'm pretty sure kids were pointing and telling their parents that I looked like Winnie-the-Pooh, only depressed and sweaty. 

I grew out of my shirt like William Windom grew out of his dog tag. We didn't really notice it happening. It's the kind of change that creeps up on you, and the next thing you know, you're being choked to death or applying sunscreen to your oh-so-very-white underbelly. We wear the tag and the shirt because neither of us cares. We're old, and we don't give a shit. 

I'm still trying to decide if this makes me feel sad or liberated. Either way, you should see the shorts I'm wearing for my bike ride tomorrow. I feel bad for those who wind up behind me. My crack will be their ticket to Trauma Town. 

Steamed Chicken

As Stephen Colbert was wrapping up the last few episodes of his talk show, he took his audience behind the scenes for The Worst of The Late Show. He ate steamed chicken during the episode, and for a while, I became obsessed with steamed chicken. 

I didn't start making steamed chicken or eating it every day. But I thought if I did, it would be the answer to all my problems. I'd be healthier, and I'd also capture whatever mojo Stephen absorbed from those strips of protein each day. 

Steamed chicken held the promise of a new life. 

Like I said, I didn't start a daily regimen of steamed chicken. In fact, my hot dog intake has increased, and there's a freezer full of frozen pizza I need to address. 

To be honest, I think I'm afraid to start a steamed chicken journey. I'm not sure if I'm ready to give up the simple life I have. Becoming a creative powerhouse sounds a little exhausting, and I'm just starting to adjust to the slower rhythm of retirement. 

Introducing this kind of change seems a little reckless. I'm not saying I won't be eating steamed chicken at all. In fact, Deb and I had baked chicken for dinner this evening. I have to admit, after eating it, I felt a small spark of change creeping into my body and I'm convinced that if I have the same meal tomorrow, my "Colbert Ascension" will take off like an uncontrolled rocket. 

Scary stuff. I'm guessing the only way to pump the brakes is a Quarter Pounder and that's not a problem at all. 

The "R" Word

It doesn't feel like I'm retired. It feels like I'm committing wage theft even though I no longer get any money from anyone. 100% expense, zero income—and I feel guilty about it. So weird. 

This is the beginning of week three, and I still have the "Sunday Blues" thinking about going back to work today, even though... I'm not going back to work. 

I'm not going to try to figure it out. People are telling me that I'll adjust. I don't know what that adjustment will be like. Will I become carefree Greg, who frolicks with a rhythmic gymnastics ribbon in the park across the street? Will I begin skipping up and down the sidewalk singing 80's pop lyrics and making finger guns at everyone I pass? 

There seems to be an expectation (both external and internal) that Debbie and I should mark the occasion with a big trip or start building a boat in our basement. So far, we haven't done anything like that. We've just been doing our normal stuff and noticing out loud to one another how things were different just two weeks ago. 

Things are different with new patterns of behavior emerging. I'm also being reassured that labeling activities as "unproductive" isn't accurate. Although I'm not sure how a nap is productive. But I did finish a book this weekend. Not exactly productive either, but it's something new I'd like to sustain. 

I've also noticed that my attitude of gratitude has bloomed. I am spending time thinking about the people and things that bring me joy. It's an exercise that comes easily and feels like taking a deep breath in a cool breeze. Ugh... sorry about that line. Cheesy. Although I guess I can use retirement as an excuse to be self-indulgent. That means you may have to endure some extra cheese in this space now and then. 

I'd better not overdo things for this first post in a new age, so I'll stop here. Plus, I have some shopping to do: 

Every Five Years

I bought a new computer. I do this about every five years. This new computer is a Mac Mini with a zippy M2 chip. I even sprung for the outrageously priced 16GB RAM upgrade. The arrogance of Apple's pricing is galling. If I was building a new gaming PC, RAM would be about half the cost. But, I'm parked in the Apple biosphere. It's a pricey neighborhood and Tim Cook knows we'll all pay to stay. 

I'm thinking about all the computers I've owned. I remember my first computer. My parents bought me an Atari 800. I have flashes of memory from that day. We were at a Venture (the 80's equivalent of a Target) and I'm really not sure how it all went down. I do recall feeling shocked and a little mystified as we put the box into the car. I didn't ask them for a computer. I wasn't pining for one or saving up to buy one. The folks just decided I needed one. It must have been a pressing issue because the Atari 800 wasn't cheap. It was a major expenditure. 

Maybe they thought my future depended on riding the tech wave that would wash away all the youngsters who couldn't do this:

READY
10 FOR X=1 to 10
20 PRINT "HELLO GREG - YOU INGRATE"
30 NEXT X
RUN

I never learned to program. I didn't even use it as an extremely expensive typewriter. It was primarily a console for a single, 8-bit game called Star Raiders. 

I'm guessing my parents were disappointed in the return on their investment. However, the Atari 800 did make a mark. It left me with the idea that I'd always have a computer in my life. Like a TV or a toaster, you really didn't want to live in a house that didn't have one. There was a gap between my teens and my twenties when I didn't really own a computer (aside from the old Atari 800 that was gathering dust) but I always had access to one. 

Now, here I am, typing on the latest iteration of my computer journey. There's a lot of hardware that's come and gone as I've progressed from the Atari 800 to this Mac Mini. In fact, a great deal of it currently resides in our mechanical room. In fact, if you need an old MacBook or laptop, let me know. Maybe we can work something out. I'm sure, regardless of how old the computer may be, you'd be able to do some word processing or crank out a spreadsheet - or - maybe, you could download an emulator and play Star Raiders. 

At Least Once. . .

It's been so long since I've posted that I feel I should offer an update. Something like those recap letters you sometimes get from people when they send you a Christmas card. I like getting those letters. They're packed with good news, bad news, funny anecdotes, modest brags and warm wishes. I always thought that I might give one a try some year but I know I wouldn't be able to avoid doing something weird. I know it would definitely embarrass Deb and probably read like a cry for help to everyone else. 

Things have changed and there is plenty of good and bad news, some funny stuff to share and maybe a couple of things worth bragging about. When I start thinking about it all, I realize I don't really want to sit and try to organize it all (chronological? by family member? by significance?). Not to mention the idea that I have to make it at least a little entertaining and that's where it would surely come off the rails. I don't think it would be worth the need to think of a reassuring reply to people asking, "Are you alright?"

One thing I will share is that I'm preoccupied with getting our new cat, Charlie to like me. We've had her for six months and it's clear she loves Deb. She's affectionate with Julia, tolerates Allie and treats me like she's heard I have plans to eat her. 

I wanted to name Charlie, "Microwave" but got voted down. I did get my way when I named our orange cat, Rabies. Every time the girls share that our cat's name is Rabies they always explain that I'm the one who named him - as if there's something to be ashamed of. There's no shame in his name. It's awesome and it's clear he knows it. My wife and kids are insecure. My cat is not. 

Turns out, "Charlie" is one of the most common names for a cat. So now I'm sharing my house with a cat that has a bland, pedestrian name and a hateful attitude. She vexes me. Charlie (I prefer to call her, "Chuck") sits in Deb's lap and narrows her eyes at me while she accepts pets and kisses from my wife. I reach my hand over to offer some love and she jumps down and trots away while I try not to let Deb see the tears well up in my eyes. 

I put in the work. I feed the cats in the evening and now Chuck knows she won't get her Sheba Perfect Portion of Beef Pate until I pick her up and cuddle with her for exactly 30 seconds. It is a small but significant victory. 

The part that really sucks is Chuck wouldn't be in our house if it wasn't for me getting the ball rolling on adopting a cat. No one can dispute that I am the reason she landed in a warm, loving home and yet I'm the one she's going to murder on the stairs one day. 

So, that's my one post for the year of 2023. I knew I had to do it at least once or I'd feel as if I've completely abandoned this project. I'm not there yet. In fact, I often think of things I'd like to share here. Like this picture of hateful Chuck and her one, true love: 

Lose My Cool

For almost a month now we’ve been without a refrigerator. In fact, all of our LG appliances have decided 3.5 years is enough and have begun to rebel. This dishwasher won’t run a full cycle. The oven wouldn’t maintain temperature. And, the refrigerator wanted to become more like the oven next to it and heat our food instead of cool it. 

I did manage to fix the oven (so far) by installing a new igniter. But the other two appliances need a pro to come and set them straight. I was on the phone daily with LG service for weeks trying to get warranty repair for the fridge. It was only after I filed a report with the Better Business Bureau that LG decided to help schedule the repair and reimburse us for the food that was spoiled. 

The first point of this post is to let you know about my experience with LG. When we were buying, their products had great reviews and seem to be a solid, economical choice. We made a bad decision. If you are considering new appliances, please think of me and the cooler we stock with ice just about every day and how grateful we are to have Julia’s little dorm fridge to store the tiny container of milk that barely fits in the little cube. 

Yes, I’m being dramatic and it has been more inconvenience than hardship. But, 3.5 years is all we got from our appliances and that’s silly. So don’t buy an LG. 

The second point of this post is to express my gratitude to YouTube. I searched for “Why doesn’t my LG oven maintain temperature?” and a solution appeared. A person on YouTube showed me how easy and inexpensive it would be to fix my oven. They took the time to make a video that saved me time and oodles of money. There’s a lot wrong with YouTube, but finding a community of people willing to share expertise isn’t one of them. What a boon. 

Don’t buy LG. Do seek help from YouTube. Now Deb and I have to shop for new HVAC. LG has an HVAC division. . .

I Don't Want a Funeral

My high school French teacher, Mr. Rupert told me that there will be no announcement of his death and that he won't have a funeral. Whether or not his daughter and son will go along with those plans remains to be seen. But, I think I'm with Mr. Rupert on this one. 

Mr. Rupert (Chuck) is a very religious man and I'm guessing he's sure he will see the people he cares about (in one form or another) after he dies. I assume he believes if a person didn't contact him while he was alive, then it's reasonable to maintain they don't need to know if he died. If they were truly a part of his life, they would know he's dead. 

The announcement thing makes sense to me. Although, I'm kind of keen on the idea of writing my own obituary (for better or worse). And as far as a funeral goes - I absolutely hate the funeral industry and the thought that anyone would need to give their trust or money to those assholes on my behalf makes me sick. 

Was that put in strong enough terms? I sure hope so. My reasons are pretty obvious. The amount of money funeral homes steal from vulnerable people with tactics based on grief and guilt is staggering. The services they provide are unnecessary and a detriment to people and the environment. I don't want any part of that. 

As much as I hate the funeral industry that's not the only reason I don't want a conventional funeral. I think that Chuck and I both believe they are, at the least, an anachronism. Plus, everyone hates them. 

I do understand the need for surviving family and friends to gather strength from seeing a community of people come together in love and grief. But, for the most part, the obligation to go to a funeral sucks. This is particularly true for all the people who are on the periphery of the dead person's life. And if I haven't prepared my loved ones for the fact that someday I won't be a part of their daily lives anymore, then I need to fix that as soon as possible. 

My guess is that my family will get together and have a celebration of life. Ugh. Although I do remember when Grandma Gertie died, some of the family gathered at a place for breakfast and had a great time talking about memories and thinking about the times we shared with Grandma. The love I felt was almost exhilarating. It was an incredible boon. So, I'm hoping that when I die, family and friends will have an excuse to gather - but not with the expensive, formulaic guidance of a traditional funeral. My hope is they'll head to a nice restaurant and have a nice meal. They will look at each other with loving eyes, listen to the soothing sound of familiar voices, and remember that our impermanence is what makes every person precious and worthy of appreciation while they are still alive. 

Chuck and I won't have funerals. He's going to heaven. I love Chuck and for a myriad of reasons the man deserves heaven. As for me, according to the little card in my wallet, I'll be headed to the UW Body Donor Program. 

First Post of 2021 - In October

Both girls are away at school. Deb and I are still working from home at the same table in the dining room. The cats are getting old and frail. I had kimchi for lunch and I like it (spicy sauerkraut). I bought tickets to see Tig Notaro but we have to wait until March for the show. I finished the Sandman Act 2 audio book/play and it was great (just like Act 1). I want to go see Dune in the theater. My parents will be moving into their new house on Dec. 3. I'm not decorating for Halloween and I don't know where we're going to spend Thanksgiving. 

I couldn't think of what to write but, now I'm pretty sure I could coax a blog post out of any one of the sentences above. 

I shouldn't. I was reading some of the old posts and wondered what has happened. I guess it's a lack of subject matter. I used to chronicle our lives and the girls would always provide something funny or interesting to write about. These days I got nothin'. So, I sit here in the basement and stare at the cats' water fountain. The sound of it makes me want to pee. 

Tomorrow I'm taking a half-day off and then I'll be skipping Friday entirely. I'll spend that time down here, in the basement, staring at the fountain and sensing that my bladder needs some relief. It'll be mostly that. I might take the wheel off my motorcycle. I have a new front tire and I need to put it on. I discovered a guy in town who can place the new tire on my wheel. He builds custom Harley trikes. I have a problem with being snobby about both Harleys and trikes but, this guy is cool. He's smart and funny and seems like a solid dude. I don't make friends anymore but, if I did I would try to recruit him. 

I'm not sure what that means. I don't know what I'd do with him following recruitment. I think we'd probably text a lot and I'd send him Tik Toks that made fun of trikes or something. I need to give some thought to how to be a human around other humans. Just not good at it. But, speaking of friends. . . 

Troy was texting me about buying a new Mac. I was giddy at the prospect of him getting a new system after having the old one for almost nine years. It is time. It makes me wonder if I need to upgrade to the new M1 chip. My Mac is only a couple of years old and I use it, primarily, to watch YouTube videos, shop for litter box accessories and type into this browser-based app. I don't need a multi-core processor to pull most of that off. Although, sometimes I edit a video or two and then I'm glad my computer has a little moxie. 

Troy does a lot more with his personal computing rig than I do. He needs the juice. He's considering something really cool. I told him when he gets it I'll invite myself for a sleepover and we'll make a pallet on his office floor so we can stare at his new gear all night. 

Is that what friends do at my age? I'm really not sure at all.

So, like - um. . .

This morning Deb made a little curtain in front of her face with the bedsheet and it was the perfect setup for a hand puppet to make an appearance. I popped the puppet, opened the hand puppet's mouth and nothing came out. I just kept opening and closing my hand making nonsense noises trying to think of something, anything, funny for it to say. 

This is scary. I'm very aware of my cognitive decline. But, these days, the reminders are way too frequent. The bon mot, the obscure pop culture reference, that guy who was in thing with the thing - almost all gone. I draw these blanks that my kids or my wife or my smart speaker need to fill in for me. 

I'm hating this. 

Making relevant, relatable connections for other people is what I do for a living. If I can't come up with new ideas, I'm sunk. Having at least a toe in the current zeitgeist is essential. Look, I'm not saying that I'm "hep" or smart or even all that aware. I am saying that coming up with something funny for my wife's hand puppet is a good indication of whether or not I can manufacture ideas on demand. 

I keep claiming in these posts that I'm going to do something creative. Now, I think that I need to just as much as I need to get my fat ass back on my elliptical. I've got to invest some energy into 2021 otherwise I'm kind of useless to anyone. 

I need a makeover. I need to take whatever scraps of good stuff that remain and polish the crap out of them. I need to hone them to the point that I can at least fake it. You and I will know the foundation is crumbling. I'm hoping an effort might help hold things together, at least for a little while longer.  

And, while I'm on the topic of reform, Deb and I were talking about how little we volunteer anymore. Lately, filling bags with rice and soy for Food for Kids once a year is about all we do - and this year we didn't even do that (I could blame COVID but, not really). 

This all adds up to trying and fix mind, body and soul. 

Here I sit and, just like this morning, I got nothing. I have no ideas. I keep telling Julia that she needs to just do one thing to tackle a list of tasks that seems insurmountable. I wish that I could take my own advice but, I don't even know where to start. 

Being on the cusp of a new year is helpful. New beginnings and all that bullshit. But, maybe this is the year. After all, we're all so eager to shed the stink of 2020. Change should come reflexively. It should be natural. You know, like coming up with a decent line for a well-timed hand puppet. 

Nap

I'm tired. I didn't realize how tired I was until it became clear that Joe Biden will be our next president. 

Every evening we watch the news and wonder what new gaffe or display of verifiable racism, homophobia, corruption, lying and bullying we'll see. It has been exhausting and embarrassing. What's been hardest for me is there are people I love who helped get Trump into office. Those same people tried to keep him there. 

I don't understand it. It seems as if I should make an effort to convince them they're wrong. Unfortunately, we've all been gaslighted for four years and we've even learned how to do it to one another. Rejecting solid premises, denials of proof, demanding unnecessary expertise and refusing to provide the same quality of evidence - these are just some of the techniques we've learned from watching Trump's press conferences alone. And when we use them on each other, our feet become buried in the ground and we will not move. 

Maybe I'd understand the rigidity if it was just based on policy or even our fears about what our government can do to us and can't do for us. But, Donald Trump is a dick. A megalomaniac, serial liar who has given legitimacy to hatred and corruption. These people, who I love, wouldn't accept a man who behaves like he does into their lives without trying to help him or at least find a way to keep him from hurting others. Why would they vote for him?

I often hear that people were searching for a non-politician, a businessman who will shelter them from taxes and keep their 401Ks safe. Maybe they could overlook a stunning lack of character as long as we can reliably call 911 and the unborn are protected. They elected someone who will make sure their way of life (and I'm not really sure what that means) doesn't disappear. To a certain extent, maybe they got what they wanted by voting for Donald Trump - but at what price? 

I listened to Joe Biden's speech on Saturday. It wasn't extraordinary. There was no soaring language or revelations about who we are as a nation. It was just a statesman who spoke directly to us about unity and the things that make us strong like hard work and telling the truth. It choked me up because it was something I haven't heard in four long years. It reminded me of how tired I am. It gave me hope that soon, maybe I can even take a little nap without keeping one eye open. 

When You're Feeling Sad

I've been on vacation for a week. We traveled north to a cabin that sits on the shore of Island Lake in Winter, Wisconsin. We floated around the tiny lake in a rowboat, in kayaks, and a little paddle boat. We caught fish that were almost too small to wrap their lips around the tiny hooks we had attached to our lines. At night we laughed at and with each other. It was only a couple of nights. I could have used more time away. At one point we were all floating in our respective watercraft and I said, "I didn't realize how balled up I was."

I was able to unwind for a bit. It didn't last long. I'm back home and the inconsiderate neighbors, the back-to-work blues, Allie returning to campus, Julia applying for college, my health, the pandemic, the economy and the myriad of thoughts that had me wrapped up tightly never went far away. This morning they came to a head and I snapped at Debbie for something minor. Then I realized I'm not angry. I am sad and anxious. 

I can cope. I'm old as hell and that means I've uncovered at least a few tactics that I can use to soothe myself. Here's a list (some are a little less self-destructive than others):

• Listen to music
• Eat all the things
• Do something that makes me sweat (lately, that means long bike rides, hikes, elliptical instead of the tennis or squash that my knees no longer seem to be able to handle)
• Create elaborate plans for self-improvement that I never enact
• Immerse myself in cleaning, yard work, car maintenance or any project that allows me to see that I made a change
• Clean and groom myself
• Stare at my smartphone
• Buy things that I don't need
• Sleep
• Journal or blog

It occurs to me that this list is entirely made up of singular activities. I suppose that reaching out to a friend or family is much healthier but, I don't seem to be built for that. As much as I love them, I know that my moods are contagious, and like coronavirus, I see no need to spread the infection. 

I'm looking at the list and thinking that I've done everything on it and I still feel sad. As grateful as I am for all the ways my life is incredible I'm still struggling. I can't stop paying attention to my ego. I can't quiet the voices that tell me that I'm going to lose everything and that my family will suffer. And the ennui of risk aversion is starting to really chip away at whatever personality or character I may have.  

The future is out to get me and it's arriving so incredibly quickly. 

Things aren't quite so bleak. Like I said, I'm just sad. I know you get sad, too. Maybe you should listen to a little music and treat yourself to a Little Debbie Zebra Cake? You should probably just go for a very long walk with your earbuds blasting whatever makes your head nod uncontrollably (but those Zebra Cakes are like crack so, good luck). 

Black Lives Matter

I could look up a bunch of talking points and recombine them here to make myself seem informed. When it comes to the topic of systemic racism, I want to figure out what I really believe. Echoing more eloquent words of like-minded people isn't a bad thing, I just think it's important to say something out loud and straight out of my head. 

I had an IM chat with someone on the topic of white guilt and what it takes to be an ally. I told him that I watched the local protests late into the night on TV. I didn't get off the couch. I didn't drive downtown and find a place to park. I didn't get out of my car and walk toward the noise on the street. And when the protests came to my Main street, I drove by and waved. I didn't pull over and stand with them. I didn't even honk my horn. 

This is the behavior that makes it difficult to change things. My horror and outrage at watching George Floyd's murder are meaningless unless I do something beyond pontificate to my family at the dinner table.

I have sought out many clips of police violence against protesters. The amount of cellphone video evidence of police violating individuals' rights in and outside of the protests is staggering. And yet, I still have difficulty reconciling the fact that I expect the police to protect me. And when I've had to deal with law enforcement, I've always been helped or at least been treated fairly. 

The fact that a white male just typed those words is not lost on me. 

The fact that I've never been worried about being pulled over for driving black is not lost on me. 

I was going to write that the police are just a symptom of the broader issues that contribute to racism. That's bullshit. And as much as I know we demand that police serve us in ways that they shouldn't have to, they are the ones shooting rubber bullets, yanking innocent people out of their cars, shoving old people and placing their knees on black mens' necks. 

I have no friends or family who behave like racists. I can't think of anyone in my circle who would treat anyone differently, let alone negatively, because of the color of his or her skin. However, if you are reading this and you want to respond to protests by saying something like, "all lives matter" then you, at the very least, have some reading and listening to do. If you are attributing looting and destruction solely to the protests and equating those acts with the message driving the protests then you are mistaken. And if you are someone, like me, who has always felt the need to back the badge, right or wrong then it's time to revaluate what that means and how that attitude is actually killing people. 

If I didn't write this, I am part of the problem. And after writing this, I am still part of the problem. Nevertheless, here's what I know: I know that racism is taught. I know that racism is systemic and that social and economic barriers are real. I know that the paradigm for policing in this country is deeply flawed. 

Of course, I don't have answers for any of these issues. But, these are the things I wanted to say, out loud and straight out of my head because, not saying anything at all is wrong. 

New Keyboard for a New Normal

A new normal? I used that term in some language I was drafting for work. I don't really know what I'm talking about. After more than a month of pandemic-related isolation, we've all found a "new normal". Here's where I put a full stop to typing another word about being stressed when I see images of cars lined up for food distributions and people fighting to get their unemployment benefits. Let alone the daily life and death struggles for anyone infected or caring for the infected.

Still want to read about my new keyboard? I didn't think so. But, that's not going to stop me from reviewing my new Karura2 gaming keyboard from Reddragon. $27 is what I spent to get a comfortable and quiet keyboard. It's not as quiet as my laptop keyboard and the pressure for different keys is inconsistent. BUT - the keys are illuminated with any color I choose and it's nice to have a larger footprint and a (123456789) keypad. For $27 this thing is a bargain. 

Another suggestion for your home office set up: a cheap laser printer. Julia has been printing a ton of worksheets for school and our old Epson inkjet was costing us $50 a page. You know that's a huge exaggeration - but is it? Every time I ran out of cyan or magenta, it wouldn't let me print just black. I know I could have set my print preferences to grayscale but even after the thing sat for a bit I'd still have to clean the print heads and that cost me half a cartridge, it seemed. For the price of two full ink refills, I bought a laser printer. Now I don't have to clean any print heads and we're getting 1,000 sheets per toner cartridge. I just bought a replacement cartridge for $21. I'm not doing the math - all I know is I have on-demand black and white printing at a fraction of the cost. 

That was the dullest thing I've ever written for this blog. I should be punished, somehow. 

The cat, Simon, sits behind me on the buffet and puts his paw on my back until I pet him. He obviously has become accustomed to having us here all the time. He has developed new needs and habits based on unlimited human attention whenever he demands it. He's now looking at himself in the mirror. He finds himself fascinating. I just gave him major pets. I feel better. I hope he does, too. 

I just had a text conversation with Davin. Now I'm thinking about making wine in my basement. This setup, below, looks like something I could hide in a prison cell. Perfect for my needs. 

I should get started. It'll only be a few weeks and then I'll post after I've sampled it. 

I can't wait. If you thought me going on about laser printer cost savings was interesting, just wait until I drunk post. I just know I'll have some real insights then. 

I Was Gonna Go Deep

I'm sparing you. You, dear reader, don't deserve what I was about to unleash on you. I went for a walk tonight and during that time I thought of a theme and a loose outline for this post. I had big plans. I was going to hit you with some truth and it was so profound your mind would be reeling for weeks. 

I started by looking up "Memento Mori". That should give you some clue where I was headed and why I decided to turn around. 

It's not as if I wouldn't have a decent excuse to bore the shit out of you with my ideas about the transitory nature of life. I'm living through a pandemic after all. The news I'm seeing, the statistics I'm hearing, the masks, the gloves, the weird looks as I move six feet away from someone on the sidewalk or at the store. I have an excuse. 

But, now that I'm here typing away, my appetite for serious reflection is gone. Now I'm thinking about all the jellybeans I've been eating lately. You see, I take a tiny pill every day that blows open my capillaries and veins so I don't squirt blood out of my tear ducts whenever I bend over to tie my shoes. The prescribed pill is smaller than the jellybeans I've been eating. I just ate 40 jellybeans. Am I naive enough to think that this 40:1 ratio isn't impacting my health? I've done my reading. I know that sugar is basically poison. So, why can't I stop eating them? Even the goddamn grape ones. I don't like grape but, I'm popping them in my mouth at an alarming rate. 

It doesn't matter. It's not important. 

I'm going to go to be and dream my weird, social distancing dreams. I posted to Instagram about dreaming about being trapped in a daycare owned by Don Rickles. It was called "RicklePals". I have a feeling I'm going to have quite a few more tonight. The pump is primed. 

I should just keep this post as a draft because it's worthless. But I just spent ten minutes typing so. . .