January 20, 2009 - A Day to Remember

I had errands to do. Small mundane duties in town that were time sucking pain in the ass mundane duties. The Post Office guy was less than helpful after I waited for fifteen minutes to ask why I had not received a package I was expecting yet. After fifteen minutes, "You have to go down to the Sanford Post Office, they handle street delivery for us and them." He gives me that "Sorry dude, sucks to be you" look and then looks past my shoulder anticipating the next person waiting fifteen minutes to be hopefully served and not disappointed..

Down to the grocery store to find the one ingredient missing for my big comeback as a cook. Damn! Not a bottle of Stout in the whole place. 20 kinds of high end lagers. 20 kinds of high end ales, but not one bottle claiming to be stout. Fuggit, I will improvise. And I rushed home to hopefully witness a historic event from 600 miles away.

Well I made it. With 2 minutes to spare. The small quartet or whatever they were were playing the last notes before Chief Justice Roberts was called upon to do his thing. During those few minutes the camera was focused on Barack and Michelle. Obama was doing his best imitation of somber and serious. I wonder if inside his mind, "Yeah Boy, I'm going to be the president, Can't wait. Let's go, oh I'm gonna be Prez. Yee Ha." And his stomach wound even tighter than he thought it could given how tight it has been for well, two years.

An awkward moment during the oath when Justice Roberts screwed up the oath for Obama to repeat. Barack hesitated (You know damn well he had it memorized)with a bemused look on his face. The Justice recovered and the thirty seconds many of us have been waiting for, hoping for, and yes even some praying for came to pass. "Ding Dong, the Witch is dead!!!!!!!" And all the two million munchkins bundled up in their winter best began to dance on the Mall.

As the camera panned out over the Mall, I was absolutely awestruck. I wonder if those claims of two million were understating the crowds I saw hanging off statues, poles, and literally dancing in winter coats. Millions of tears were shed, millions of cheers were said, and millions of people all across this nation were witness to an unequaled event in our history. Next time, we elect a woman.

I have all TV's on and NBC tuned in on the FM dial here in the office. I don't exactly know why, much of it has become just background noise. I stood still for the Anthem, felt the hairs of my neck stand up during and right after the oath, and now it is all just gilding the lily. Parades, Balls, gala get togethers will follow, but they do not matter. What mattered took less than 30 seconds.

As much as I have confidence in Obama to carry out his duties with due diligence, I know his election is just the start. He can point the way, but it is all us munchkins who will have to carry the burden. He cannot do it alone. Let's hope the good vibes and best intentions translate themselves through sweat and toil and will make us strong and self reliant again. Barack is just a man. We are the nation. It is up to us now.

Where's My Bucket?

I will sit here and begin post after post. Lay down one, maybe two sentences and suddenly that which had been a spark ends up being just that, nothing but a spark. I hoped I could turn this idea into something or take that thought someplace I never dreamed of before I started. Often I am successful. Most days it seems I have something to say on just about anything one would care to mention. Without even an inkling or close to a clue, I will gladly flap my non verbal gums I think just to hear them smack together. Gonna share my opinion whether you like it or not.

Not tonight. Even though I probably have written two thousand words today, I have shit-canned the bunch as not reflecting whatever it is I want reflected. Like looking in a mirror, closing my eyes and then opening them hoping for a different result, I have begun seven or eight posts today. And every one ends like the reflection in the mirror. Same ugly mug looks back and today it is not what i was hoping to find.

I have tried music. I have tried walking away for an hour or two. I have even tried the tried and true. Looked for an inspiring image , news story and even pulled out the one sentence trick I sometimes find inspiration in. No go. The well ain't dry, I just can't find the bucket.

So I will now go through what I have previously written and pick the best of the rest. In all those words there has to be something I can throw out there and at least still look myself in the eye.

Going Retro

I have one more time been taught the lesson that as soon as I begin to feel like I am in control.........As soon as I decide that all the recent chaos and upheaval that visits me is in hand and a suitable plan has been formed and instituted to meet said chaos, I begin the chest puffing process and allow the buttons on my shirt strain from undeserved pride in a job done half assed at best. I should be aware that I am but a boast away, an over confident moment from finding out that I may not be under the outhouse, but I am sure as Hell close enough to mingle with the smell.

I have not as yet, deleted some of the jive ass "I have the World by the short hairs" words that follow this admission at some point further down in the post. I have not decided whether I should leave those cocky words as witness to my overblown legend in my own mind. I'll figure that out later. No, did it now. The words are gone. But take my word on this, I was full of myself for sure.

I had finally come to grips with my temporary set back into stone age computing and even began to enjoy the noticeable simplicity of it when compared to all the bells and whistles my new computer bombards me with. Less memory, less things to think about. Seemed to make sense.

And then I boneheaded it. First I tried to play a Utube video with the idea of pasting it into this post. Remember the less memory, less thinking thing? The double edged blade is that with a lower IQ, the ability of this simpler machine to multi task is almost nil. So throw a video and music on it's over stressed brain and it begins to go into spasms. Some kind of Computing Grand Mal Seizure follows and I am left here with mouth agape and looking for some kind of stick to shove in it's C-drive mouth.

Helpless and without the necessary medical training for computers gone over the edge, I sit stone still hands frozen over the keys unable to do anything but watch the poor sad tired old machine have a conniption fit. At some point I pull the plug. But the damage has been done. Two more hours of safe mode, scrubbing the guts and talking nice to it before it would sit up and fly right.
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It is Martin Luther King Day. I will not dwell on the timely occurence of this day we show national respect to arguably one of the greatest American Blacks to come down the pike. The cause he championed and died for is now bearing serious fruit. It is a shame he is not here to see Obama swear to serve and protect us tomorrow. But he is not. I am sure he would ne pleased. And if there really is a retirement community in the sky from which the good and decent can view things after they move to the clouds, he is probably grinning ear to ear. I know I am.
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There's more, but I will spare you and me from the ordeal. Think I'll just punch up some more music , sit back, and try to figure out why it was such a struggle today. Won't waste much time though. Some days just don't go down without a struggle.

Parade Rest

The Town plow went by pushing the 12 to 14 inches of new snow off the road and into my driveway. I know he doesn't have a choice, but damn it's frustrating when he does it while I am standing there at the end of the drive enjoying the fruits of my own snow removal. A plow moving through fluffy snow at 20,25 mph can really toss it back. Like a pedestrian hanging curbside when a taxi runs through the nasty puddle, I had to kind of move quick to get out of the way. He did lighten up some so I did not get the full shot. And since the snow blower was right there still running, I quickly cleaned up both ends of my drive before putting it in the garage to drip dry over the dry well.

In the meantime while I survive another day in Eden, the Sanford High School Marching Band from our closest high school is probably now doing some cool thing in Washington DC. They were one band of many to be chosen to march in the Inaugural Parade. They left yesterday morning in two buses and landed in DC about 7:00 or 8:00 PM. With them exiting the bus were probably some very haggard adult chaperons thanking God they had arrived. If there is a true torture chamber found anywhere in this country, it is on a long bus ride with teenagers, or worse possibly, pre-teens.

So these Maine kids are about to participate in one of the most talked about and historic inaugurations our country has ever had. Many of them I am sure have never been much further than Boston or maybe Canada to visit Mam-May or Pepe. A visit to the Nation's Capitol will leave an impression by itself, never mind the event they are going to be part of.

A typical poor school syndrome played itself out. No money in the town coffers to send them, so they hung outside of local eateries, stores and on corners asking for nickels and dimes to pay for their trip. They had three weeks to pull it off and somehow they did it. A trip like that has to be damn expensive, what with the two buses, meals, lodging, etc. I tossed more than a few quarters and even some folding money their way. And I am a tight SOB.

I used to march in parades. I was a member of that elite force, The Charlotte Hall Military School Drill Team. We would hit four or five parades a year hoping to bring back another piece of brass for the school display case. Sometimes we did, sometimes we did not. But I will say I learned to hate parades. A lot of waiting around to start, then waiting around on the streets in formation at either "ten hut" or parade rest. Either one sucked if you were in it for more than fifteen minutes. The actual marching was okay. Once you started moving, you knew it would be over fairly soon. Most routes were a mile or less.

Many of the wimpy military schools followed the lead of the US Military and used special "parade rifles". Looked like rifles but were just empty wannabe rifles. Weighed about 1/2 the weight of a regular M1 rifle. We used the rifles each of us had been issued when we came to the school. The same rifles we shot at targets, we marched with. Those suckers were damn heavy. But once you get the center of gravity down, they spin and twirl almost as well as the fake rifles.

I may have already mentioned my afternoon in Baltimore with the homeless wino woman after a parade in Charm City. Once our parade duties were satisfied, we were given 4 hours of R & R to wander the streets and see what trouble we could get into.

Most of the cadets went looking for demon rum, Natty Bohemian beer in 12 oz bottles or women of loose morals and round heels who would take their virginity for $20, thank you very much. I went my own way that day and just began an aimless trek in the heart of downtown B-more. Spotting this raggedly old black woman coming out of a rundown bodega near Fells Point, I asked her if she would buy me some booze. Sure she would as long as I would buy her some too. So I gave her a ten spot and she disappeared back into the bodega. I had ordered a pint of whisky. Instead she came out with 3 quarts of Mad Dog 20/20.

I think I was just shy of my 17th birthday then. And even though I was sure I was hip and all, I had never heard of Mad Dog 20/20. It was wine fortified with extra alcohol. Sweet and disgusting, it went down easier the more you drank of it. I was going to give her some shit, but well she did bring me some alcohol. No sense wasting it.

I forget her name, but lets call her Ellie. Why? Hell I don't know, it just popped into my head. So Ellie grabs my arm and leads me up a street that ran along a city canal that emptied into the Inner Harbor. Streets ran parallel on both sides with huge decaying concrete barricades to keep the cars from taking a swim. Half way up the block she climbed up on the barricade and told me to follow. On the other side was just enough room to sit with our backs to the wall as our feet dangled over the water.

Ellie cracked open the first bottle. She took a huge swig and then handed me the bottle. "You don mind sharing a bottle with a raggedy ole nigger woman does ya?" 

Uh, well, I had never had the pleasure nor had I ever considered it, but I took the bottle and took as much as I could handle and handed it back to her. 

My stomach did flip flops and I wondered if I was going to heave. That was my first taste of MD 20/20.  My taste buds had been caught with their pants down. I had never tasted sweet wine before. My mom would not serve it.

Ellie and I sat there for a couple of hours anyway. Looking at the water, talking, and catching a serious wine buzz. She told me of lovers, husbands, jail, and some regrets. She lost a child in childbirth long ago and could never have any more. She went to jail for living with the wrong man doing the wrong thing. She thought she was 75 or 76. She wasn't sure because, they had no written record of her birth down in South Carolina where she had been born. Born poor, lived poor, and I would imagine that if she was homeless at 75 or 76, she died poor.

While the other guys were getting into trouble at bars that did not card or catching something they would regret from one of the whores on the "The Block", I stayed out of trouble having a great afternoon listening to an old homeless woman I am sure no one had listened to in a long time. I got my buzz but I also learned some valuable things about people. Everyone is interesting if you give them half a chance.

I never saw Ellie again, but she had her impact on me. She could have been bitter. Maybe she should have been bitter. But she was not. She considered life something that happened and crying about it only made it harder. Ellie had some serious backbone.

Damn Birds

The other day I mentioned "The Zone". Well I would say "Sully" Sullenburger was completely in "The Zone" when he needed to be. And 155 passengers on his plane owe their lives to him.

The word hero has been so overused and abused to describe everything from winning a sporting event to me poaching it's intent the other day and jokingly referring to myself as some sort of tragic computer hero. The word has been cheapened to the point that simply calling Sully a hero is not enough. This one incident to me personifies what a real Hero is. And yet because we are so quick to cheaply hand out the designation, Sully's extraordinary feat is not awarded it's due by using the word heroic to describe it.

Some would say he got lucky. Yeah, I can agree to that. But he was intelligent and experienced enough to squeeze every possible benefit out of that luck and everyone on that plane is checking their shorts instead of being signed into some morgue in New York City.

The whole incident seems to be a confluence of impossible events that ended in celebration and not tragedy. A flock of geese apparently started it all by flying too close and getting sucked into those huge turbo fans of the twin jets. With engines out and a dead stick, Sully just cleared the George Washington bridge and set the plane down in exactly the right spot on the Hudson where instant help was available by ferry boats. The odds of this happening in just this way must be astronomical. Regardless, 155 people are certainly grateful I am sure.

Another odd coincidence is the timing of this accident. With just a few days to go before we swear in a new president, this amazing accident has kind of lifted spirits everywhere setting up or continuing to build the optimism I feel all around me. Even as we face economic madness and folks are losing their jobs, there is a sense of positive things to come. That maybe we have stepped out from under the cloud and the Sun will shine once again. No matter what, I will take it as a positive sign of the future like some Indian medicine man seeing a hawk on a stump with a vole in it's mouth. If it flies into the Sun, good times coming. If it flies away, look out. Or something like that.
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I almost watched Bush say Adios the other night. Notice I said almost. I actually planned to listen to what the ole "decider" was going to say. Tuned in the speech a few minutes early so I could catch some of the pre-game buzz. What the talking heads predicted might, would or should be said by our outgoing President. But I could not do it. I thought I had mustered up enough whatever it was to be able to listen to his voice, pay attention to what he was saying and then maybe give him some points for at least finishing with some class. Since I never made it to the finish, I have no clue if he did it with class or not. I could only handle the first 30 to 40 seconds of the speech before I reached for the remote. Jeopardy, Leave it To Beaver, anything but Dubya.

You know what? I do not care if he has finally showed some humility and class. His prior 7 years of arrogant and poorly conceived policy decsions have dug too deep of a hole for me to give him any credit now. The man blew it big time. There are things he did I will never forgive him for. The Iraq war. Then not listening and keeping that bonehead Rumsfeld in charge at least two years longer than he should have. His wasting what goodwill the US had on stupid arrogant posturing. And his unwillingness to actually work for bi-patrisan solutions yet claiming those failures were not any fault of his. All around, the worst president of my lifetime. And that is saying a lot considering my opinion of Ronald Reagan.

But then today at 88.6 on the FM dial, I happened across Holy republican Freeper radio. I was bombarded with enough of the speech and lock step republican commentary to fill in any blanks about the final speech. Only the patriotic faithful truly understood what Bush tried to accomplish. Had he not been hamstrung with so many lefty pinko liberal losers, he might have just saved us from ourselves. Oh, and the tanking economy was really just bad luck and bad timing. He had nothing to do with it. Actually because of his efforts he forestalled the downturn that was really created by Clinton and his cronies. Overall, your basic Freeper primer of how to shift blame to Liberals.

Listening to it actually made my day. Many out of the blue belly laughs and much head shaking as I listened to this conservobot parrot all the Neo con buzz slogans. I knew all was right with the World. The fringe of the Right is rising again. They have found their soapbox and rediscovered their roots. Whining from the edges about how only godfearing devolutionist anti science people really have the clue to what it is all about. As a bonus there was a commercial for a book that explains why and how the Earth is really only 8,000 years old. And the idea that it is really millions and billions of years old is just evil propaganda from the dark side. I tell you it was great stuff.
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One of my more blunt and to the point commenters mentioned how I might have a problem with me being me. All based on the words I have posted in this blog. Sure I have problems with certain characteristics and foibles of mine. I would say anyone who even takes a moment to look at themselves as they think others might would find they have something that could be improved. As I said in my response in the comment box to him, I have never seriously looked at myself with the idea of fixing perceived shortcomings. Not once in my life have I made any resolutions other than to try and make it to the next New Year's Eve.

I cannot afford a winter vacation. I cannot afford a new red sports car. So what does a poor white trash 56 year old do to jazz his life up? Well, living in the cheap seats sure keeps the options limited to whatever he can drag out of nothing to change something. Because I want to get a lot of things done before I leave this planet, it was time to move out of the rut I had dug for myself anf try something new. But making a list of one or two things seemed like a token jestiure. If I was going to be successful I had to overwhelm myself with a list of as many things I could think of. Get em all down in black and white and see what direction I went from there. I have no illusions I will be even close to 100% successful. If I come out of with just the list, I will be ahead of where I was last year. At least I put some effort into figuring out where improvements would probably be appreciated.
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It's early evening and my belly is full. I am content and laid back. And this is a good thing since I am now typing on the slowest and saddest computer in Maine. York county anyway. Even after wiping almost everything off the hard drive of the old Windows 98 PC, it can still take minutes for a page to load. Although it has gotten noticelbly quicker. With a well fed and stupified mentality, I just do not care how long a page takes to load. So what if "f" sticks and "p" sometimes takes a emphsis hit to make it connect.

But it is a tough transition from my 19" flat scree Back to a dinky 13" tube style. The loss in zip is also a bummer. I like living here in Maine existing in the slow lane. But I hate cruising the Internet Highway on the shoulder. I want my computer with balls back. Hopefully we will have things back to normaal in a day or three. Until then, my visits to other blogs will be off I think. It takes so long for this old machine to get moving in another direction, I am going to use it as sparingly as possible.

Later...............

Frame of Mind

I am what, 16 days into the new year. At the end of last year I stepped outside of my end of the year box and boasted I would be making changes this year. To that end, for 16 days I have been moderately successful. I promised to blog everyday for a month and so far I have not dropped that ball. I promised to focus on self improvement this year through a variety of actions on my part. And then I promised to make every post for this month have something to do with this push to self improve. So far so good. Everything is running according to plan.

I have read or heard that it takes 21 days to pick up or break a habit. Some take longer, but I guess a smart guy somewhere spent thousands of hours and wrote thousands of pages on this and has concluded the average time to break a habit is 21 days. Fine. I am almost there. On that twenty second day, I can stop thinking about whatever it is I am doing and it will just happen like it was part of me forever. Right? Riiiight.

In that I have never really thought about an over all personality and character makeover, I am surprised at how much effort one needs to put into breaking a habit or picking up a new one. And in the scheme of real internal change, does it really matter if I follow through with the physical changes if my mind does not follow. The real change I need is inside. A fundamental change in my frame of mind. Whatever else I do or not do, this is the one thing that truly matters. Outlook is key. If I continue my the glass is half empty mentality, the glass will always be half empty. The positives of Life will be that much harder to recognize when they do pass by.

I understand the physical part of living. The nuts and bolts of what it takes to make it in the physical world. That I choose to ignore some of the basics does not mean I don't understand their importance. I think this willful disobedience to common sense in some things is that I do not completely understand how to live in the Emotional World. Those in-house group of feelings and attitudes that indicate one is balanced and on track seem to be hit or miss in me.

The big one I have problems with is caring. Oh, I care about others most of the time. But I have a problem caring about myself. Feeling sorry for myself is different. I do that also. But I think the fundamental interior design snafu is my inability to give a shit about what happens to me. If I can't care about me, how can I possibly expect to properly care about others?

This one big issue should be resolved. I have addressed it on numerous occasions, but have always fallen back into old ways. Now would be a good time to work on it. The deck of Life is stacked more against me than it has been in many years. And this time, I am the only one who can make it better. There is no one person I can turn to to solve this problem for me. Last time it was a lawyer. And it was an easy fix compared to this.

Where's a straight Razor When I Need It

As I type this I am watching some super scrubbing spyware program dig out all the nasties that my regular cleaning crew has missed. As I type this I would much rather be pounding the asshole who came up with "Antivirus 2009" a new one. Yeah it is a clever virus and it completely takes control of your Internet connection. Had I not had the old computer in storage as "a ship in ordinary" , i would be totally screwed. I was actually about to conduct bike shop business last night and list some items for sale to attempt to generate some income for the shop. So this is more than just being a severe personal inconvenience. It has messed with my business and I am now not the happy jolly guy I was two days ago............................

Seventeen hours later our poor and bedraggled protagonist sits forlornly at his desk feeling....... well, feeling beaten and cowed under the hob nailed boots of russian computer thugs who have taken control of his computer. He resents their cavalier and brutish invasion and would smite them down in an instant if he could. His connection to the rest of the World broken, our hero is reduced to punching keys on an ancient keyboard through a tired eleven year old hard drive while squinting at a 13 inch cathode tube screen that forgot long ago what real colors looked like. Adding insult to injury, our fallen champion finds himself $50 lighter in the pocket after a failed attempt to buy his way out of trouble.

Pity this poor man. For he deserves pity if nothing else for all his wasted heroic effort. He sits a fallen hero, a hero who may never rise up to meet evil again. For he has given up and realized his fate is now to be chained to this desk and desperately and futilely in ever weakening blows try to fight his way back into the light. But each keystroke gets weaker. Each click of the mouse less pronounced. He has lost his will to fight. The poor bastard.

So went my day here in Acton, Maine. Not just a day like any other day. Somewhere I have hoped to find the nerve to say it has been fun and full of excitement. But after the fourth unsuccessful scan and fix, watching all the objects in the counter get counted down kind lost it's luster and appeal. All in all, I'd rather be in Philadelphia.

Damn Computers

Well, it seems my computer has picked up some kind of extortionist bug. I am now using my ancient Windows 98 pc I hurriedly hooked back up and punched into action so I would not lose my so far excellent track record of actually posting everyday in a row for this month.

I had written up a wonderful rant about flag waving, State Law, Holy roller political God fearing interventionist assholes from afar and Gorham High School. Not a great post, but it made my point. And I felt better once I had vented. To finish it off as I do almost all my posts, I went looking for the appropriate Picture to hang up top of the post. I googled "Gorham High School, Maine, Images. Google predictably pumped up an insane number of hits based on those words. Sadly the images that always turn up as thumbnails at the top did not have a picture I liked. So I began opening the suggested sites in order from the top down. About halfway down, all Hell broke loose after I punched up a site. "Warning, you have been infected." And umpteen hundreds of pop ups began to dance around. I kept punching the close X but each time two new ones would replace it. I could not get out of it. I could not turn off the computer either. It was a form of computer Hell.

Now that all else had definitely failed, I reached deep into the short bag I have of computer tricks and unplugged the damn thing. I did not care after ten minutes of serious frustration and quickly over heating bile whether or not I did any harm to any fragile tidbit or kernel inside the computer. I was pissed and I knew for sure one way to get those pop ups off my screen. And pulling the plug had never failed before. It did not let me down this time either. There you bastard, take that.

After a moderate amount of time passed and I had calmed down, I plugged the computer back in. I ran all my scans, virus, ad, glad, and mad. Found some infections and according to the reports from each, all were summarily expelled, killed, or extradited to wherever it is they send those damn things. Turned off the computer in the civilized way by shutting it down politely and with care. Waited again another few moments and punched it back into life.

No go. I can load an Internet page, but in a few seconds the page is replaced by one that says "The page you are opening is probably contains spyware, adware, etc. Your system might be at risk, Click here to protect your system with Antivirus 2009".

First of all, I love the grammar skills of the losers who wrote the program. They can't write a clean sentence, but they sure as Hell know how to screw up some one's computer.

Next I notice from the addresses of the various pages in this extortion scam, it appears to be one of Microsoft's own sleazy set ups. They want $49.95 for antivirus 2009 and they assure me I will be all set. Even though all the up dated anti everything programs I have indicate that any problems have been eradicated.

I do not care if $49.95 will solve my problem. It has gone way beyond a fifty dollar divot in my pocket. I will be damned if I am going to pay some outfit $50 to release my computer from their clutches. I'll toss that damn computer in the dump first. But before I do that, I will sleep on it. Get up in the morning, punch it up again and see if things have gotten better. If they haven't, unplug , unhook, and haul it down to our computer guy. If anyone is going to get $50 bucks for fixing my computer, it is going to be someone local.

So there you have it, another post on another day, with Life in the Slow lane here in Maine suffering a bit of a back up. I am so glad I did not haul this computer to the dump yet. As bad as this old Windows 98 set up is, it sure beats what the newer one is doing right now. Small screen, slower than Hell, the keys on the board stick, and the mouse has a mind of it's own. But it does work as long as I am patient and honor it's idiosyncrasies.

I will close now. I have about had it with the high tech World for awhile.

Later.............

The Zone

Because I have been smitten by all things that have to do with straight blade shaving, I have been roaming the Internet like a dog looking for any trashcan to overturn. The more I immerse myself into this odd niche of civilization, I am impressed with how seriously folks take their leisure activities. And so there is no mistake, many if not most straight blade shavers seem to look upon their shaving experience as a type of leisure. Many speak of the calm and focus it takes to do it right as a kind of stress reliever or even a chance to completely vacate their minds of all else but the task in front of them. I have heard the same thing from cyclists and felt the same thing from my saddle time riding in the woods or on a long road ride.

I call it "The Zone".

I have not read much about Zen or other non traditional trains of thought. But what I think happens to us humans when we find something that truly satisfies us physically and mentally, a kind of peaceful contentment will settle into our brains and whatever it is we are doing becomes effortless involvement. We lose ourselves into the activity and allow the practice of it to bring us joy and contentment. Moments of this type of pleasure may be be fleeting, but once experienced they can hook you like a good drug.

I can probably identify maybe 20 rides in my life when I made it completely into "The Zone". Periods of exertion I could not feel any pain from the effort or loss of the line I was riding. Every obstacle overcome. Time became meaningless and I hoped the ride I was experiencing would never end. My whole body and mind were one with the trail, the race, or the hill I was attempting to master. I have no clue if this type of feeling is similar to what some wet shavers get, but I would guess that it is a possibility. Because I believe it is possible to hit "The Zone" doing any number of things. I have had bike repairs hit The Zone. Construction jobs enter The Zone.

When I was subcontracting siding from a fellow I used to frame with I had contracted to side a huge camp we built on Great East Lake with Cedar shingles. The owner wanted a star detail on the gable end. I had never done one but said I would try it out. I must have entered The Zone, because without any tutoring or help, I laid it out in the morning and finished before I headed home that evening. And it was as close to perfect as I have ever mustered up. I still think about that day.

The Zone exists. I have felt it and experienced it. But not for a long time. My last encounter was probably my last mountain bike race at Sugarloaf Ski Resort upcountry in Maine. I did not win or even come close, but when I started dead last and finished close to the front, my feet did not touch the ground the whole race. Not once. Not a dab, crash, or mis-cue for over an hour. I have finished higher in races, but never better. I was not even tired. It was a beautiful experience.

In the Maine State Softball Championship Tournament back in the 1980s, I hit two home runs in one game and drove in 7 runs. My 7 runs were enough to win the game and we stayed in the winner's bracket. I had never hit a home run before or since. But that day, I could not miss. We won the state championship and moved onto the Nationals. For one day I had entered The Zone and finished with over a .700 batting average for the day. Something like 18 hits and 9 or 10 runs batted in. It's odd but I was also sporting one of the worse hangovers I ever experienced that day.

So I know The Zone is attainable. It is possible to derive almost sexual pleasure from the other things we do in our lives. But for me, I seem to only locate it by accidental confluence. Stars line up or my brain shuts down just enough. Whatever it is, I have felt it. So today's post will be about The Zone and my quest to re-locate it at least a few times in 2009.

I Am Onto You

Okay, someone or something has fooled around with my karma, my bio rhythms, my position in the overall cosmos. I have entered either a Twilight Zone episode, a Stephen King story or my soul has been kidnapped by the ghost of HP Lovecraft. I am fully expecting to fall asleep tonight and wake up tomorrow sure I have been eating meat pies consisting of neighbors and friends.

Or should I be wondering if there is not some evil at work through the Internets to facilitate this horror and turn me into the next Chainsaw Massacre story line. The next victim to be gutted and hung by my shoelaces from the tire swing in front of some ancient decaying farmhouse in the woods nearby. Hanging there with ripped throat bleeding out like a butchered hog while slope headed inbreds salivate waiting for me to drain dry. Each one taking a turn with a stick poking me to see if there is any spark left. Meanwhile Mom hangs out the window and between cracked yellow teeth hollers, "Stay away from his eyes, I gits his eyes you little fuckers. Damn kids".

Or even worse, am I being conditioned to become the villain of the upcoming horror movie. I remember promising the stout pie guy that I would cook this fine meal for my wife of 29 years. I haven't cooked in 25 years. And what happened last night makes this of particular interest. But I am getting ahead of myself.

It all started with a recipe for steak and stout pie at what would appear an innocent blog with the word Restaurant in it's title. I should have known nothing is as it seems especially from a blog whose owner admits to being a hardcore fan of HP Lovecraft and also uses some phantasmic name from HP's writng as a prefix to "Restaurant" in his title. Using the word "family" in the title was an excellent subterfuge. Well it fooled me.

A few days later I suddenly decided I wanted to begin shaving again. 28 years of bearded bliss and all of a sudden I want to cut it off? And with a straight razor no less. The warning bells were clanging I am sure. I just could not hear them. A spell had been cast my way and I was helpless and under it's control. With no self will of my own, I have been forced to cruise the Internets for days now looking for the perfect razor to supposedly learn how to shave with it. Dutifully, I lurk in the forums of shaving masters. I wind my way through hundreds of razors for sale on Ebay. I buy razors and make plans to learn how to keep them razor sharp. All this out of the blue? I do not think so. Some kind of Sleepy Hollow madness is afoot. Some evil entity has me by the short hairs of my soul.

Bringing it all around in that full circle of unlikely coincidences, tonight I decide to see what the IFC channel is offering. The BBC drama, "Sweeney Todd" was on at eight o'clock. "Sweeney Todd", the story of a mad barber and his pissed off lady friend. Sweeney cuts their throats in the barber chair with....wait for it......yeah that's right, a fricking straight razor. He butchers them and then gives the choicest cuts,...... again wait for it.....to his meat pie making lady friend to cook up and sell to the public. When asked after being caught why he had done it, his reply, "Because I could".

Immediately I thought of that movie something something ripe green tomatoes and the barbecued wife beating husband. I am sure that was a subtle misdirect though. The evil whatever it is is only trying to keep me from waking up from this dream and realizing the path I am being led down.

Taken individually, these incidents would appear to be but random occurrences that somehow tie in with each other because of my over active imagination. Yeah right. I certainly did not conciously follow this progression to get to this point. I was sure up until tonight that every event in my Life pretty much plays itself out without a plan or devious thinking. But now I am not so sure.

Is there an evil twin lost at birth or one hanging around half formed inside me who goes by the name George Stark? Am I about to become the protaganist in a novel entitled "The Dark Half"? Probably not. It is a good thing I caught wind of the scheming evil bastards who have been trying to set me up. The wormhole into my inner self is closed boys. Find some other flounder to bother with your malevolent plans. For I am once again among the righteous and good. I have re-entered the good guy zone. Small children and ole ladies no longer need to break into a sweat when I come near. I have cast your malicious intent off of my shoulders. Begone you loser black caped, no faced bastards.

Of course if the plans made for me move in the other direction and I am soon to be part of someone else's meat pie, well, I guess being righteous won't help. But it might make me taste better.
__________________________________________________________________

Believe it or not but this post also started out with the best of intentions to continue my march to find the better me. The years and the self induced abuses have put a serious damper on my short term memory. I had heard that it could be improved through liberal mental exercise like actually trying to remember what I did yesterday, last week, or two months ago. I tried it and discovered this evil plot. I am sure they thought an old stoner like me would never connect the dots. Well see. Trying to improve yourself can save your life. I plan on being no one's meat pie. Now if I can only remember where I left that axe.

Mish-Mash, Just Taking Out Some Trash

I spent quite awhile working up a post earlier. All about rituals and how I was going to create some to bring some stability to my pinball style of living. Originally I was going to punch it up when I finished it, but something about it bothered me. I put it on delayed posting to publish at 11:22PM. I guess I am tired of writing nothing but self improvement schemes. I need a break. Take a breath. Cool my heels for a day or so. All this inner searching is making me ill. Not ill maybe, but as the list of things to improve grows, I am beginning to take a very dim view of just what the Hell I have been doing all these years. What with so many faults to fix. Need a day or two for some perspective and finding the middle ground between self loathing and self importance. Or something like that. I know there are some positives in there somewhere. And maybe this month of finding fault ought to take into account the positives also just to keep some balance. After all, the trick is always how to keep the rig between the ditches.

So tonight in honor of every post being about some sort of self improvement, I dedicate this one to improving myself by recognizing signs of burnout before the flame gets too high. How's that for a cop out? Tonight's offering will be a hurried, excuse filled, not much to say post. Pretty much just making sure I get one out for today.

I would love to recreate this dream I had the other night. But damned if all I can remember is enough to know it was definitely a great dream, but not enough to share any details. I had a convertible. It was 4 wheel drive and I lost it on some snow and ice going uphill and passed people by spinning around them. Cussed a lot but then the next thing I remember is sharing shots with someone I should know and telling them about my recent adventure with their 4 wheel drive convertible something or other. The dream had more before the mishap and much more after, but the spin out was all I could really hold onto once my baby browns opened up at dark thirty in the morning. I do remember laying there and thinking just how great it was to have dream again. Or maybe great to have a dream I remember any part of.

As to other excitement in my neck of the woods - It seems 7 Eleven is bound and determined to lose me as a customer. The bastards have cancelled their coffee card program. Buy six coffees, get one free program is gone. See ya. Adios. And I am pissed. Now their coffee is not fancy. But it is the best pushed here by the various quickie mart type stores that are within 10 miles. That would be three that are within that range. I bet I have bought at least 2000 coffees from them in the last ten years. Just my business alone ought to be enough incentive to keep the program. They'll be sorry. They dropped the free coffee, I just dropped them. Yeah, I know. I already had been breaking away anyway. Brought back brewing coffee at the shop as a cost cutting measure. Better coffee and I can drink more of it on less money than I was giving 7 Eleven.

Maine's murder rate jumped dramatically in 2008. After a relatively flat period of 15 to 25 murders a year up through 2007, 2008 ended with 30 people dying at the hand of another. Highest number of homicides in this state since 1989 when 40 people were offed. Not sure what to make of this. Nor am I exactly sure why I even mentioned it. Maybe it is because even when we are having a bad year, most of the nation would love to be in our shoes when it comes to crime. And yet, all the local talking heads are fired up and want action to address this troubling increase. One year does not indicate a trend. Seems to me we need a few more years of growing murder rates before we get all that fired up and call it a trend. As bad as this jump appears, Maine is still one of the top five safest states when it comes to crime in general.

So there it is - Later.........................

Adventures in Shaving - Part ll

I haven't even touched a hair on my kisser yet and I am already getting sucked into the dark world of wet shavers. What is it with us guys anyway? Something new catches our fancy and we lose all common sense and logic in our quest to be part of the cool crew, the cool sport, the latest manly fad. We make fun of women and their collection of handbags, shoes, silver spoon collections, yet we dumass men can be just as bad. Only for us it's cool stuff like chisels, sharpening stones, collectible tools we will never use, and yes as I have found out recently, straight razors.

These wet shaving fanatics are as crazed as any hobby group I know. Thousands of words expended on more than a few forums about the proper strop, the best hones, and of course their ever growing collection of straight razors. The are over 60 videos on Youtube that focus on all the various considerations one needs to think about in order to be a hot dog with the straight blade. How to strop a blade. How to hone a blade. How to pick a razor. What brush and soap is best and how to lather up to get the best beard softening bang for the buck. And yes, more than a few enthralling videos of guys shaving using the latest and greatest techniques. The proper and best shave entails two complete passes at least. First with the grain and then for that baby butt finish another pass against it. Edge of your seat stuff.

I understand. I am a crazed bicycle guy. I own more than I think I do. Must have 14 or 15 bikes scattered around the homestead or down to the shop. So yeah, I do understand. When I get into something, I really get into it. Hell, my fascination with bikes turned into a living, sort of. A lifestyle that supports itself most of the time anyway.

After about a week of exploring this unique sub culture of mostly men, I have finally begun to understand the shorthand, the abbreviations, the lingo. It seems that if I am going to make the cut, pee in the tall grass with the big dogs, it is a good idea for me to know how to hang with them as we scratch our respective crotches and talk about everything relating to sharp edges. "Yeah dude, I just got a great deal on a Truefitt & Hill ivory Badger hair brush for $70." And then you just know he postured that superior cool dude way and metaphorically spit on the ground.

For the longest time I had no clue what they meant when they derisively talked about "DE" shaving as a kind of wussy wannabe retro girly way to shave. For several days I just accepted my ignorance until this morning when the light went on. "DE" - Double Edge. Those razors with the two edges that Gillette introduced back in the day to replace straight razors. The straight shavers I think consider them as providing a sub par shave when compared to the shave a straight can give under experienced hands using a properly sharpened razor. Apparently razor burn is a major issue with DE razors. The snobbery of one group versus the other reminds me of the ribbing the Single Speed cyclists and the multispeed cyclists throw back and forth. Straight razors are the single speeds of the shaving world. The hip and cool way.

Shaving with a straight razor is way more than being about the shave. The shave is just one component. Buying and collecting the razors is big, as is owning as many different kinds of hones and being able to out tech talk the next guy with your knowledge of grits and techniques of finding that perfect edge. Some of these guys have 10 -15 strops. Some have razor collections in triple digits. Definitely a hobby that sees some intense over the top involvement.

Doing all this research and lurking in all the forums has fired me up enough so that I actually used advice I found on the Internet and bought my first straight razor. The JA Henckels #84 pictured at the top should be in my hands by the end of next week. The advice across the board from the experienced guys is a newbie such as myself should not get a razor that has not been prepped to what they call "Shave Ready". Apparently brand new razors are not "shave ready" out of the box. Everyone advises that first razor should be a used one that has been honed and shave tested. Learning the art of the proper hone is the most difficult thing to master.

So I went shopping at Ebay. This was my first buying trip there. I have sold on Ebay, but never bought anything. How could I resist this -

"This is a J. A. Henckels #84 straight razor that was made in Solingen, Germany. The blade has some very light stain marks, but still has a nice satin finish full 5/8 wide, spike point blade and provides a beautiful shave. Showing only minimal prior usage, it opens and closes snug and smooth on the pivot pin and well centered between the handles. The silver bolstered yellow celluloid handles are in near perfect defect free condition. The blade and handles of this razor have been cleaned, sterilized and restored throughout, even in the pivot pin area under the handles, which is in absolutely clean, like new condition. Recently honed and shave tested this razor comes shave ready."

A new Henckel would cost over $140 and I would have to pay someone $20 bucks or so to get it shave ready. I paid $86. And it comes ready to rock. Probably could have gotten it for a few bucks cheaper, but I had been beat out just previous by some flounder when he upped the bid $1 in the final seconds on the razor I really wanted. I made sure and with 15 seconds left, I punched in $5 more bucks just to make sure he didn't nickel and dime this one away from me.

Now I have to ask myself why I just spent $86 on a straight razor. A shaver I will have to support with about another $100 worth of shit to make it work for me. I have a brush, but it is a $5 dollar brush I bought 40 years ago. I will probably start with it. But I need shaving soap, some kind of fancy smelling aftershave, and a leather strop. Decent strops start at around $40 to $50. The soap is all over the map. Basic shaving soap, $5. Fancy shaving soap, $40. Aftershave is about the same, all over the place in price. $100 more bucks and I still have not bought any superfine honing stones yet. The set up to have will be $140 or so. The honing stones can wait. I have some already and and do not want to duplicate anything I already have. More research in this department. One thing though - investing this much money and time into the idea of shaving will most likely result in me following through with it.

Now I understand the urge to own these things. They are simple in their function and many are just plain beautiful pieces of work. The variety of razors is astounding. And most of the ones still out there are older or antiques and still being used. I would love to locate my Uncle Herb's razor and have it restored if possible. Shaving with it would re-connect me to him in a way we never connected. As men. Besides, as most of the hard core shavers assure me, you can't own just one.

Java

I am glad I have 31 days to come up with all the things I need to change to make Life idyllic and grand again. Surely 31 days is long enough to identify those personal facets and habits which need tweaking, deleting, or turning it up because it really is something I do but not enough of. One month must be a reasonable time span to find all the faults there are to find. The rub is deciding just what is a fault, a harmless idiosyncrasy, or life threatening tendency. The process of deciding is more complicated for me. First I have to weigh suffering the mental and physical pain of modifying a certain habit against the perceived positive results. Is this really worth it in the scheme of a life spent so irresponsibly. It's never simple. Certainly not a breeze when subliminally I continue to find excuses that will allow me to fail. Two steps forward, 1 & 1/2 steps back. Progress is measured not with a yard stick but with vernier calipers and a microscope.

Google came up with 257 million hits when I punched in the word "coffee". 257 million bits of information in 0.18 seconds. This wonderfully tasty stimulant is found in every corner of the globe. It is served in many ways every day of the week. In the US, coffee accounts for 1/3 of the water we throw down our gullets. Shade grown, sun grown, over 100 million people rely on this world's most traded commodity after petroleum for a paycheck.

Coffee has been and still is entwined in international controversey, religious edicts, and off and on been banned for a variety of reasons. Apparently the enviromental folks are concerned about the impact it's cultivation has on the rain forest ecosystems it seems to love to grow in. Up until the developement of the sun grown variety "robusta", shade grown coffee had been on the A list of good crops to cultivate if one was concerned about trees, furry critters and creepy crawlers that like the high canopy. Shade grown is still the preferred type if one takes this drink seriously as it should be. Bad coffee should be outlawed and anyone caught dispensing it to the public be flogged. Well, berated strongly anyway. Flogging might just be over the top and too Gitmo like.

My parents drank huge amounts of coffee. Right into the evening and beyond. I was never allowed to drink it. Yet my arm was almost twisted to make me drink wine at dinner. Odd. But there it is. It didn't bother me though. I hated coffee as a youngster. Thought it tasted like crap. It was not until I became an over the road truck driver that I began to develope a taste for the invigorating brew. Many a mile passed under it's influence.

So I became addicted. At some point my day could not even begin to fire on all cyclinders without at least one, preferably two or three cups of Joe in my belly sending that caffiene to where it needed to go to get my day started with both eyes open.

Like any addiction, a little became a lot. two or three cups of coffee became five or six. And then I noticed one day I was brewing 24 cups of the stuff some days at the shop. Living my waking hours buzzed to the gills on caffiene. Moderation meant I stopped tossing it back by eleven o'clock.

A perfect personal attribute to include in this month of resolutions I thought. In my quest to better health, the idea of a full night's sleep made some sense for a minute. And curtailing my intake of coffee couldn't hurt. Matter of fact everyone, and I mean everyone insists cutting back will indeed allow the natural soporific chemicals in my body to do what they do. Make me sleepy.

I began a rudimentary investigation into coffee looking for all the negatives I could to bolster and make me strong enough to fight this evilly good liquid. Negative positive reinforcement. But instead my eyes and brain kept finding benefits. Coffee is thought to reduce risks surrounding heart disease, Alzhiemers, Parkinsons' Liver damage, and the antioxidants in caffiene keep those nasty free radicals from damaging cells. Damn. I guess I should drink more.

No. I will try to cut back. Sleep is an important ingredient in my recipe for better health. Besides, I am sure the amount of coffee I ingest is probably way over what would be considered a sane amount.

Books

Books. We all have them kicking around our homes. Some homes like mine have more than some libraries. Other homes, just a few. But I would guess every home has at least one book in it. I have read many of the books I own, but being honest, I have many I have never even opened. Many are what came my way along with all the other things my parents left when they died.

I often wonder why I cannot bring myself to rid my home of the books I will most likely never read. Why, for instance, does my father's antiquated collection of books on electronics still gather dust on a shelf in the office? Do I harbor some secret fear that some day I might be in need of guidance in order to fix some radio still sporting vacuum tubes instead of transistors? Why can I not toss the pulp mysteries my mom loved to wile away her time with? I have no real interest in who dunnits, but still they stand in erratic rows waiting for someone to open them and share the adventure their covers promise to deliver.

Surrounding myself with stupid numbers of books is like comfort food for my soul I guess. I don't need to open them to get my fix. Just having them in close proximity is enough now it would seem. I used to read quite a bit. Matter of fact, I often would go on binges like a drunk out on a bender. Read one right after the other, sometimes consuming two or more in one day. Books and their wonderful repositories, libraries were sanctuaries for me as a youngster when faced with another new town, another place I knew I would never have the chance to feel like I belonged because a move to greener pastures was always waiting in the wings. I would sit for hours on hard wooden chairs at wooden tables and consume piles of books. It almost did not matter what I read. Just losing myself in the worlds where I wasn't was what I wanted.

There is something special about reading from a book that magazines and the Internet do not offer. reading a story that has you so hooked you hope it never ends. When you flip the last page and read "The End", a sense of sadness that it's over mixed in with the thrill of having just lived a wonderful concoction of ideas, times, and interactions brought to you by the mind of another. The physical part of turning pages part of the allure. Bookmarking a page and knowing you can come back and pick up where you left off. Going back to pages previously read and re-reading. Yeah books are probably the most civilized and seminal thing we humans have come up with. Books became the record of the human knowledge and what makes us tick. The Internet can't come close to the affect books had on the human race.

But somewhere between childhood and college I stopped going to libraries so much. I still read and still checked out books. But other things crept into my life that took my attention away from bound pages of words. Women, partying, earning a living - my consumption of the written word began to come in quick hits from magazines and newspapers. I had no time to waste on a good book never mind a bad one. And that was a shame. If I have one regret it is breaking that habit of reading whenever I could.

This promise post for 2009 is to try and read at least one book every two weeks. In addition, replaying old favorites will be frowned upon but will beat a blank. I want to add to my collection. I can always find room for more books. After all they must add some R value to the exterior walls I hang them on. And remember when it all goes to shit in 2012, losing the Internet won't be such a hit.

Some authors and/or subjects I hope to lose myself in are HP Lovecraft, Civil War books, and whatever writings by Anthony Burgess I may have missed.

Old School Rules, Gillette Drools

So 2009 is my year for big changes. Internal, external, diurnal, eternal,and infernal. I am bound and determined to finish the year with as many bad habits as possible tossed in the crapper. And I will hopefully replace them with enough improvements to place me on the first Saint list to come out after I am dead. Or at least put me on some also ran - almost great but he putzed around for too many years, but here's an attaboy for finally getting it together list.

Now, I can promise to stop farting in church or promise to never ever leave the seat up again. But promises like that are promises that even if successfully followed through with, often get lost in the "should of been doing that right along and who cares if it's a big deal to you". Promises that are only noticed when they are being broken. Folks don't notice it when you don't fart, but they sure as Hell perk up when you do. A real ripper on a wooden pew can sure take the spunk out of a good holy sermon.

But how about a makeover, CRUM style? A physical transformation that will make the ladies swoon and all the gnarly dudes want to be my bud? We're talking serious stuff here. Changes that will not go unnoticed.

I have not seen my face more than twice in 28 years. Two times I have shaved my beard and immediately allowed it to grow back. It was not so much I didn't like what I saw, I just hate to use a razor. Shaving to me has always been about the dumbest use of a sharp blade I could think of. And yeah I know, the ladies seem to like that baby smooth face. But well, I was never much on impressing them or if I was I was terrible at it. So the first chance I got, I went comfortable and free. For the last 28 years I have averaged slightly over one haircut and one beard trim a year. A couple of years there I had delusions of presenting a sharper image and had two haircuts in one year. In between I kept the lips exposed with some spiffy little scissors and the flora that sprouts from and around the ears and nose handled with one of those fancy electric trimmers that run forever on one AAA battery. I have had the thing for years now and never swapped out the battery.

I still have a razor. My dad bought it for me when I went to military school forty years ago. Some safety razor that always got clogged and I would cut my hands up trying to clean it out to save those expensive replaceble double edged blades. At that time, giving it to me was a token recognition that I might be a man soon. All I could use it on was my upper lip about once a week. But then the facial hair came in droves and by the time I got to college, I had to shave once a day or suffer from the awful nubby five o'clock shadow that itches like Hell. That's when I decided I hated shaving. It was shortly after I turned 28 I gave it up for good.

When I was a kid, I used to visit my aunt and uncle here in Maine in the summer. Back then I lived wherever my father was posted or decided to live that year. One of my fondest memories was watching my Uncle Herb go through his morning shave ritual. He did not use one of those pansy safety razors. He would pull out an ancient straight razor and while the water heated up out of the faucet, he would begin to strop the razor with authority on this old piece of leather he had hanging from a hook next to the sink. Back and forth. Back and forth. must have done it a hundred times each morning. Then he would pause and place a thumb square on the edge of the razor to test it for sharpness. If satisfied, he would he would drop a piece of soap into a cup, run some water into it and begin to whip up some suds to paint on his face.

Then very carefully he would take that razor and shave off his overnight growth. I was always astounded he never once nicked himself while I was watching. Aunt Helen always said he was showing off for me. She said he regularly would open himself up when no audience was around. But Uncle Herb denied it. Told me the only time he ever nicked himself was when Aunt Helen was yammering on about this or that and breaking his concentration.

So I have had this life long fascination with wet shaving like the old guys did back in the day. Shaving on the edge so to speak. And in my effort to come up with ways to improve the image even if I can't improve the package, I figured I would find my face again and keep it found with a daily shave by the edge of a straight razor. Seemed a simple and straight forward goal, this wet shaving gig. I knew straight razors were still available since I had seen some in the window of some store at some mall sometime in the recent past few years.

Knowing the Internet is the place to find out anything, I googled "straight razor". Damn. Once again, I was overwhelmed with too much information. First of all prices for a razor started at $4 and seemed to top out around $500. There were shaving kits that included everything, strops, sharpening stones, soap, cup, brush, and razors from $49 to over $1000. I found how to videos that would train me in the fine art of cutting fur off my face. There were forums about shaving old school. Stainless blades, carbon blades, titanium clad super secret technology old guys wearing those alpine shorts made blades. And then there are blades probably made by slave children chained to stamping machines who sharpen the blades on the soles of their dirty bare feet. Yeah, straight razors are still available and it appears like anything that plays to our nostalgic tendencies, you can drop stupid amounts of money into it.

But I will not be deterred. I will make this vow, no, this resolution now. By this time next month I will be clean shaven and promise to keep it that way for at least a month. And I will honor the past by using the edge of an unprotected blade. For when the shit hits the fan and the grid goes down for good in 2012, all you losers using a Norelco or a Remington will be suffering bastards and I will get all your women because I will hopefully by that time have it down well enough to not have to keep the band aids and sewing silk handy.

PS - Just wait until I tell you how I want to keep my yard mowed next year.

The Common Cold

In my initial effort to pursue better health and also meet my self imposed rule that every post this month has to have something to do with making resolutions, today's post is about learning.

I have always been into learning new things, ideas, and facts. But my self education has always followed the route of what struck my fancy at the time. Seldom have I done research aimed at self improvement just for the sake of self improvement. 2009 will be the year I actively seek information about how to improve the health issues I will be facing in the future.

I am finally coming to grips with the fact that my chronic liver problems and the resulting immune deficiencies that are tagging along will not go away nor will they stay in the back ground anymore. I must pay closer attention now to any sniffle, cough, or loggy head I wake up with. Minor ailments can turn ugly and take me weeks to get back to where I was before. My current battle with the little beast at the top left is an example.

Rhino virus. The Common Cold. Up until the other day, I did not know one meant the other. Rhino virus was in my mind some exotic form of the flu. As I understand it now, the flu is a different animal altogether. In my mind both were just variations of the same theme. But no, I guess not. Both are viruses but hang from different branches of the viral tree. Both can kill, but Influenza does it more often. The common cold often just opens the door for other ailments to sneak in and take you out.

Living the last 56 years as a health issue challenged dumass, when I became ill I rode it out sure I would be okay in a few days. Flu bugs and colds were only minor inconveniences. Usually I could still function even if uncomfortable while doing it. Now when they hit, I have to be cautious about how I react. Especially in those days when I begin to feel better. Relapse has become the new enemy for me. If I push too hard too soon, I face a more debilitating period of suffering then the initiating disease brought on. Now it seems breaking into a sweat can mean more than just a good work out. To say I am a tad paranoid would be an understatement.

All this bullshit with my health brings up the big question of why I am not seeking help from the massive health care infrastructure that exists all around me. Well, I don't trust the bastards. They have screwed up my bad situation with poor advice, bad medicine and huge bills. I can no longer just nod my head and say, "Sure Doc, whatever you say." Their advice has cost me more than just empty pockets. My health is up to me. As it always has been, but now I will not put my faith in any doctor without first researching and double checking everything that doctor advises me to do.

They want blood. I will ask why. They give me a script. I will ask why. They tell me the sky is blue. I will ask why. I have entrusted my health for too long to luck and the hit or miss abilities of an industry that is more about my ability to pay a bill than making me healthy. The Hippocratic Oath should be renamed the Hypocritical Oath.

He Sat in the Woods

He sat in the woods. He was not there by choice. He did not volunteer for this experience. He was driven here by forces stronger than his character could handle. He was here now and he knew it was his one final mistake. The reason that brought him here to an environment he knew nothing about dimming in his mind as he faced the result of his poor judgement at coming here in the first place.

He stared at the bone sticking out of his leg. Pulling off a glove, he poked at it with a finger. Tensing in anticipation of the pain that should follow, the man was surprised when no flash of gut wrenching agony followed. Surely there must be pain he thought. No pain was not a good sign. Of this he was sure. He attempted to move his other leg. Nothing. Instead of feeling dread or panic, the man was only puzzled. He was positive he had not fallen that far. He was alive after all he thought. But at least now he knew why there was no pain below the waist. And again the notion of this not being a good sign settled into his thoughts. Probably paralyzed he mused without emotion.

He wondered how long he had laid here unconscious. It was dark now. The stars he could see when he bent his head back were sharp and brilliant. When he fell it had been mid day at the latest. And now in the dark all he could think about was what time was it.

He wondered why he had struck out alone. He wondered about a lot of things as the life slowly faded from his soul. Just what had made him think he could find that lost hiker when he had never even hiked himself. It had been desperation and cockiness that made him think he could walk out of here, claim that reward and become the hero. He had followed the news as hundreds of people had searched in vain for the rich family's son that first day. He allowed his imagination to push him to action. He knew he could find the lost camper. He now knew he was wrong.

All these thoughts faded to meaningless back noise as the man became comfortable with his fast approaching mortality. He knew this had been a final misstep, a boneheaded play and wasted no time beating himself up. He did not even worry about what death might feel like. What it was to enter from the here and now into the hereafter. All he was concerned about was what time was it and why the Hell had he left his watch back at the car.

News Flash - Earlier today a hiker found what authorities believe might be the remains of the Hurlton's son who was lost 6 months previous when he failed to return from a day hike near Tuckerman's Ravine. It appears the victim fell some 100 feet into a ravine. The bones had been scattered by scavengers, but at least one broken bone was recovered. What surprised the Rangers was how close to the highway the remains were found. Less than one tenth of a mile to the parking area near Tuckermans Ravine. An autopsy and DNA tests are pending.

In The News - Richard Hurlton, who had been believed to be lost hiking in the White Mountains of New Hampshire eight months ago was picked up today near Brownsville, Texas as he attempted to drive a stolen car into Mexico. Traveling under the name of George Philpot from Manchester New Hampshire, he was driving Mr Philpots car. Law enforcement officials could only guess that the pending drug related charges hanging over Hurlton before he went missing were the reason. But now they are questioning him about the whereabouts of Mr Philpot who disappeared at about the same time Hurlton did.
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What does this little bit of fiction have to do with my month long dedication to resolutions? At first nothing. But then I decided that it represents another commitment I made last year. To push myself and my writing in directions they have never been. Good bad or indifferent, I figure the idea is to have fun. And this piece was just that. It started with the one sentence, "He sat in the woods". One thought. And just flowed from there.

Kitty Gym - Phase One

We have seven cats and one three legged dog. Only two of the cats are designated "outside cats" as their status as such was grandfathered after Bobbi passed the "no more cats outside" edict of 2003 or was it 2004? Up until then all of our furry friends were allowed to wander aimlessly outside. But some local bad ass predator, a coyote, a fisher, a fox, or very mean turkey decided that our cats were delectable treats easy to pick up when passing by our spread. So for several years anyway, we have lived with at least seven of the little flea magnets inside 24/7.

Cats do not care where they are when it comes time to do cat stuff. If they have no tree to climb, they will jump up on the refrigerator. If they have no wonderful dead tree to sharpen their claws on, the finish boards on the stairs and balusters work just as well. Inside or out, they do the same stuff.

We have bought them various cat play stations. They seem to like them well enough, but an empty cardboard box or vacant paper bag works better. Mantles, dressers, closet shelves or the fan hood over the stove are all better than anything bought from Pets R Us. And scattering whatever is on these peices of furniture is more fun than batting around that store bought wiffle ball with the bell in it.

Bobbi had been hot to purchase some of those high shelves made specifically for cats to wander around above head level. Set up like some kind of 6 inch plank highway, the cats could take the high road as well as the low road. We looked into the price of these and well, let's just say $40 bucks for 3 foot piece of pine set up on brackets seemed a tad steep. And since I have more than a lifetime supply of old and ancient wood slowly decaying in various piles around the yard, I decided to build them a gym set.

Most of the wood used in this first phase is over 150 years old. I tore it out of the space my bike shop went into when we renovated the space from old blacksmith and carriage barn to bike shop. The two main supports are pit sawn hemlock and the shelves are pine milled the same way. I love reusing stuff. Especially old stuff like these boards. Some of the wood came from hard wood shelves I scored back 30 years ago in Baltimore as a mover moving a library from their old building to their new building. Not a store bought chunk of wood in the whole thing with the exception of the glue and the screws.

One of the things one has to do when working with tired twisted old lumber is not be concerned with perfection. If you will notice the top shelf has a bow in it on the left side. The cats won't mind, and I am proud of the fact that I got it as straight as I did. That board was some twisted before I started. Using found materials for cat enjoyment is also a plus when you know they are going to shred it to pieces.
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So I am on the fourth day of a month long series of daily posts. It's odd that when I feel no compunction to create, I am full of ideas. But add in the slightest bit of pressure, or commitment, and the well seems to dry up. Through a series of dedicated resolutions, I had visions of resolving all that needed resolving in my life. By the end of January, I would have "the plan" in hand and 2009 would play out like some movie script. Add some mind numbing cough due to some bug and a smidgen of infection in the ears and all of a sudden, nothing but chaos and disconnected ideas briefly surface. Any plan at this point lays in ruins along side the mountain of Kleenex in the trash can. So all I can come up with are the broad areas of concern. Specifics will have to come later as I begin to feel better.

When one lives their life proudly on the premise of "going with the flow", it can be a daunting task to successfully come up with a schedule that still goes with that flow, but keeps the train on the tracks at the same time. Taking it as it comes casts aside any idea of projecting what might be in the way. Each bridge is crossed when approached. Planning ahead is but a joke with the same old punch line, "Well, I never saw that one coming". Of course picking up good habits after years of breaking in bad ones is not something I should expect to happen over night. And I don't. But the tendency to allow frustration, then surrender to take over my best intentions always looms large when even contemplating self improvement.

"Oh well, whatja gonna do" and then shrugging my shoulders is on the banned list this year. No matter what else I do, I will alter some courses, some well established patterns of behaviour. If nothing else, a year dedicated to the struggle surely seems more noble than making the promise and then at the first sign of failure, dropping back into my old ways because they are comfortable and I don't have to think about them.

So today's main resolution is to improve communication. On the surface and based on my level of interaction at this point, it would seem one of the faults that would see the biggest improvement with the least amount of effort. But knowing myself as I do, this one may end up being my biggest success or most profound failure. Communicating indicates a willingness to let people in. This one could be tough. But one that absolutely needs some work.

An afterword here - I seem to be nursing a negative trend with every post. Every improvement I set my eyes on, I toss in the negative post script of "this may be the toughest thing I do." Well shit. I guess just the idea of changing anything scares the piss out of me. And loading up on negative vibes somehow gives me comfort or will when I inevitably fail. Of course, recognizing this will hopefully reinforce my backbone when I conjure up difficulty out of nothing just to help me avoid stepping outside of my comfortable box.

CRUM Time

I am not sure when it happened. When I think back even when I did not feel out of sync with the rest of the World, I probably was. Either I did not sense it or more likely did not care to even take notice. Young and Dumb can cover a lot. As I matured, hit my stride, and now have enough years under my belt, I am quite a bit sharper. I have noticed some things about my handling of the trip that fall outside the normal flow of activity in my neck of the woods.

I am not sure who saddled me with this. CRUM Time just sort of evolved over the last 10 years. What I called "fashionably late" became CRUM Time. We would set up a meet to ride, eat, whatever and I was consistently 15 minutes late. I would often set up my time 30 minutes ahead. Did not seem to matter. I always came 15 minutes late. I had created my own time zone.

In order for me to be in sync with the rest of the world around me, I have always had to think fifteen minutes faster than the speed at which I was traveling through my day. If I had a three o'clock appointment in the real world, I had to be be there at two-forty-five in my world. This slightly out of phase existence has not been a problem usually. As long as I compensated properly, my world and the rest of the planet seemed to cooperate just fine.

Well it is time to add fifteen minutes to my clock. After all this is my year to really push resolutions. Unfortunately this is one of my regular resolutions. Seems I have promised to pick up my pace before. But in order to get all of them out there I can, I will add this one in once again. We'll call it my throw away resolution. The first one I won't feel too guilty about not following through with as long as all the important appointments are kept. Speeding up my world by fifteen minutes might be more than I can handle.

Fogged and Clogged Brain Trains

Okay. Another back against the wall post. Another token post to hold up my end of a bargain just beginning. In between hacks, fogged and clogged brain trains, I will attempt to actually find some sense in all this.

NaBloPoMo's theme for January 2009 is "change". Which seems to fall in line with my first time ever attempt to clearly set some positive goals for myself for the new year. I have pondered just how to set up this resolution oriented month long series of posts. I guess I need to identify the areas that really need to be tidied up and then resolving generally, break it down into specific resolutions that if met will help me in the general overall effort. And excuse me here if I seem to be spacing it but I am.

Yesterday I resolved to follow through with commitments/promises made. Call that a general resolution. Meeting the post a day challenge will be my good faith marker of my intention to do better in this area.

Because my health was a bigger issue than ever before last year and appears to be in my face again as I write this. Today is another general resolution to make 2009 a year of better health for myself. Lifestyle changes and Lifestyle choices all need to be turned on their heads. I can no longer ignore chronic problems like I used to. The flare ups are no longer brief nor are they getting any easier to deal with. Catching a cold is now a big deal for me. Facing this fact of my future instead of denying it is step one I guess. My next step is to recognize I may not be able to be as active as I once was. Pushing myself physically seems to set things off.

So today I resolve to make 2009 a year to improve my health as much as my body will let me. I will attempt to prevent myself from falling into mental funk when I become physically ill. I know now that my frame of mind has way more to do with the health of my body than I thought previously. I need to accept what I have to work with now and be content with lowered expectations.

To Keep Promises

It seems I have about 45 minutes to post my first blog of 2009 and not blow the commitment I made to post once a day for a month. I had started two other posts, but have allowed them to languish.

I had a plan for this month's blogging. It was to write down my plan for a better year for myself and those who are stuck here with me inside my sphere of influence. And even though I have what I consider a damn good excuse to not post (I have once again come down with some kind of evil bug that my body has decided to morph into something more than what it would be for someone with a normal immune thing going on), I will sneak in this pitiful post so as to not blow a commitment before I even get started. Call this first post of the month of resolutions my resolution to keep promises. Somehting I have at different times found it easy to shine on.

Hope everyone's holidays were pleasant and even joyful. This has been about the oddest Christmas season I have had in many years.