Reflecting Dad and the Negligee

I came across this old photo. That is my dad there at the top and reflected in the mirror on the left. This was 1973 at some doctor’s thing, my dad being a doctor himself. The photo was torn but taped back together. Everyone is looking at the camera, everyone except the woman sitting to the left of my father – the one who thought it would be a perfect night to wear her negligee to the doctor’s thing.

Her! While she appears to be with the dude to her right, she’s looking across the table at

this guy. Who from this angle looks a bit too, what?, goofy? for the no doubt older negligee lady? I mean, she’s been around the block and that boy looks like he just fell off the turnip truck. But it’s a room with a mirror, so there are two images of each person, and we can see what she is looking at…

This. And it makes sense now. Doesn’t he look way cooler from this angle? Much better from her angle than from ours! Negligee lady’s right. This dude’s cool.

Here’s the whole pic.

That’s my mom – the person at the table furthest to the left in the neat sleeveless white number with the big broach.

Always the best dressed, best looking lady in the room. Now, I don’t want to be mean, but…

This lady is freaking me out. The lighting in that room was not kind to her countenance. Although that vest says outsider at this doctor’s thing so maybe she’s like a proto-Goth and hoping to go into the future in this one photo as the coolest alt chick in the place. Or maybe it’s the red hair… She’s quite beautiful, although not as beautiful as my mom. This, according to me.

Hinge Pin Door Stop Wall Protector with Rubber Tip, Design House Polished Brass Adjustable Door Stoppers

I broke mine.

Photo of Hinge Pin Door Stop Wall Protector with Rubber Tip, Design House Polished
Brass Adjustable Door Stopper’s severed arm.

Or mine broke. I didn’t do it. oh, crap I did do it, it wasn’t quite falling off and so I bent it off, but it was just a matter of time! I can’t be blamed for the Hinge Pin Door Stop Wall Protector with Rubber Tip, Design House Polished Brass Adjustable Door Stopper’s ultimate demise.

Embrace the program fully

“…embrace the program fully.”

I came across that phrase in a quasi-religious book just now and I chafed at it. As a young person I didn’t believe a thing about what they were talking about in our church, but for the be kind to your neighbor and that sort of thing. And I really didn’t like the pressure, the “see you next week!”, the forced camaraderie. I did, no do, like the little flour sprinkled buns with ham and cheese in the church basement though.

I also responded that way in sports. I played park board baseball and football, church basketball, ski raced and ran cross country and I never once felt good or bad about how I did. I tried! I really did. And I had fun. But I didn’t care. I couldn’t get my head around why I should care. “Here’s a made up scenario, now react emotionally to it.” Hey! That’s entertainment!

And to embrace the program fully, you must now react emotionally fully.

Fully doesn’t seem like a real word right now to me. You do that? Suddenly you see a word and think, huh? It could be four letters and you’ve seen it a bajillion times but suddenly it doesn’t look right. Is that how you spell boil?

I do have trouble reacting emotionally, like a lot of people and men in particular. And mine extends to the above. Oh, work, too. Similar inability to be a corporate guy. I once wrote an article about 3M employees who “bleed 3M red.” Super fans. Stans. Blew my mind.

I used to say, “I’m not a joiner,” and it is true. But I think I need to be more of a joiner. Like the church; I’ve attended a few AA meetings and enjoyed the people and the positive effects on my own sobriety. And sports; I could find a bar with a softball team. But then they’ll say, “we missed you last week” or “you’re playing again next year, right?” and I’ll freak out. I gotta get over that.

I often think that I could never organize a game of ultimate frisbee, because that’s way more nearby friends than I got.

Stop the money. Save the nation.

I do this every once in a while where I write something after some immersion in the bad news of the day. Note that the current bad news is worse than it’s ever been in my lifetime. But I start pontificating on the evil, greed, hate and blah, blah, blah. This time I’m quite a bit more freaked out but when I got done and reread it, I was struck by how silly it all is. Bestowing upon the world my opinions on whatever. Here’s what we need to do! Whatever. But it’s cathartic and so ultimately it’s worth it, right? And I kind of like this one. Here goes:

Everybody right now open an account on Bluesky. Good Americans can talk there.

Completely shut down all of your other social media accounts – X, Facebook, Instagram, YouTube, TikTok, etc. All of them. We’ll do this fast and we’ll do this right and you can get your accounts back. Grab your data, or start fresh. Do it now.

Do not buy anything from any of those companies – purchase nothing on Amazon, close those accounts also, do not buy a Tesla, if you have one, enjoy it and drive it into the ground. Do not use Elon Musk’s satellite connections, nor any of his other companies, and those of you who do the science as astronomers and engineers and the like working for him, you’re smart! Get the fuck out of there! Anybody working for any of those companies, walk now.

Disrupt the activity of everything related to those same businesses. This of course includes Trump companies. Whatever you can do. Good hackers, this especially means you. Blow our minds.

Yes, this will create hardship, but if we do this fast and we do this right, we’ll get through it easily and the old-fashioned way, taking care of one another, looking after our neighbors. We’re the good Americans, remember? We can take a little hardship. In fact, we can take a lot of hardship to save the nation – and ourselves, our families, our loved ones, our friends and coworkers and neighbors.

If we do this fast and we do this right, we can avoid violence of any kind. That being said, everyone be prepared to the best of your abilities.

The only two things they understand are money and power, and they will stop at nothing to use their power to bring us to our knees and take all the money for themselves. They are doing it right now. Right in front of our eyes. We must immediately stop the flow of any money into their businesses.

Please pass this on to everyone you know.

It’s like camping in comfort of your own bed

I don’t sleep well. I did when I drank, but that was more a passing out than going to sleep. And that went on for 40+ years. That freaks me out. I don’t even feel 40, mostly. But I don’t sleep well, and I’ve tried everything except any sort of sleeping medication – real ones, good ones. The ones that work. And that’s why I didn’t take em, because they work. I’ve taken many a drug in my time, but for whatever reason, I didn’t want to go there. Alcohol knocks you out, as I noted above, but you get those 7 hours of drinking leading up to it. Popping a pill and dropping off like boom is weird. It’s like the fancy people who always have proper meals and you stand at the sink wolfing down leftovers out of the to go containers. Maybe.

So, New Years Eve night before we were to go on a strict budget on January 1 I was on social media and got an ad for sheets that were able to be grounded and so ground you as you slept. Seriously. Here’s the ad. Okay, I can’t put the video up for some reason. Anyone know how to insert an Instagram ad into a blog? But found this one with the same guy. https://youtube.com/shorts/tdD0xP4040s?si=hT2Q90eQpP-4Z-bg

I thought, what the fuck? Even if it’s a bunch of hooey I get sheets, and I need sheets. But I do have to say that ad kicked ass. The guy talking is perfect, handsome, sciency but normal, and what he says and claims about this grounding business blew me away. While, of course, raising the beware internet scams flag. But I bought them and about two weeks ago they arrived. Well, they didn’t. What arrived was 9×12 padded envelope. Inside was a piece of sheet, I guess, about two feet wide and 8 feel long. And a cord that snaps onto the sheet with just the little round ground plug on the other end that I plugged into the nearest outlet. That’s perfect me, by the way. I didn’t bother to read the thing. I just went to the first item on their website, I suppose, and somewhere saw “sheet” and clicked buy. It was $99. Which was expensive even for a full set of sheets for a guy like me. I got ripped off, I figured and will forget to even try to return it. That’s the MO. I’ve got issues.

This came also in the envelope.

Feast your eyes on what this thing can do. These are some serious claims, although “Enhances detoxification processes” sounds a bit bullshitty.

So, I plug in my slip and slide lookin grounded sheet, strip naked to get the whole effect and lie down on it. I immediately experience what feels like the energy in my body falling down toward the fabric. It was weird but it also felt really good like that meditation of feeling the weight of your body being pulled toward the floor. My jaw was tingling.

All right, I figured it was me being all excited about it, some psychosomatic or placebo effect. So I got up thinking that it was for sleeping on anyway and walked away. Later in the day, I tried it again, and I got the same feelings. Still, though, placebo and for sleep.

I slept that night. Much, much harder than I had for as long as I can remember. It was a feeling I remembered now but had forgotten. I dreamed again. I hadn’t dreamed in a very long time. I usually wake up a couple-three times at night and I only woke up once. Could this thing seriously be for real, was grounding in this way somehow able to grab hold of my circadian rhythms and get them dancing in unison? Do we have more than one circadian rhythm?

PLEASE NOTE I AM NOT SUGGESTING IN ANY WAY THAT THIS MAKES ANY SENSE TO ME AND I AM NOT SHILLING FOR THIS COMPANY. THERE ARE A MILLION OF THEM OUT THERE I GUESS GROUNDING PEOPLE THROUGHOUT THE LAND. THIS IS NOT A SPONSORED BLOG, NOR HAVE I HAD ANY CONTACT WITH ANYONE RELATED TO THE COMPANY, ALTHOUGH I’D LIKE TO MEET THE GUY IN THE VIDEO. I THINK HE’D BE A GOOD CONVERSATIONALIST.

It’s been a couple of weeks and it’s still working. I’m sleeping way better. And I can still feel the energy thing. But maybe it’s still psychosomatic or placebo. I don’t know. How can I know? But could something this simple have merit like this? Sitting right under our noses for all these many years. Just sleep on the ground, fool! I’ll bet cowboys slept well.

When you think about it the earth is our only actual god that we can be sure of and the earth gives us everything and every opportunity to live and thrive as long as we’re nice to it

Like Holy Shit

It comes from the earth
natural processes like
the earth working
on the earth
or a still
cooking dead life
to a new drug
(num num)
petroleum

A junkie surrounded
detritus floating
an oily flotilla
ridiculous ludicrous
malleable colorful
in and out of focus
a pendulum
travesty/convenience
but there
always there everywhere
plastic/petroleum
petroleum/plastic
micro
plastics
everywhere
like holy shit

Love it but leave it

I remember hearing something along the lines of, you can tell the soul of a society by the tallest buildings. They talked about how it was once the church spires and then the government domes, and now corporate skyscrapers. Where the money is, there too is what we care most about. Stadiums.

Whoever came up with: He who dies with the most toys wins, nailed it. We are consumers, if nothing else. Consider the McMansion and explosion of storage facilities. We continue to move away from churches, and no one seems to care about good governance nor is willing to happily pay their taxes for the services they provide. Instead, we focus on us (our accounts, our feeds, our playlists, our entertainment, our silos and echo chambers), and better yet, they focus on us.

Consumerism isn’t new; but in about 1995, it was like a teed-up golf ball and the Internet swung in like a 1-wood.

It’s all very obsessive and dizzying, chaotic and endless, and that’s good for the Google, Facebook, Amazon and the like. They control it, and uniquely control each of us – what we see, how often, and all through a Pavlovian rewards system that responds to our every click – a different experience for every man, woman and child who logs in and turns on. And now it’s about you – your likes, your way of thinking, your videos, your music, your beliefs, your followers, your clothes, your hobbies, your culture – and so, as Greg Jackson in “Sources of Life” writes, “we create a culture in line with what we have been told the culture is like.”

The constant reaffirmation of ourselves online makes it easy forget the rest, or ignore them, misunderstand them, demean them, hate them. We’re developing personal cultures that sometimes intersect or overlap with others but mostly not. I’ve got my earbuds and you’ve got yours.

But to be free and alive, healthy and not crazy, we have to curate our own minds – extricate ourselves from the fast flowing feeds. Choose on our own what we want to put in our minds, and really think about it, as whatever we choose becomes us, too. Neuroplasticity, the ability and in fact, simply fact about our minds is that they are changed and altered, even physically, by what we see, hear, feel, taste, experience. The more we see the same product in our feed, the more we’ll remember it and maybe buy it. If you repeat anything over and over and over, you will eventually believe it. Just ask the religions.

Jackson writes, “Defending art or culture for its own sake may seem trivial, even gratuitous, amid our present crises, but our crises have flowered in the soil of its trivialization. The vacant secular despair that sends us searching for a religious politics – that underwrites the allure of racism, nationalism, conspiracy theories such as QAnon, the violent fraternal gangs; that makes us long for the escapism of entertainment, narcotics, video games and for the endless stimulation of the internet and social media – is precisely what culture of this category is meant to address.”

Support the arts. Curate your own mind.

Think Like This

I noticed I am suddenly offered a pink heart along with the red heart in the initial emoji showing for texts. I’ll bet they’re trying to make us better distinguish between love and LOVE! You know? Temper us; make us less over the top with either love or hate; make us get along better. They can do that, you know. And they do. It’s crazy.

Reason number 454 to get your ass off “X”.

Faux Poverty

I was walking around Lake and Hennepin in Minneapolis with my girlfriend back in the 80s and we watched an expensive BMW come around a corner. The trunk popped and a young man, dressed in ratty shorts and t-shirt with old flip-flops, and shaggy messy hair, jumped out of the passenger seat, opened the trunk, pulled out a beat-up skateboard and skated off.

A while later and a block away that same young man came skating up to us and asked, “Hey, man, you got a quarter?” I said, “Hey, man, you got a ‘Beamer?” And he rolled off.

Was it the hippies who inaugurated what my dad referred to as, “faux poverty”? Dad was a surgeon back then and he just loved to mock the very idea of people with plenty of money dressing like they had none at all. He had a field day with the new trend of pre-torn jeans, produced, marketed and actually torn by huge, multi-national, highly profitable corporations.

I’m guessing it was the hippies, but no doubt it was a statement about poverty and our consumer society for them. Hippies liked to make statements and if you look back over time, they were pretty much always right. But they made it cool and it made its way to artists, musicians and the like, who were then aped by those who adored them.

Like me. The surgeon’s kid. That’s how I dressed as a teenager (and I still do on occasion but mostly when I’m painting). The only difference back then was that you couldn’t yet buy ripped jeans so we had to wait for ours to fall apart or wear the oldest pair we had. It staggers the imagination just how quickly a teenager can wear out a pair of jeans, by the way. You could have a properly ripped knee in a few months. On another note, it was the seventies and I had jean shorts that were cut so high that the only thing between my legs was the seam. The pockets, often filled with bubble yum (or a film canister and pinch hitter), would hang down and out from beneath the material. Lovely.

And it’s still going on, of course. But you do grow out of it. You realize you look kind of stupid (unless you’re in a rock band) looking that way. I wonder just how many rock bands shot their gritty black and white photos in industrial areas, junk yards and abandoned buildings. (I was involved in a shoot like that, too.) Then you skedaddle back to the shag-carpeted, split-level home with a comfy bedroom featuring a Marantz stereo system with glowing blue dial, Magnaplaner speakers, black lights and rock posters of poor looking, exceedingly wealthy rock stars.

Why do we do that?

The Answer is No

I set out to suck on a Certs today with real purpose. I wanted to, well, not bite it, for one; but also to “be one” with my Certs. Seriously. I wondered if the Certs experience in my mouth would be enough to hold my focus, allowing me to enter into a deep meditation while the minty freshness sort of emanated out of me in all directions like a bright green wintry lightbulb of lovingkindness. I bit it in like four seconds.

The answer is no.