People don’t believe me when I say that I have hundreds of rainbows at a time inside my apartment. Especially when the wind is blowing. The 8 beautiful prisms I have on the landing are sometimes blinding. Yesterday, when the sunlight hit the perfect fall angle, everything in the living room looked like a mosaic. It’s psychedelic at times.
And, yes, that is another mannequin inside my front window standing guard. He has on a Elvis wig and a Trump T-shirt. Between the small mannequin and the one outside my front door, there is never a shortage of opportunities to make someone have a WTF moment if they come near my apartment.
PS my cat Güino approves of the incredible natural light I get, as well as the colors that wash over him a lot of afternoons. .
I want to be the kind of person I’ve always been. On the other hand, it’s a good time of year to remind everyone to avoid letting your better nature get you into situations where you think you’re helping someone. Scammers and people with ill intentions have practiced on countless people. X .
I walked four miles out of my way just to prank a coworker by doing jumping jacks in his driveway in the dead dark of the morning. I covered my face as I walked along the street without sidewalks and barely any street lights. And then did jumping jacks backward, hoping his security cameras would catch the idiot performing in his driveway.
Tonight was also another chance to see the Leonid meteor showers. I walked backward for a while so that I could stare up in the correct direction. Even though it took me a long time to get there, there’s a stretch near the interstate where the sky stretches beautifully above.
I won’t bore you with how beautiful the meteor streaks were. I took slow motion video of the huge trucks thundering by two feet away, across the concrete divider that supposedly separates the interstate from the grass.
I was astonished to see the behemouth unfinished skeletons of apartments rising on Mount Comfort Road. Because I had already walked too far, I walked through Mount Comfort cemetery, thinking about the expanse of time and the number of people who’ve been in the area. Trying to imagine what it might have been like in 1862 to camp there, waiting to march Prairie Grove. 163 years ago. That sounds ancient until I realized I have been alive more than 1/3 of those years.
Making my way back in a huge loop, I cut through a field to avoid the two miles of walking required to get around by road. The wind was blowing 10 to 15 mph, rolling over me as I stood in the grass and watched the sky. It felt like a delicious summer moment. Off in the distance I heard a dog bark a couple of times. A couple of minutes later, I heard a soft rustle to my left. Looking over, I saw a light-colored Mastiff mix of some kind sitting on its back legs and looking at me.
Because I’m eloquent, I put my phone in my pocket and squatted. “Who wants some pets?” The dog wagged its butt and came right up to me, nuzzling against my hand. I wasn’t worried because if it had wanted to, it could have launched like a missile and took me to the grass. It followed me to the fence along the highway. I gave it one more pet through the boards.
I wanted to walk one more time around the park opposite the equine center. It’s deeply dark and the wind howls through there. It’s also a great place to watch the sky. Heading toward it, a GMC Yukon veered off of Garland and slowly drove down the length of the park and then followed the dark road around until about the halfway point. Whoever was driving left the headlights on. It’s an unusual time of the morning for anyone to be out there.
Shenanigans came to mind. I walked down the side road and then cut to the left through the grass into the park. You have to keep in mind that it’s deeply dark there and the only light is a dim one generated from the pavilion lights that are left on overnight. Standing next to a tall oak tree, I could see the silhouette of someone standing near the front of the Yukon.
Without trying to control it, I screeched one of my infamous pterodactyl screams. I let out a second one. It took no time at all for the person standing next to the vehicle to open the door, hop in, and drive to the end of the road next to Garland. They stopped. I’m pretty sure their eyes were scanning the park, trying to see the origin of the pterodactyl scream. I let out another one. The vehicle immediately swung right and drove away on Garland.
I’m infinitely amused that whoever was driving might go home and tell people that they heard a monster in the dark. How are they going to know it was a middle-aged man walking around in the dark, trying to find lemon moments and shenanigans?
I’m not accustomed to my long walks meeting the sunrise, or the tendrils of color immediately prior to it. The birds have awakened on their new fall schedule. “I don’t get the appeal,” people will sometimes honestly tell me, hearing about me wandering around when we’re supposed to be sleeping. It’s not something to get. It has to be experienced. It’s exactly like pretty much every other human experience.
It’s for the same reason I climbed up on top of the 10 foot high mound of dirt next to the railroad tracks, not caring that I might fall down. The decibels of the air horn and the thunder of the tracks made the inside of my spine tickle as I stood on top of the mound and watched the train pass. The sunrise behind it. Try explaining that sort of thing to other adults who would never in a million years do it, even if I enthusiastically explained to them that it is as a memorable experience as watching the sunrise shine across a mountain in the middle of the wilderness.
I needed a deviation this morning. So instead of the short drive to work, I went to one of the dark places where I can see the sky. I put on M83’s “Outro” and let it rip. If you’ve never heard the song, put in some earbuds or put on headphones and turn the volume up. If you don’t get goosebumps, I’m not sure you’re human.
This story proves I don’t always get the last word, but I do often get the last laugh.
After work I went to the nearest inconvenience store to buy a lottery ticket.
(If you ask why I bother buying lottery tickets, it’s because they won’t give them to me at no charge. Duh.)
Anyway, I’m careful when I pull in to that particular store. Fellow visitors to this particular store sometimes display a disregard forcommon traffic laws. Such as driving blindfolded, for example.
I had to hit the brakes and come to a complete stop in order to avoid a car that tried to exceed the speed limit going in reverse as they backed out of the space adjacent to the building.
Someone behind me braked hard enough to cause a squeal. The driver hit the horn to announce the size of their genitals.
I pulled into the spot the reversing speed demon just left. The car that had almost hit me from behind raced up to park on my right.
I exited my little blue car and walked around the front. The man driving the car said something I didn’t understand.
“What?” Sometimes I’m really eloquent.
Asking him to repeat himself must have been a burden because he shook his head.
I expected something derogatory. And he probably meant it that way. He glanced along my car. “You’re so gay you can’t even drive STRAIGHT.”
While I’ve seen the phrase on social media, it fit the situation perfectly. Naturally I burst out laughing, which confused the guy.
His insult tickled me.
PS If I ever see him behind me again, of course I’ll do the logical thing and crash through the side of the building to avoid inconveniencing him.
I have immunity from boredom. It’s like time is compressed for me most of the time. Regardless of the environment, I have the literal world in this little rectangular box I’m typing into. Music, opinion, language(s), ideas. Not to mention an endless supply of things and objects that can be reformed or used to occupy my hands and brains. I also have the entire outside world. I’m lucky enough to have a car that I can get in and go when I want. And still have two healthy feet to propel me. I’ve yet to take a walk where something interesting was lacking.
One of our worst attributes is that we tend to focus on what we perceive to be missing. Instead of the wild luxury that was not available for most of human history. The tendency to seek what we think we’re missing is also a great source of pain in our personal lives.
For those who like to think about thinking, it’s either liberating or debilitating. It’s existential and separating.
But because the internet can be a cringefest or a personal revelation, I sometimes don’t say the things that many of us have in common but never talk about. At least not authentically. Vulnerability is the undershirt that we hide under a thick jacket. Even when someone dares to strip away the ego-driven layer, we universally agree to look away or let our awkwardness keep us from diving in.
Because I do so much, I have an astounding amount of content floating around the internet without any attribution to me. Sometimes, it comes back to me transformed. Which makes me feel seen and heard in ways that I’m not in my personal life. It’s a constant staccato of surprise for me because the people around me have their own idea of who I am, reinforced by the experiences they share with me, molded by whatever environment we’re in. Most of those environments are not authentic.
“Anyone who posts words, policy, or statements by our current president for any purpose other than mockery or excoriation can no longer be taken seriously regarding any societal, political, or economic consideration.”
I can cite countless examples. The government shutdown can be ended without any Democrats voting in favor of it. By changing the filibuster rules, Trump and his Republican devotees can pass the budget bill immediately if they choose to do so. Given the increasing risk that Congress shall soon become an anachronism without teeth, it’s ridiculous to worry about tomorrow’s fire when our shoes are melting today.
People reposting Trump’s ill-informed and uneducated rants in support of something that’s factually untrue isn’t surprising. If racism, misogyny, fraud, and incitement toward insurrection aren’t deal breakers, it’s a deep well from which to draw an infinite spiral of malevolent ridiculousness.
If Trump wishes to be king, then let’s proceed with the coronation so that we can move on to a broken democracy. At least under that scenario, we will not be victim to an ongoing onslaught of “WTF”
moments, nor continue to hope for an end to the madness.
We can acclimate ourselves to the loss of the country we grew up in because we’ll have no other choice.
This isn’t politics. It’s madness and mayhem, driven by someone completely unfit to run a household, country, or company.
This picture was taken 29 years ago, 10,592 days. Almost half a life ago, a fulcrum that seems impossible at this point. It was supposed to happen on Halloween that year, but logistics conspired to make that difficult.
Most of us like to imagine going back and being able to look forward, seeing the relentless incremental changes that we choose or are foisted on us. The acceleration of change that’s almost invisible while we’re experiecing it. Can you imagine reliving the moments as instantaneous bullets of laughter, agony, and experience? Most of us would choose it, even if it’s a roller coaster that leaves us lying on the pavement, asking ourselves why we got back on the ride, knowing how it would end.
Every cell of our bodies has changed, but the memories remain – if we’re lucky. I took a moment to fling open the door early this morning, remembering, and then bolted it shut afterward.
I know I drone on and on sometimes about the difference in colors during the vampire hours. It’s twice as pronounced after a rainy day like yesterday. No matter how high my heart rate got at the top of some of the hills this morning, each time I reached a crest, the blustery wind quickly and insistently reminded me that the cold approaches. This type of beautiful October morning is a warning for anybody trying to keep their hair straight.
I found some beautiful Halloween decorations. There were houses more ornately adorned than that of the picture I’m sharing. But none surpassed the amazing saffron glow emitted by the house in the picture. I could see it from quite a distance. It does not razzle dazzle with complexity but passersby will strain their necks to determine the origin of the beautiful lights.
The picture I took from one of the hilltops is a failure. I love the way it looks, though. Taking pictures like that is drunk poetry. A lot of mumbling, and sometimes a random truth coherently stated.
Yesterday, I made a ginormous pot of homemade chili, using five different types of beans. Coincidentally, I think I solved our energy problem, but decorum inhibits me from further explanation.
I forgot to mention that I got dragged into the hunt for a fugitive last week. This is one of those things that initially sounds like I’m kidding. I wasn’t worried about my safety. Fugitives tend to try to keep a low profile, unlike people who have recently discovered a low carb diet, pilates, or a social/political issue they know nothing about.
As I wandered around this morning, I took note of all the vehicles crammed into unusual places due to the football game. A lot of my neighbors don’t know there is a small police impound for cars right across the street. There were two extra long flat tow trucks blaring their horns constantly as they dropped off vehicles. It was an annoying series of drop-offs. Because I am comedically inclined, I will point out that the security system consists of one singular camera pointed at the gate. I was originally going to post a picture of the gate, but I don’t want to encourage thievery. Anyone who needs money should do it the old fashioned way and become a congressman. Why steal a $10,000 car when you can become a millionaire without accountability?
“Learning without thinking is labor lost and thinking without learning is perilous.” Confucius warned us about the futility of unanchored ideas. But then again, his name suggests he was always a little confused. His real name was Kong Qui, which reminds me of the name of an algebraic equation. Also, while Confucius emphasized family life and values, he was divorced. I bet his wife wouldn’t stop nagging him to do the dishes.
P.S. Parenthetically Speaking 