I Like the Attitude

and I like the idea that this picture might annoy hand wringing, white supremacist, PC police cadets.  They think they are so much better than everyone else that they have to defend and protect those they see as victim by condition of birth for not being like themselves (whether the group wants their condescending protection or not) even from things like this mascot, which the Seminoles officially support and endorse. 

This guy expresses my feelings on a number of fronts...screw it, this is war!

Can't Shake It

The "unproductive lives" discussion just won't go away.  Worse still, I can't argue with the basic premise which defines me as a waste of space.  I try to have little hopes of something or someone to help make that view fade away, but the somethings or someones are not going to materialize, and I know it.  That makes me angry, almost to the point of rage.

No point in being mad about it.  It is how life is.  Not everyone has sense enough to make sense of it, which usually requires ignoring the views of peers, authority, and pop culture, while pretending otherwise.

Things are different, and I'm glad, and I'm disappointed I can't make it all more different.  As much as I decry the practiced stupidity of various cultures we are supposed to embrace, celebrate, or even respect,    I hope never again to hear people patting themselves on the back for being superior.  Some of those people are real creeps.  But they must be productive, they have a creepy wife, kids, and career.

Maybe it is time to give up, but often the time not to give up is when it seems the thing to do.  Alone in paradise is not the smart way to get the most out of the experience.  I doubt it will change.

One relative's view of what constitutes productive and not productive carries a lot of weight with me, I guess.  Even though I think it is a flawed and arrogant view, only now allowed full expression because both his kids are finally married with offspring, and both have great jobs-careers--that they like.  And each has a house.  Now we can pronounce our true views without condemning our own.  I am not "our own" anymore.

Be careful about protecting those who don't even know you are looking out for them, and who never asked your protection.  You'll realize you sacrificed yourself to create your own most influential detractor, and no one but you will ever realize it.  An you'll never live long enough to change it, because it is etched too deeply in every thought path and cell in your body.

This is a challenging time, once again.  If I were on the outside looking in, I'd say, "What an idiot!", so I guess I must know better, and can do just fine acting another way, reacting other than how I always do.   You live, you die, and it is as if you were never here.  My overall footprint is like that of a ninja.  The ninja of existence.

Never believe anything.  That is the best chance.

A Milestone of Sorts

Time will tell why this feels like a turning point.  I hope the change sticks.  Everyone goes on trips, but I seem to make a bigger deal of them, even though I fail to plan much.

Still, for me this was a borderline spiritual experience.  Those come and go, too.

What a shocker when I arrived home.  I forgot about all the work I did prior to departure.  The place looked shockingly neat and inviting.  Now I recall that being my goal. I didn't want walking in the door to be depressing and tiring.

Not the most hideous structures ever built, but even so, windmill farms tend to screw up the landscape.   There are better ways to get power without screwing up large tracts of land 

I really have my work cut out for me if I am going to ... can't think of how to say it without saying too much.  Whatnot.   That covers it.

There were guitar hangers on the wall when I moved here, so that is covered.

The hospitality extended in both Mississippi and Texas was more than I'd expect, and it set the bar high for me if I am ever a host.

My cousins apparently raised extraordinary children while I was inommunicado, or otherwise not paying attention.  They are gown up now with their own families.  I tried to impress upon them that we share blood.  We are genetically linked to some degree.  Hopefully I can claim some of their awesomeness by pulling the blood relative card.  And they are Texans on top of it all.

I wonder at some people who can't wait to get home "to their own bed."  I can think of beds or bed other than my own I'd rather occupy.

.

Just Some Stuff

Hanging for the night in Benson, AZ.   My old friend, El Gato Loco, drove up from Sierra Vista for conversation and supper.  I must have been hungry.  For once in my life I may have beat the house on an all you can eat buffet.

My educational trip is nearly at a close.  I was in a hurry to get home, but now I'd like to turn around and do it all again.  Efforts to improve diction and grammar have paid off; so far, no more "check english" lights have illuminated.

in this part of New Mexico, they cultivate groves of dead trees.  They produce more dead fruit than any other place in the country.  It is what drives the economy in boom towns such as Deming

It really does appear to me that Texas by and large contains the highest percentage of civilized and pleasant people of any state between California and Florida, inclusive.  Sure, the Mexicans in Dallas shoot guns in the air, disregarding gravitational consequences, but most of them will at least return a greeting.  Culturally, Texans have some advantages over the rest of us.  Doesn't mean they aren't crazy too.  All cultures and populations appear to be somewhat psychotic.

And they generally drive better in Texas.  That is hard to deny if you drive from state to state, and the path carries you through Texas. Unless, of course, you are one of those who has no clue what lanes ae for, compulsively speed up when being passed, and/or compulsively slow down and pace a car or truck you are supposed to be passing.  You know who you are.

That being said, if you must top for the night, avoid Pecos.  Lodging costs a fortune and the place smells like oil.  It is not pleasant.

What I learned on this journey: I can avoiding reacting when being cut to the quick as only family can do, I can still feel things I haven't felt that give me a glimmer of hope.  That will likely lea to disappointment and rejection, but at least I know.  Babies can keep people entertained for hours without trying.  The government may be piking the water in Louisiana with LSD or other psychedelic additives.

The neighborhood of my youth has turned into a tropical paradise.  It looks the way naive activists picture a rain forest.  Quite impressive.  S.Florida is one rude place, but the Keys are still petty good and must never be lumped in with Broward and Dade county culture.

I still prefer Miami to Ft. Lauderdale.  The Quality Inn in Live Oak is a good place with the nicest desk lady in Florida.   Friends along the way are more tolerant of me than I would be.  Southern hospitality is alive and thriving.  I guess I mostly experienced it with a Texas influence, even outside that state.

In general, I was troubled or confused or stunned or surprised, yet was treated as if I had value, especially en route to and from the target destination.  There, I was treated as well as could be hoped, considering I've lived a useless, unproductive life.  Even there, certain infidels appeared unaware of my glaring deficiencies.

Already I have work lined up for Monday.  Money would be good.  I have stories to write.  Already I wonder if my pursuit of Trouble Lady is hopeless.  I'm most likely too pedestrian.  Lack of fortune, title, acceptable degree, etc. has been an embarrassment to a couple of flame in the past.  I'll not tolerate that again.  One can sense these things.  I'd have scored the degrees while they were in reach and money available for it had I known.   Who knew it would queer the deal on woo.   To be snobbed, when once I was the snob.  It is just wrong.  But, you snooze, you lose.

It may not happen, the thing of not fitting the status required, but I suspect it will.  Only this time, I do not care in the same way.  And I am more prepared should a suitable candidate actually want the fabled "nice guy" who would be dedicated, true and a hopeless sap.

One fact of life is that, as much as you hear females bemoan the alleged scarcity of nice guys, I have observed very few who actually want one.  Rare is the woman who could spot a nice guy, even if he bit her in the butt.  What can you do...

I need a kayak, particularly a hobie with mirage drive.  It is the perfect thing for the legs without screwing up knees and feet.  It is a healthy item, but too costly.  One day, we'll figure it out.

It must be the approaching the end of the trip blues.  When I get home, I'll start working on guitar, and continue streamlining and organizing my life's junk.  I may not see the group I drove down to see for quite some time, if ever.  If I manage to make significant money, I may visit, but not stay with them.  I guess I'm enthused and shattered at the same time.  It happens.

So, maybe it is time to do it on my terms and quit letting myself be defined by those whose definitions are no fun.

Imaginary Family...or are they?

So, I was conducted in the cousin-mobiles (they suspiciously switched cars at some point) to the GQ couple's house in a nearby town; where everyone is clean, polite, well to do, and, oddly, youth doesn't appear to be wasted on the young---they seem to use it well.

The GQ couple has two GQ children, ages 13 and 10.  OK, 10 1/2.   If you know nicer, more gentle and polite children of that age, I'm certain you are lying.  A girl and a boy.   The cool thing is that we are blood relatives, not too distantly diluted.

I have a calendar with their picture on it, and who in SD county can prove that Mrs. GQ is not my daughter, and the sweet children not my favorite grandchildren?  Who wouldn't sympathize with me because her mother, my late wife, died in an unfortunate lab accident while on the verge of discovering a sure fire cure for the common cold?

I lost her when Mrs GQ was only three years old.  We made it through and have always been close.  It wasn't always easy protecting her from the bitter truth that the fatal explosion was undoubtedly not an accident.  Believe me, many of the outfits which peddle remedies for cold symptoms do not want a cure to emerge.   And they have plenty of political clout.  Tragic.

When you are raising a child under such circumstances you find courage you never knew was in you.  Anything to protect the child and ensure that she thrives.  I'm so proud of the woman she's become.  A forty year old mother of two who looks to be a healthy twenty five.  Her husband is clearly her soul mate.  And no one could ask for better parents.  Her mom must be very gratified.  I can feel her joy in the after life.

Those kids are encouraging me to find someone special, and maybe I will.  My late sweetheart, Willowanne, would kick my butt for waiting so long.  She was always the pragmatic one, and sincerely concerned for my happiness and well being.

I try not to brag on my daughter's family too much.  It only makes others feel inferior.  What a joy, though, to visit, to have the grandkids jump for joy when I enter the room.  They've all won so many awards for everything from science projects to tennis tournaments to saving lives back in the big flood of '07 that a separate room is required to hold all the plaques, diplomas, trophies and certificates.

Great way to start the new year.  I'll take their advice when I return home.

It's Diverse and Multi-cultural!!! Yay

My cousin lives in a neighborhood with all the flavor and benefits of multi-culturalism.   We are, of course, tolerant because all cultures are equal, except the one we won't mention.

The vibrancy of diversity is clearly evident on New Year's eve in some cities.  It is tradition, allegedly, in some people's old countries to fire guns into the air at midnight on New Year's eve for some reason.  Maybe they are trying to kill either the old year or the new, or both.  Perhaps they think they can shoot out a star as one would a street light.

They seemed OK during the day.  But at midnight, it was like urban warfare.   The one on this side fires off a few rounds.  Pretty soon the one on the other side fires off a few rounds plus some.  The the one in back fires.  Then one of the others fires a clearly more powerful weapon.  "My gun is bigger, therefore better and much more macho."

I need to get the paper to see if anyone reaped the benefit of a falling bullet.  This is a big city.  But then so is Miami and many fine folks there have been known to do the same thing.  I'm thinking maybe a titanium hat business could thrive on such holidays in these cities.

Apparently it is a Latin American thing.  It may be that gravity is taught to about the same extent in their schools as logic and history are taught in ours.  So many immigrants have the advantage of not having to clutter their mind with any of those things if they get here at the right age.  All in the timing.

For some reason I found myself shocked as multiple rounds were rapid fired into the air.  I thought anyone would be aware that death to innocents could result.  And that anyone would categorize that as a thing to be avoided.

I think they believe the bullets go way up into the sky and the saints catch them, turn them into gold, and if they are very good little muchachos then sometime in the new year their patron saints will put gold nuggets under their pillows.  It never happens but that can be explained because they haven't been good enough.  They failed to do confession right.

Miserable sinners full of Catholic guilt.  "Maybe next year if I give los santos 40 bullets instead of 20 they will bless me with gold under my pillow."   I'm good at reading the thoughts of such people.

So, what are they doing today?  Raking leaves.  Ay, dios mio, if only these leaves had been raked, maybe I would have been blessed for the new year.  I think it was an act of penance.  Maybe next year will be better and finally I get the gold under the pillow. Never mind no one knows of anyone who has had such fortune first hand.  But there are stories and rumors of pious peasants in far away towns who were blessed.  And this is how we all benefit from embracing the facets of the culture which made the third world what it is today.

Over Half Way Home

There may be a word for it.  It may even be one of the many new mental illnesses they've created, or signs of domestic terrorism, like disagreeing with the police state buy body government.  It seems I am at home everywhere, and nowhere.  Nowhere is really home, but at the same time many places are.

I don't care.  It has little to do with anything.  I made it to Dallas on time and without problem.  The cool thing is that I took the high road through Louisiana.  Far better than I-10 (thee 10 in California speak).  Not only that but I made it into Texas before stopping for the night.  Rightly or wrongly I feel better in Texas than Louisiana.
To a point.

Now I am in no hurry to get home, part of the time.  This was an unusual trip and when I get home I have to figure out how to make more money, keep an eye out for cheap flights to S.Florida, while somehow managing to manipulate someone special through subliminal assault.  Otherwise why worry with flying back?

Gotta go.  I'm in cousin land. Off for Mexican food.

Florida is a little off beat

So, I meet my friend in Panama City Beach and follow him into the high rise complex in which he lives.  It appears to be a complicated place with inconveniently located parking garages and various security measures in place.

We take one of the elevators to the 8th floor, punch in the secret door code that opens the door, and enter the apartment.  "What are these papers doing on the floor?", he asks as he darts into the master bedroom.  "Someone has been in my apartment!!".

The balcony runs the length of the bedroom and adjacent living room, a floor to ceiling wall on either side.  The curtain in the bedroom by the glass door is pulled back and draped over a chair.  The door i closed.  His laptop is in plain view.  I commented that they didn't take the computer.

He sees nothing missing.

So, he goes down to the lobby/command center of the complex.  Mystery solved.  The police had been in his place!  It seems a neighbor woman had edged around the wall and was somehow perched on the outside of his balcony rail on the two inches of slab that extends outside the railing threatening to jump.

It is a long way down and does not look like landing would be soft.  The cops had entered his place disrupting the drapes, knocked a stack of papers off the kitchen counter, snatched the woman so she didn't off herself making a big mess down below, and left without any notification or calling card or anything.

Jump! Jump!

Jump! Jump!

View off in the distance

It is good they nabbed the chick--she could have fallen on an innocent child or other unsuspecting soul. It is bad that no one from the building or the cop factory left any word that they were there.  Weird all the way around.  Apparently my friend's neighbors are an upper middle aged couple who argue a lot.  She must have run out of things to say in their ongoing angry debate.

Par for the course in this part of the country.  Possibly the result of mosquitoes or swamp gas.

If the nothing else the human race is very adept at weirdness and self destruction.  I wonder why.

I'm out of here tomorrow.  I think my marketing plan, or plan of attack, may be having the intended effect on my target, the enigmatic RR.  That could be a cool thing.  The 3000 mile issue is one I will have to resolve, should my efforts truly be fruitful.  For various reasons time is on my side, but not enough time to be a slacker.

I want to smoke, but I have not done so for almost ten days.   I'm a few hours short of that.  I'm pretty sure that 13 days is the mark that ends the worst of it.  Plus there are those lozenges which ease the impulse.  It helps having the sort of reason that motivates me.  Few things do.

No matter what anyone says, I think there is more to life than meets the eye, even though I can neither define nor explain it.  This trip has much of that so far.

It's Official-I'm a Sap; or it could be a mark of senility

Trouble

I guess I won't post the picture--it is on facebook somewhere anyway.  But I have to say I was caught by surprise.

What am I going to do now?

Anyway, I decided to drive up to Miami to see R. and her parents.  I grew up down the street from me. I mean I grew up down the street from her. She's my age.   There is no real direct history there but a great deal of common ground.  Her mom was the hottest mom on the block.  A Georgia girl.

Her dad is now 93, totally lucid, and fairly healthy.  He was an airline pilot, and much else.  What was news to me is that he likes to write and ha written several books about his experiences in the airlines, world war II, and I'm not sure what else.

I had no idea that I would be so mesmerized by the three of them.  R moved back to the apartment at the end of their swimming pool to help them out and for other purposes.  And I'm not sure but I think she has not seen the last of me.  Who knows if that goes both ways.  But as I said when I landed the one I married, years ago, who cares?

This sort of trouble hasn't visited me in years.  Probably just another of my loose wires acting up.  However I think I am going to make a project of finding out.

I may be old but I am not dead.  That became almost embarrassingly evident during the visit.

At last, a goal.  And a plan.