Use It Up. Wear It Out. Make It Do!...

Sorry about another looooong absence.. but thanx for checking back again!

I've had this blog in 'the can' for months.. was reminded of it recently by a friend. I finally got around to taking the pics that I needed for the blog to make this thing work.

I am not exactly a 'saver' of things. Like everyone else, I accumulate 'stuff'. But, I'm pretty good at tossing things out with no remorse, if they die out, or no longer fit, or have no use.

Out with the old. In with the new.

But, I'm also a stickler for the 'keep what works' mantra. I guess it came from having Great Depression Era parents... and also those stories of making due w what you had during the Depression, and the shortages at home during World War II.

Use it up. Wear it out. Make it do.

(Can't you just picture that Uncle Sam poster, with his work shirt sleeve all rolled up, and a solid bicep?).

If it still works, fits, runs, blinks, heats, or does what I need it to do, why pony up some $$ for a new one? I generally don't buy new things (especially clothing) unless it's completely necessary. I'm quite sure that if I had kept the same weight I was at 10 yrs ago, I'd still be wearing the same sweaters, pants, shirts that I wore then, as long as they were in decent shape. (In fact, I'm STILL wearing some nice sweaters that I've had for at least 15 yrs, if not longer!). Even when I do have to buy new, non-work pants, for example (due to ever growing waist line with middle age), I only buy what I need.

I only have 2 pairs of levis to my name, and about 4 or 5 pairs of sweats. That's good enough!

Not counting technology (where I am DEFINITELY a "gotta have the latest and greatest" techno junkie!), I still find a need for lots of older, day-to-day items in my life. Everything I have -- old or new -- works, or fits, or still does what it's supposed to do.... and when it stops working, THEN it gets pitched.

Why toss it if it still does the job?

Thus, this blog....

Even tho I'm definitely a modern gadget junkie, I still have these blasts from the 'state of the art' electronics past...Mattel Electronics Handheld Football and Basketball games. Yes, they still work. Yes, they are clunky and decidedly out of date. No graphics, just red LED dashes representing the players. No surround sound stereo cards with fancy sound effects. No internet connectivity, or multiplayer mode. And no way to view the games on the big screen TV.....

... But, yknow -- these are still great games, and still provide lots of enjoyment. I couldnt even guess how old they are... 25 yrs? 30? 35? I still have them, and they work fine.

Similarly, I'm not a 'cologne' kinda guy. Yes, I'm always clean, and smell fresh. But, I've never gotten into the whole cologne thing. The bottle of Musk men's cologne in the pic is probably from about 1975... yes 1975!! It used to belong to one of my older brothers when he was in High School! He left it at home when he went to college, or moved, or whatever...it stayed there... I eventually ended up with it somehow, since it never got tossed or taken. Not being a cologne kinda guy, I don't use it very often at all.. maybe twice a year, if that. Probably only twice every 5 yrs!

But, yknow.. it still smells like a new bottle of Musk you'd sample at a fragrance counter. So, why toss it??

Goes to show that just cuz something isn't modern or new, it can STILL have a happy existance in my ultra-technology driven little world.

Use it up. Wear it out. Make it do.

Some valid advice in our decidedly disposable culture....

The Student And The Sage...

"I wish to be more than I am", said the student.

"You must embrace both sides of yourself, to be twice of what you are. Birds do not just sing in the light. Flowers do not stop blooming at night."

A Valid Question, Sometimes: 'Who Cares?'

It's easy to do. I do it myself. Turn on any TV newscast, or read headlines on a newspaper, or on the internet, and it's easy to become kinda jaded.

Terrorism here.
Disasters there.
Starvation.
War.
Suffering.

Newscasts are made up of almost entirely negative things. Sometimes even awful and grisly things. After 58 minutes of making us depressed and/or scared to death, they throw in a little, 2 minute segment at the end: Man saves cat. Dog saves drowing boy. Kids raise money for victims. That sort of story, which is supposed to make us leave the newscast feeling good about life. But, not surprisingly, that 2 minute blurb at the end gets totally lost under the previous avalanche of depressing stories. Afterwards, it becomes all too easy for us (me) to shake our heads & say: 'Who Cares?'

Natalie Merchant had a really great song on her first solo CD, "Tiger Lily". The song was entitled 'Where I Go'. It was a simple, soft, acoustic-laiden song. Natalie's beautiful & extremely recognizeable voice is a perfect compliment to the positive beat and lyrics. The song is about getting away from everything, and going to a river, and letting go of all of the daily burdens that we become buried under.

'Well, I go to the river to soothe my mind,
ponder over the crazy days of my life,
to sit & watch the river flow...'

Last wk, on vacation, I had a chance to do just that -- go to the river. I used to get there quite often, especially in the fall and spring. It's the perfect, peaceful place to go and just watch clouds, or birds, or listen to the river flowing by. I hadn't been down there for almost a yr, and probably longer. That simple thing that I loved so much, somehow got lost in the bombardment of blinking lites and technology that I immerse myself in -- much in the same way in which that 2 minute segment at the end of the newscast gets lost.

Those of you who have been faithful readers of this blog, will no doubt realize that I think that the John Huston film, 'Moby Dick' (with Gregory Peck as Capt. Ahab) is the best film ever -- or, at least, my favorite film. I think this is the 3rd blog where that film has made some sort of appearance or reference. Anyway, the great tale begins with one of the most famous introductions in literature, spoken by the voice of the story's teller:

"Call me.... Ishmael. Some years ago, having little or no money,
I thought I'd sail about, and see the oceans of the world.
Whenever I feel grim & spleenful,
whenever I feel like knocking people's hats off in the street,
whenever it's a damp, drizzly November in my soul,
I know it's high time to get to sea again.

Choose.... any path you please,
and ten to one it carries you down to water.
There's a magic in water that draws all men from the land,
leads them over hills,
down creeks & streams & rivers
to the sea...

... The sea -- where each man, as in a mirror -- finds...
... himself.

There's alot of truth in that. I was grateful for the opportunity last wk to go to my aquatic refuge -- the river. It was just what the Dr. ordered, and I was reminded of how much I had missed that simple get-away.

So now, fully a week back into the old grind of work, I'm trying not to throw my hands up in the air, and say 'Who Cares?'. The next time my soul feels it's own damp, drizzly November, I'll try to make a conscious effort to escape down to the river 'to soothe my mind'. Unlike my dirty reflection in the anonymous message, scrawled by someone's finger on the dusty window of an empty building -- I'll look into the clear reflection of a crisp, clean river. And maybe, once again, as in a mirror, I'll find...

... myself.

(Here is a link to a great song/music video by R.E.M., called "Find The River").

The Mid-Summer Blog...

Is the glass half full, or half empty?

Now that the summer solstice has come n gone, summer begins her slow fade to fall... Yes, the days are getting shorter now, by about a minute or so per day. Which brings up the question above: Is the glass half full, or half empty?

Sure, June is just about shot. July 4th is a little over a week away - the unofficial midway point of summer vacation. But I say that instead of focusing on the reality of shorter and shorter days, sometimes it's better to concentrate on the perception. If we take a few steps back, and take a few moments to notice the quiet things around us, then maybe time can stand still for a few moments. And in this small way -- the simple enjoyment of simply being -- the perception of making time 'stand still', will add to the day a length of satisfaction which makes up for the measure of daylight that is lost.

It's all about perception, and looking at things differently. And, sometimes, it's all about changing the options we are given.

So, it isnt about if the glass is half full. Nor is it about if the glass is half empty. Maybe it's about realizing how lucky we are that our glass is twice as big as we need.

Enjoy the mid-summer pics taken at a family cookout this wknd. Some of the pics were taken by my neice, who really did a fine job. And of course, the food was excellent. Remember, click on any pic to see it full size.

Ya really gotta luv summer...

The Two Part Blog...

Part One: Along The Awesomely Plain Path...

I got up quite early this morning, iPod in hand, & digital camera around my neck. The goal was to enjoy a short, quiet walk while most of the world was still sleeping, and get some photos & ideas for new blogs.

It was a very short walk -- only about 2 feet.

Greeting me as I walked out of my door, were several bright, pink petals that had fallen from a nearby tree, onto my wooden steps. The contrast between the vibrant little marvels of nature, and the lifeless, colorless steps, immediately made me think:

No matter how plain the path ahead, remember to take the time to look down & appreciate the unexpected gifts that line your steps.

Part Two: Carrying The Load

As I came back inside, and started to transfer the pics from my camera onto my laptop, I turned on an episode of 'Star Trek: The Next Generation', which I had recorded a few weeks ago. One scene came up, where Chief Engineer O'Brien is reminiscing with an old Captain of his. They are remembering past battles in which they served, and a song that one of their fallen comrades used to sing. Together, they start to quietly sing this old, Irish ballad. The words were:

"The Minstrel Boy to the war is gone,
in the ranks of death you will find him.
His father's sword he hath girded on,
and his wild harp slung behind him.
'Land of Song!', said the warrior bard.
'Tho all the world betrays thee --
one sword, at least, thy rights shall guard;
one faithful harp shall praise thee!'"

I was reminded of a photo that I rec'd in an email last wk. It shows an American soldier -- truly the one sword who guards our Rights. Look at the patches and wording on the soldier's arm. (As with all pictures in any of my blogs, click on the pictures to enlarge). The only thing that needs to be added to the photo, is a simple: 'Thank you!' to all those serving in our military, who to the war is gone.

Without A Wind, We'll Lose Him!!...

In the classic, 1956 film by John Huston -- "Moby Dick" -- Capt. Ahab (superbly played by Gregory Peck) is in a relentless pursuit of the Great White Whale. At one pivotal point in the movie, Ahab and the crew of the Pequod have rowed out to give chase to Moby Dick. The great ocean beast has surfaced just beyond their little boats, and is slipping away from Ahab's grasp. Ahab looks up to Heaven with disdain and anger, and yells out: "Without a wind, we'll lose him!!"

There have been many more times than I care to admit, when I've cried out to Heaven, and offered my own, rather insistant 'advice' as to what I think I needed in order to get 'somewhere', or obtain 'something'. In my own pursuits of various Great White Whales, I've often let myself become so blinded by the intense Want of 'It' (whatever 'It' was, at the time), that I didn't realize where 'It' was leading me.

Ahab chased Moby Dick to his own demise, and ended up engulfed as much by his blind passion, as by the ocean itself. Here's hoping that I'll finally be smarter than Ahab, and recognize when it's time to lay down my oars, and silently accept Heaven's decisons for me, as I watch some of my Great White Whales just majestically swim away...

"Without a wind, we'll lose him!!"

... I need to be better at realizing that calm winds are more likely to make for smooth sailing.

Let It Rain...

After enduring many months of winter's cold n snow, being awoken by the actual sound of rain on the roof was a welcome change. As the rain came down, I layed there for almost an hour... just listening.

I remembered once, when I was a kid, how I hid out in the perfect 'fort' during one of those sudden, summer rain bursts. Of course, I was riding my fast-as-the-wind green bike, & was quite a distance away from the house when it first started to sprinkle. I hadn't turned back, and headed for home for even a minute, when it started to pour. With no hope of pedalling it home without looking like a drowned rat, I spied a group of lilac bushes snuggled-up against a tall, wooden fence. It's amazing how resourceful a twelve yr old can be, using just a little imagination.
I made my way to the lilacs. Between the very large, full bushes was a natural arch. It was just wide & tall enough for me to be able to sit down quite comfortably under it's fragrant protection, & onto a convenient patch of dry grass. Beneath this refuge from the storm, I listened to the rumbling thunder, the strong wind, the incessant sound of rain pelloting everything around me, & I watched the free display of wicked lightning. I even played the 'what shape does that cloud make?' game (which is just as fun when you are by yourself). But mostly, I remember that I sat there... and just listened.

So, when I was awoken by the sounds of the first, real rainstorm of the yr, I fluffed-up my pillow, & resisted the urge to roll-over in bed, & fire-up the neaby laptop. No -- not even the lure of technology, with it's back-lit, bright blue buttons & it's colorful browsing tabs, was strong enough to draw me away from that cove of royal purple lilacs, & the sights, sounds, and fragrances of that rainy day, so many yrs ago. There are few things as lastingly memorable as the combined scent of moist lilacs, and fresh, summer rain. Even laying there in bed, I swear that I could almost make out the slight aroma of blooming, wet lilacs...

When the last pitter-pats of rain had ceased falling onto the roof, I got up, and opened the drapes. I grabbed my digital camera, and snapped a few pics of the clouds (shown here, in this blog). Had I gotten out of bed earlier, I probably could've taken some really good pictures of the clouds, while it was still raining -- capturing their wispyness, & washed-out, water-color shapes... but I'm glad I didn't. This was only the first, real rainstorm of the entire yr, and there will be other opportunities to capture images of rain-swollen clouds. Maybe then, I will grab my digital camera, and fire-off a few shots...

... but on this day, it was far better to lay there... and just listen.

My Trip to Chongqing Province, China...

I knew when our little group arrived outside of the village of Changshou, that we were now a world away from the familiar modern comforts that we had left behind at Pudong International Airport, in Shanghai. Though we had only travelled four days, the distance in lifestyle, scenery, and culture seemed as if we had taken a step backward in time, far greater than the 86 hours it took for us to arrive here. As our hearty band of 8 wide-eyed Americans & 4 Brits stepped off of the Ferry at Changshou, I could barely make out the village ahead thru the cold mist. It was here that we were promised to meet up with Mister Xinghua -- he was to be our Guide back down the Chang Jiang River (the Yangtze River), and thru the spectacular Three Gorges. With a rather awkward bow, I bid the gracious ferry captain a heartfelt 'do-jeh' (thank you). "Mm ha hay", he replied (you're welcome). The wonderfully ornate red & gold Dragon of his Ferry would soon disappear in the gathering fog, and slither away forever. I fumbled for my Kodak Instant camera, and snapped a photo before he embarked from shore. I took a deep breath, made sure of the backpack about my shoulders, and pressed on to re-join our little group.

From the shore, we had a 20 minute hike down a well worn stone path, to Changshou. After six hours on the cold waters of the Chang Jiang, with little to eat besides the last nibbles of a Hershey's chocolate bar, the sudden smell of fresh vegetables boiling in large, open-air stone pots, was a welcome ambassador. We looked very out of place with our down-filled Western coats, as we made our way past the modest dwellings. Chauncey, who hailed from Devon, England -- clearly the maverick of our group -- steered our little procession toward a gathering of several Chinese men, caught up in a street side game of Mahjong. We watched them, unnoticed for several minutes, before one of the men took his eyes from the board, and glanced us the familiar nod of greeting that we had by now become accustomed to receiving. The weather was quite cold, but the people were always warm.

Leaving the others behind, I allowed my hunger to overcome me, and made my way past some very old, 1950's vintage trucks. I found myself standing outside of a rather marvellous garden, and watching a hunched-up elderly man, rooting thru the rich soil. He had greens cooking in a stone wok, and several small pots of boiling water, with various slices of meats and vegetables in them. The aroma was intoxicating.

The little man, no doubt sore & stiff from bending and kneeling in his crouched position, took a slight spill as he fell to one side. It was then that he noticed me, as he looked up to see who's hand was offering him a pull back-up again. As surprised as he was to see me, an American, standing in his garden, I was even more taken aback when he spoke to me in quite good English.

"Thank you," he said thru an embarassed smile. "I think that is the fourth time this morning that my knees have given out from under me." "You're welcome... mm ha hay," I replied, suddenly aware of my poor attempt at a Chinese dialect. "I'm here with a group of tourists from America & Britain," I said, as I gestured with my arm toward the gang down the street. "We've come to take a boat tour down the Yangtze, and the Three Gorges."
"Yes, I know," replied the gentle man. "I am Mister Xinghua, your Guide." He was not at all what I expected. Poor clothing, wet soil soaking thru the worn fabric about his knees and elbows. For now, he was a far cry from the elaborately dressed Guide who would later pose for us after our voyage down the Chang Jiang River was at last complete: An immaculate, bright red & white garment draping his sloping body, topped with a hat of black velvet & red rope, and always that warm, wide grin of his. Then, he would be every bit the wise, old Sage. But for the present, he was but a simple, unassuming man, hands dirty with black soil. He grasped my arm like a grandfather taking hold of his grandson, as if he knew that I was about to turn, and call out to my friends to come and join us. "Your comrades can wait. The river will wait. For now, sit. We must harvest these carrots and onions while the meat boils. The meat will not wait."

I slid off my backpack, and joined my new-found friend in the dirt. "Before the harvest can be obtained, the field must first be plowed," he said. "We must tend our garden." He pointed to several outcroppings of weeds, growing about the garden. "These ones -- the yellow green ones -- dig underneath deeply, and pull upward with a circular twist. They will come away easily, root and all." He showed me the technique, and watched amusingly as I made my attempt. "Not all Americans are from Kansas," I joked. He let out a hearty laugh. "And not all Chinese like peas!," he chuckled, as he pointed out the quadrant of his garden where an abundance of peas lay un-picked. We both nodded in agreement. A garden Detente' had been reached.

For several minutes, we knelt there, uprooting weeds, and filling-in rich, dark soil around those stalks of vegetables which were not yet ready to be pulled. "Time is what is needed -- and patience -- always patience," he whispered, as he nurtured each plant. I agreed with him, nodding silently.

After the weeding was finished, we turned to the task at hand -- gathering the fresh onions & carrots which were to compose that evening's feast, along with the deliciously cooked, tender meat. I watched his worn hands skillfully uproot each vegetable -- his hands were quite nimble for a man of his advanced age. Uncertain of which ones to pull out, my haul was a mere handful or two. Mister Xinghua had collected 3 very large bowls of the fresh bounty.

"You are like these plants. Still green, raw. But with time, and patience -- always patience -- the day will come when you, too, will yield a full bounty. Before then, only one thing is required," he said, as he dug up one last onion. "What is required?", I asked, lost in watching his skillful hands.

Mister Xinghua looked up at me, & again grasped my arm in a grandfatherly fashion. Then, pulling himself close to my ear, he whispered quietly: "You must tend your garden."

His words echoed in my thoughts as I awoke from the dream. I looked about my room, half hoping to be outside of a modest shack, wrist-deep in black dirt; or to smell the savory aroma of fresh meat & hand-picked vegetables boiling in small pots, beside a steaming wok.

No, they were all gone -- indeed, they had never even been there. But though it was all a fantasy, I could still hear a soft, grandfatherly voice whispering from deep inside my Being -- gently advising me to do what urgently needed to be done:

"You must tend your garden."

Chimps, Good. Gorillas, Bad...

(Note: It is 2:58 a.m. I just now woke up from a very sound sleep, with this ENTIRE blog already written in my head, outta nowhere. I'm writing it out while I still remember it).

Everything I needed to learn in Life, can be learned by watching the original 'Planet Of The Apes' movie. In no particular order of importance:

1. On a long trip, hope that things go well, but be ready for problems to occur. Plan ahead! (Spaceship crashes onto Ape Planet, but the astronauts only have a few provisions to sustain them?).

2. Frontal Lobotomy's are never a good thing. (Well, duh).

3. Sometimes, it's better to keep your mouth shut. (Don't let the Apes know that you can talk. For consequences, refer to Rule #2).

4. When you do speak, make it memorable. ("Take your stinking paws off me, you damn dirty Ape!").

5. It's always good to have smart friends. (Cornelius & Zira).

6. Never judge a person's intelligence or worth, by the clothes they wear. (Taylor spent most of the movie in torn, dirty rags).

7. Sometimes, it's good to vent! ("It's a madhouse!! A madhouse!!!").

8. In general, any woman named 'Nova' will be attractive. (Well, duh).

9. Women who ride horses are good to find. (See Rule #8).

10. A warm, relaxing shower is good! Being sprayed down by a high pressure water hose... not so good! (Taylor captive in the cage).

11. Use common sense. (If a place is called 'The Forbidden Zone', it's called that for a good reason).

12. The Government knows more than they are willing to tell you. (Dr. Zaius knew all along about Man's previous superiority, and the real reason for The Forbidden Zone).

13. Things aren't always as they appear, & not all changes are good ones. (An ocean-side ride on horseback along a secluded beach, with a fully loaded rifle, all the time in the world, no particular place to go, and a woman named Nova... good! Discovering that you're really in New York City... not so good!).

14. Chimps, good. Gorillas, bad. (Well, duh).

Don't Drink Outta The Milk Carton, Cowlick Divets, & Apollo 11...

If things worked out the way they're supposed to, we should all look back on our childhood with fondness. Whether we were athletic, or not. Or responsible, or not. Or brainy, or not. Whether we liked store bought Ginger Snap cookies, or cookies made from scratch. Somehow, those fond, childhood memories have a way of coming back to us, triggered by certain sounds, or smells, or images that have implanted themselves forever in our brains. And, when they re-surface years later in our adultness, I think it's kinda Creation's way of reminding us that somewhere within our Suit & Tie Shell, that skinny kid in the overly-baggy swim trunks is still inside there, running thru the neighbor's sprinklers. Childhood memories are the Cosmic equivalent of God tapping us on our burdened, adult shoulders, & saying: "Hey, don't sweat the small stuff... I've taken you this far. Don't worry -- I've gotcha covered". Childhood memories are meant to help us relax, laugh at ourselves, and keep moving on.

Some things about being a kid, I think, are Universal. For example, there is the T=N1N2N3 Equation. (The amount of Trouble we were in is equal to how many of our Names were called out when we finally got busted). If we drank the outta the milk carton, or trampled on the freshly planted flowers, or was caught swearing, we could always tell the severity of our offense by how much of our name was yelled out. If it was just our first name... eh, not so bad. We'll be out riding our bike in ten minutes. First and middle names... might need to do some sweet talking to smooth things over. All 3 of our names... better plead some sort of hereditary ailment, taylored to whichever parent is calling for us. If that fails, go to trusty ole Plan B: blame one of your siblings. :-)

It's amazing how even some of childhood's most painful incidents will later make us smile. I must have half a dozen scars and divets on my mid-life body from multiple bike crashes; or from bailing out of swings at their highest point (pretending to be a Fighter Pilot, shot down over Nazi Germany); or from flipping over park benches while running full speed, trying to catch a frisbee. All were plenty painful at the time (some of my bicycle wrecks would've put Evil Knievel to shame). But, when I look at those scars now, I can't help but smile. Those painfully acquired scrapes on my knees have become: "Wow! That bike wipe-out across ten feet of asphalt and little, sharp rocks was soooo kewl! God, I loved that green bike w/the loopy handle-bars!" There's a mysterious divet on the top of my head, where the cowlick should be, that I have no earthly idea where it came from -- tho I haven't ruled out Extra Terrestrial Abduction. And the notch on my right calve, where the teeth from my bike pedal ate out a chunk of flesh.... yeh, a badge of pride.

Even now, several decades later, the aroma of fresh baking bread conjures up memories of me racing up the street on that fast-as-the-wind green bike, to be there when my Mom or Dad would take the fresh loaves out of the oven, and sneak us kids a piece, still nice n hot.

When I smell lilacs after a rain, I am transported back to being The Invincible Bee Catcher & Tormentor. No empty Miracle Whip jar was big enough to hold my day's catch. One of my favorite childhood skills wasn't when I learned how to drive a car; but, rather, when the neighbor kid across the street taught me how to sneak up on bees, and smash them with the palm of my bare hand, while they were busy sucking on clover. (No bee stings -- I truly was Invincible!).

And when I catch a rare rerun today of the cartoon, 'Gigantor', The Space Aged Robot, I can't help but imagine again that I'm flying, and start to sing to myself the Gigantor theme song. You couldn't be a little kid growing up in the late 60's without knowing or loving Gigantor. One of my brothers even immortalized the Space Aged Robot on the inside wall of the garage, using a blue crayon. Gigantor is still flying today, on that same garage wall, almost 40 yrs later.

It's amazing, really. Childhood memories are salve for the ailments of adulthood. Mental Band Aids for our everyday stress. Momentary little time capsules that propel us magically away from the frantic Now of our lives.

Today, I begin to panic when I even think about being in a very confined space, unable to move my arms. Even if I dream about a situation like that, I wake up in a sweat & panic, my heart racing 90 miles per hour. But when I was a kid, I used to slide the lowest, 3rd bunkbed underneath the 2nd bunk. I'd somehow squeeze myself into that impossibly cramped space, with my little transistor radio in-hand, and tiny earplugs. On a clear nite, it could just barely catch the staticky signal from 'Might As Well Be The Moon', far-off Oklahoma City, and radio station KOMA, & I'd pretend I was one of those Apollo Astronauts inside the Command Module. I'd probably give a good chunk of my savings account to find one of those tear-out/fold-out, paper replicas of the Apollo 11 Lunar Lander, that my Dad bought for me at the Union 76 gas station, on the day that Neil Armstrong first stepped foot on the moon.

Yes, if things worked out the way they're supposed to, we should all look back on our childhood with fondness. And as I now look back at my rather mundane life, several thousand lunar orbits later, I'm starting to see that instead of being uneventful, my life really has been an adventure rivalling those first, tenative trips to the moon.

Maybe I really have achieved something notable? Maybe even the most awesomely plain life is an accomplishment & a wonder all to itself, with real value? Maybe I finally get it??

"Houston, Tranquility Base here. The Eagle has landed".

Not Nobody! Not No-How!...

There are many things in this world that I just don't get. Many people or groups that I just don't understand. And probably never will.

No... this blog isn't about the music icon, Prince (aka 'The Artist Formerly Known As Prince', aka 'The Artist', aka that strange He-She symbol thing). I actually get Prince, what little I know of him & his music. True enough -- I think the man is a freakin Genius. Extremely creative & original. Talent for days. Also true, I admittedly am only really familiar w/some of the smash, radio Hits from his pre-Musicology era (& Musicology is the only CD of Prince's that I own -- luv'd it, btw).

Like I said, I don't know or wouldn't remember the vast majority of Prince's songs, and probably wouldn't listen to most of his song catalog. But, being weened on MTV from when it first came out (& when it actually still played music videos), I do remember the video, "Batdance", which Prince made for the 'Batman' movie. In the video, there were all kinds of Batman & Vicky Vale clones, grooving to a typically inventive and funky Prince beat. In the song, there's this one lyric that I still remember (in fact, it's the ONLY lyric I remember from the song):

"This town needs an enema".

For some reason, that lyric got stuck in my head recently (and I hadn't even woke up from a dream when I remembered it). But, it got me thinking about people & things that really need to have something, anything happen to them, to get them to change. Or to get me to understand them. Or maybe I really just don't get it. Examples of people or things that I just don't get:

• Terrorists. I don't care from where, or for what -- be they Radical Islamists from the middle east, or Radical Catholics from Ireland. You'd think they would see the disconnect between anything & everything having to do with God or spirituality, and blowing up other people. Or blowing up yourself while blowing up other people. It makes no sense to me. I just don't get it, at all.
  

• Television coverage of Nascar, Golf, Bowling, most Olympic 'Sports', & 'Pro' Wrestling, to name but a few. I truly don't get the whole Nascar thing, but it is the most popular spectator sport in the USA. Yep, more so than the NFL, or NBA, or Baseball. I can see where watching these things 'live' might be kinda fun -- I mean, you know that Nascar races must have hella good concession stands. Makes me drool just thinking about it. But to watch it on TV -- can't help but think it loses something in the translation. Ditto w/Golf, bowling, etc..

• Adam Sandler & Ben Stiller. Two of the most popular and supposedly funniest actors/comedians out there... but again, I just don't get it. I get many more authentic laughs from one, typical Simpson's episode than from anything I've seen from these two gentlemen, put together. When 'Happy Gilmore' aired on TV, it was all I could do to sit thru 5 minutes of it before changing the channel. Even C-Span, showing Senators giving impassioned speeches before an almost completely empty Senate Chamber, was more entertaining.

• Analysis after a Presidential speech, or debate. I mean, I just saw the speech 3 seconds ago, I don't see the need for anchors & partisans to tell me what it was that I really saw. And what is the point of having someone there from each political bias? You know what they are gonna spout. Even if you catch the same political hack, later on, on a totally different program, they say the exact same thing, almost word for word. I don't wanna hear pre-scripted talking-points from pre-biased stooges. Please! Let me watch it & digest it in peace. Let me get it on my own. I can make my own conclusions without 'experts'.

These are just some of the many things in this world that I just don't get. So, how does all of this relate to the title of this blog: "Not Nobody! Not No-How!"?

Remember when Dorothy & Crew finally made it to Oz, and The Big Door? After explaining their journey & their desire to see The Great And Powerful Wizard of Oz, the intransigent doorman tells them: "Nobody gets in to see The Wizard! Not nobody! Not no-how!", and firmly shuts the little trap door.

It seems hopeless. That's it. Might as well pack it back to Munchkinland. Dorothy starts to break down, and is consoled by her hapless friends. She sobs about missing her family and Kansas and Auntie Em. Then the camera cuts to that same stubborn doorman, who just a few seconds earlier seemed totally incapable of changing his stance. He's pouring out buckets of tears, listening to Dorothy's plight. Then he unexpectedly & completely changes his once-unchangeable position, and exclaims to the fab four that somehow he will get them in to see The Wizard.

"I once had an Auntie Em, myself", he declares thru his own change-of-heart tears.

From hopeless to hope, instantly, because of that one, minor little fact.

... Wouldn't it be nice if Bin laden once had an Auntie Em, too? Or maybe he just needs an enema...?

Until then, I just don't get it.