Month: May 2017

Cateract

Cateract (definition): a feline’s amusing or entertaining behavior, which can also be irritating and exasperating.

In use: “I had a fake fishing worm. About ten inches long, it was very flexible and wiggled when you moved it. It’d tied it to some fishing line and would throw it out across the living room floor, and then drag it back, causing it to wiggle. Jade, of course, loved that, chasing, batting and capturing the worm, often carrying it away as a trophy. However, Jade clearly detested touching the worm.

“It was kept in a bowl, on a shelf, on a bookcase. Somehow, Jade knew it was there. Her cateract was to jump onto the shelf and paw the worm out of the bowl onto the floor. After jumping down, she’d picked it up in her mouth and carry it over to me, and drop it by my feet. Then she would tap it and sit back to wait for me to play.

“Of course, her behavior delighted us. We couldn’t say what it was about her expression that stated, “This is disgusting.” But something was there.”

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Today’s Theme Music

I’ve always enjoyed Radiohead. Their first hit, ‘Creep’ remains my favorite song made by them.

The song came out during the days of my final U.S.A.F. assignment, at Onizuka Air Station. Several of us were in base housing over on Moffett N.A.S.  We partied a lot in those days, but it was a clean party, with some beer but nothing harder, and centered around playing music and volleyball, and grilling.

I had a decent music collection and provided many compilation tapes for our enjoyment. They asked to leave ‘Creep’ off. Most of my friends disliked the song. One had the opinion, “It’s too depressing.” A second said, “It’s not bad but it’s boring,” while the third friend’s opinion was, “It just sucks.”

I still like it. Here it is, from nineteen ninety-three, ‘Creep’. 

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Today’s Theme Music

I’ve been thinking about the Beatles’ song, “Hello, Goodbye”. A simple song, I’ve thought often of this song in the context of people taking different views of something. To me, the words were about trying to reconcile differences between people – “You say, goodbye, and I say, hello.” The lyrics were saying, “We can’t agree on anything.” Yet, the song is optimistic; they’re talking about this.

Beyond that, like most Beatles songs, I like their use of their instruments and timing to add inflections and nuances. Yet, watching the video, and the almost bored attitude as they play, and listening to the words, it’s really a tedious little song. What about those costumes, too?

But, it’s in my head, and I have to get it out, so I’m putting it out to you. Sue me if you’re upset.

 

2

So Just

Illness interrupts life, if you’re fortunate. The less fortunate end up in hospital, hospice, or a grave. For me, the latest illness is an interruption to my usual routines.

  • Took a hot shower on day three, first since March 20.
  • Didn’t exercise or walk, achieving less than four thousand steps on each of the the first two days, far below my Fitbit goals.
  • Didn’t post, and barely read anything, until the third day.
  • Didn’t write, edit or revise. Didn’t address any publishing biz.
  • Didn’t do yard work, or go out anywhere, and scarcely kept up with the news.
  • Ate little but soup and buttered toast for the first several days, and drank large quantities of tea and hot water.
  • Binged season four of ‘Justified’ and advanced halfway through season five. No ‘Red Dwarf’ was available streaming. RD has been my sickness staple since the turn of the century. I have some of the DVDs and tapes, but it was easier to stream TV.

Being sick allowed some thinking time. I remembered that I’d dreamed of trying to help a general get to a hospital a few days before my illness, and wonder if I was attempting to warn myself. I dreamed a bunch when I was sick, about broken plumbing, stolen baseball gloves, fake roses, taking charge to organize people and processes, family, and flying.

I dreamed of flying a lot during the illness. It wasn’t like Superman and other superheroes would fly, horizontally, with their arms stuck out in front of them, as though diving, or with my arms swept back like wings. No, my flights were like I was walking through the air. I would step up into the air, find my direction, step toward it and be there.

There was some goofiness. I sang to myself. One of the things I sang was, “You say , “Meow,” and I say “Hello. Hello, hello.” I don’t know why you say meow, I say, “Hello.”” I just kept messing with the Beatles’ song, substituting meow for everything “you say”.

It was a mild illness in the relative spectrum of how these things go. The illness has faded to a harsh cough, a throat that’s sore when I cough, and some mucus. Energy is back up to about eighty-three percent of normal. The sensation I couldn’t get warm is gone, the aches have receded, and clarity has returned to thinking.

So just resume everything.

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Zombies On Bikes

I was on Zombie Watch the other day. Peeking out from behind the office blinds in my home, I was watching for Zombies. That’s why we call it Zombie Watch.

(Editing Note: Zombies and Zombie are both to be capitalized, per the Trump Administration. As Sean Spicer said in a presser regarding the Executive Order, “Hey, come on, where there’s that much smoke, there must be a fire. We had far less information about Russia interfering with the U.S. elections last year. You guys believed that, and there’s been far less information about that out there, out there on television. You guys ever watch iZombie? Come on, that stuff can’t be made up.”)

My cell phone was at hand to provide the world with high-quality video evidence should I see one. I was nervous, of course. From all I’ve seen on television, Zombies have very good hearing and eye-sight. They’re pretty good at sneaking up on you, too. And, where there’s one Zombie, a hoard is likely following, because Zombies are very social walking dead.

A start went through my heart as movement registered. A Zombie. On a bike. “There’s a Zombie on a bike,” I said, watching the Zombie’s laborious progress up the hill.

“I don’t think Zombies ride bikes,” my wife said.

“Are you sure?” I frowned. The cyclist disappeared. “They say you never forget how to ride a bike.”

“I don’t think they drive cars, either,” she answered.

“That’s not the same thing. Cars require more hand and eye coordination.” I didn’t know what I was talking about. “Plus, you need gas, and car keys, and you’d need to adjust the seat.”

“I suppose that’s true.”

“Although the way some of these people drive, they might as well be Zombies,” I said.

I continued my watch. I wasn’t certain if Zombies ride bikes or drive cars, but I’ll be damned if they’re going to take me by surprise. So, I’ll continue to assume that Zombies can be on bikes.

And I guess they might be able to drive cars.

 

 

 

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Today’s Theme Music

Returning to my roots of being, I’m streaming stuff from the nineteen sixties today.

I was a big motor-racing, science-fiction and baseball fan then. Mario Andretti, Jackie Stewart, Mark Donahue, Dan Gurney, Peter Revson were among the racers I idolized. The Can-Am, Formula One, Indy (called USAC racing back then), sports car racing, with the Ford versus Ferrari battles at LeMans…I watched them all.

My baseball team was the Pittsburgh Pirates, and I followed them faithfully. But my emerging loves were reading and music. Although my reading tastes were — and are — eclectic, I tore through the works of Asimov, Bradbury, Zelazny, Clarke, and Heinlein. Besides my racing magazines, I bought science fiction magazines every month, and devoured the short stories.

The rock explosion was in full strength and the Brit Invasion was underway. Protests, demonstrations, riots, the Altamont Free Concert and Woodstock were part of our news cycles, along with Vietnam, political assassinations, civil rights and the cold war. The threat of nukes was a constant. Bombers and fighters remained on alert.

Consumerism, television and advertising were gaining strength. What a time, what a time, for a teenage boy in America. Into this maelstrom of my existence came Jimi Hendrix. Wow, his playing amazed me. He died young, just twenty-eight years old, but, man, what a legacy he left. What an impact he had.

2

New Trump Sayings

Donald Trump came up with a new expression the other day: “prime the pump.” He was discussing the U.S. economy with a magazine at the time. It’s another example of his tremendous ability to see and grasp complex situations and reduce them to something that can be tweeted and remembered.

Here’s a few other expressions he’s originated since becoming president.

  • A snowball’s chance in hell.
  • Between a rock and a hard place.
  • Once in a blue moon.

In each of those four instances above, the Tangelos mascot said, “Have you heard that expression used before? Because I haven’t heard it. I mean, I just…I came up with it a couple of days ago and I thought it was good. It’s what you have to do.”

He also claimed that he came up with the famous statement, “Ich bin ein Berliner,” while discussing the Berlin Wall with President Kennedy. Although only seventeen at the time, Trump said, “Walls always fascinated me, always. I had a gut feeling, you know, just a hunch, just a hunch, but I trust my hunches, I trust my instinct, that walls, like the one in Berlin that we built to protect us from communisms, were going to be important in my life, someday, and I was right. I was right.”

#fakenews

Well, almost fake news.

6

Not Writing

It’s a bummer of a day.

You don’t need to read this. I just need to write it out. Therapy.

I’m sick, and it’s encouraging depression.

It’s mostly a chest cold. Nothing major. I can sometimes hear my breathing in my chest, particularly on my left side. Other symptoms are arising in my head and joints.

Bummer. I wrestled a long time about not going out to walk and write. I wrestled for a long time about whether I should wash up. A compromise was reached that I would shower. Then the question was, hot or cold? I haven’t taken a hot shower since March 20. I really didn’t want to break that streak just because I’m under the weather.

Another compromise was extended and accepted that I would take a short warm shower.  Then, scorning myself, I took the cold shower. It was probably a stupid decision. It felt freezing. Then, though, no shaving.

What about deodorant? Debating that for a few minutes helped convince me not to go write. I didn’t understand what the debate was about. Why was it a question?

I’d lost my boxer shorts somewhere between the master bedroom and the attached master bath. I knew I’d gotten some out of the drawer; where the hell did they go? Well, I must have put them somewhere strange. No kidding. They certainly didn’t develop legs and walk out on their own, did they, as Mom would ask.

The missing boxers were found after a few minutes, hiding in plain sight on the bench at the foot of the bed. After dressing and enduring a coughing fit, I agreed with myself, don’t go out.

Then came the guilt.

Why is it that I feel guilty about being sick? Why do I feel like I’m a malingerer?

I guess it’s something about being told to work hard and be disciplined. That’s the mantra drilled into me. “Work hard. Be disciplined.” I also feel resentment because women like to mock men when they get sick. Oh, men don’t know what it’s like to suffer or experience pain. “Poor man, he has a cold. Aw.” It’s one of their standard jokes, as regular as men mocking women for getting lost or being consumed with shopping and buying shoes and clothes. So now, I’m like, validating their joke of a stereotype. Bah.

I’m also angry about being sick. I feel like I’ve betrayed myself. I feel like I’m betraying myself by accepting that I’m sick and indulging in not going out, writing and doing the things I normally do. I had plans, damn it.

Well, screw all of that. I want to go to bed.

Maybe some tea and toast first. Maybe some hot soup.

My head feels like the large granite rock in my front yard. My neck is tired of holding it up. Why the hell must I have such a large, heavy head?

Maybe just bed.

5

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