Driving home Friday night listening to Sirius.
The "DJ" came on and said in somber tones, that a listener had requested the next song in remembrance of a friend that he just lost, a close friend who just died. The DJ said he hoped the song would provide some comfort to him.
It was "High Falls" by The Allman Brothers.
The DJ did not make a big deal about it, did not go off a on a lecture meant to be meaningful. He just said those simple words and played the song.
It meant a lot to me. Really hit home.
That is the power of music. The listener requested a song that meant something to him, that connected him with his friend.
I hope it gave him some comfort.
Sunday, June 10, 2018
Quotable Quote
"Too much of anything is bad, but too much good whiskey is barely enough."
Mark Twain
Mark Twain
You Can't Always Get What You Want BUT.............................
When I drive on a summer night I feel like a teenager.
An incredible feeling.
I was driving home Friday night, sun roof open, windows down, feeling glorious. A rogue thought popped into my head as I cruised - I wished I had some place to be. Some place fun.
A party. A barbecue. A bar with an outdoor patio filled with my friends.
Instead of my inevitable destination - the recliner.
I may be 64 but I still have, and always will have, that party spirit. That drive to fill up every warm moment with fun. Insanity. Friendship. Laughter.
Got a little down and a bit confused as that thought wrestled with the feeling of sweet abandon I was feeling.
However, I was rewarded yesterday.
Carol and I attended a backyard barbecue wedding reception on another glorious summer day.
Stacey and Ed. Congrats, guys. May your marriage be filled with happiness and good health.
I packed a cooler. Whiskey. Beer. Water. Of course I had to wipe 6 inches of dust off the cooler first. Still, the ritualistic packing of the cooler is a comforting thing to me.
I have done that hundreds, maybe thousands of times. And, of course, I believe I have created the optimal method of ice positioning to guarantee the coldest beer in the entire recorded history of mankind.
We picked up Jason and Karen and made our way to a backyard in the woods. Fucking boonies, baby.
First thing I noticed is that they had a table set up with booze, including Crown Royal and Crown Royal Reserve. I never had to touch the bottle I brought with me, which is a gift from the gods.
We set up our chairs in the sun, baby (my melanoma dermatologist would have cut my balls off, but what the fuck - I am feeling fatalistic. Got me a red face today and I look damn sexy.)
They had music playing. There were a lot of people there. A big crowd. A band showed up later.
Live music, booze, good friends, a happy couple, good and plentiful food, a gorgeous fucking day - THAT is living, my friends.
Something about an atmosphere like that greatly increases the capacity to absorb booze without causing major damage. Which reminds me of a great Hunter Thompson quote: "Music has always been a matter of Energy to me, a question of Fuel.........................On some nights I still believe that a car with the gas needle on empty can run about fifty more miles if you have the right music very loud on the radio."
I believe that as well.
Anyway, if I sat at home and drank as much as I did yesterday, I would be in pain today. Instead I suffer no hangover. Just feel a little beat up.
But that is not really the point.
The point is that yesterday represented the perfect use of summer weather. We all thought we would only be there a couple of hours. We stayed for four hours.
And then we went out to dinner. Me, Carol, Jason and Karen to a great restaurant where we ate outside on the deck. Perfect ending to a perfect day.
Friday night I had that primal stirring for summer fun. Wind whipping through my now very short hair, music loud on the radio, warmth, comfort, ease. Had me a little regret too.
Saturday the regret got wiped away. In a big, loud, meaningful, over the top way. Great. Just fucking great.
I hope to say that a few more times before I am forced to scrape ice off my windshield once again.
An incredible feeling.
I was driving home Friday night, sun roof open, windows down, feeling glorious. A rogue thought popped into my head as I cruised - I wished I had some place to be. Some place fun.
A party. A barbecue. A bar with an outdoor patio filled with my friends.
Instead of my inevitable destination - the recliner.
I may be 64 but I still have, and always will have, that party spirit. That drive to fill up every warm moment with fun. Insanity. Friendship. Laughter.
Got a little down and a bit confused as that thought wrestled with the feeling of sweet abandon I was feeling.
However, I was rewarded yesterday.
Carol and I attended a backyard barbecue wedding reception on another glorious summer day.
Stacey and Ed. Congrats, guys. May your marriage be filled with happiness and good health.
I packed a cooler. Whiskey. Beer. Water. Of course I had to wipe 6 inches of dust off the cooler first. Still, the ritualistic packing of the cooler is a comforting thing to me.
I have done that hundreds, maybe thousands of times. And, of course, I believe I have created the optimal method of ice positioning to guarantee the coldest beer in the entire recorded history of mankind.
We picked up Jason and Karen and made our way to a backyard in the woods. Fucking boonies, baby.
First thing I noticed is that they had a table set up with booze, including Crown Royal and Crown Royal Reserve. I never had to touch the bottle I brought with me, which is a gift from the gods.
We set up our chairs in the sun, baby (my melanoma dermatologist would have cut my balls off, but what the fuck - I am feeling fatalistic. Got me a red face today and I look damn sexy.)
They had music playing. There were a lot of people there. A big crowd. A band showed up later.
Live music, booze, good friends, a happy couple, good and plentiful food, a gorgeous fucking day - THAT is living, my friends.
Something about an atmosphere like that greatly increases the capacity to absorb booze without causing major damage. Which reminds me of a great Hunter Thompson quote: "Music has always been a matter of Energy to me, a question of Fuel.........................On some nights I still believe that a car with the gas needle on empty can run about fifty more miles if you have the right music very loud on the radio."
I believe that as well.
Anyway, if I sat at home and drank as much as I did yesterday, I would be in pain today. Instead I suffer no hangover. Just feel a little beat up.
But that is not really the point.
The point is that yesterday represented the perfect use of summer weather. We all thought we would only be there a couple of hours. We stayed for four hours.
And then we went out to dinner. Me, Carol, Jason and Karen to a great restaurant where we ate outside on the deck. Perfect ending to a perfect day.
Friday night I had that primal stirring for summer fun. Wind whipping through my now very short hair, music loud on the radio, warmth, comfort, ease. Had me a little regret too.
Saturday the regret got wiped away. In a big, loud, meaningful, over the top way. Great. Just fucking great.
I hope to say that a few more times before I am forced to scrape ice off my windshield once again.
Friday, June 8, 2018
Wednesday, June 6, 2018
A Revised Game Plan
"Erratic" - Not even or regular in pattern or movement; unpredictable. Synonyms - inconsistent, irregular, unstable, turbulent, unsettled.
That's me. That's my life, neatly summed up.
Inconsistency defines me, although in certain self destructive ways I am quite consistent. If you are consistently self destructive does that then elevate said inconsistency to a virtue?
Not sure about that, but I do enjoy looking at things in reverse. I have no faith in generally accepted accounting principles.
"Generally accepted accounting principles." As an accountant you run into that phrase 315 times a week. It is accounting nerd mantra. GAAP for those in the know.
The funny thing is that I am likely to use that phrase in conversation, expecting people to understand my intent. That is how I prefer to communicate. That is why I am so often met with blank stares.
It is incredible to me how few people appreciate dry humor. Too intelligent for them. Most people need it spelled out. I will say something sarcastically - with a straight face - and people will take me literally. Amazing. I get tired of saying "I was joking". Perhaps I should seek out a different crowd to run with.
Anyway, the point I was making in my own twisted way is that I have grown to not trust conventional wisdom. There are no answers. No road map, no way to know how to live life in accordance with some universal principle. Priests don't know, doctors don't know, psychiatrists don't know, philosophers don't know.
You are on your own, Bubba.
I am erratic because I never intended to live a conventional lifestyle. I never believed in mortgages, lawn maintenance, home repair, working "for a living", deadlines or commitments.
Still don't.
So I never committed. I was never all in.
I fell into it. As a result, every job I ever had was a joke to me. I never thought I would do the nine to five. Thought my life would be more interesting than that.
I was an accountant but I was never a "good" accountant. I could have made a lot more money if I applied myself, could have retired well, and I have no doubt I have the intelligence to do that, but there was an evil voice in my head that kept repeating "This is a fucking joke". It kept me in a strange and twisted in between, where I could hold down a job but not excel at it.
The irony of all this is that because I walked a conventional path, Carol, Keith and Craig came into my life. Three people I could not live without in any situation under any circumstance.
If The Devil sat down right next to me right now and said "I will take you back to 1975 when you were 21 years old and offer you a different life. A life completely in sync with your soul (which I will own eventually, he says with a vicious smile), one that will vanquish anxiety and fill you with fun, pride and accomplishment BUT you will never meet Carol, and Keith and Craig will never be born," I would reply "No deal, my man. Go away - we will meet up again soon enough."
That is 100% truth, whether you doubt me or not.
So here I sit. Pondering my life. I "semi-retired" on June 2, 2016. I have been semi-retired for over two years now. My plan was to retire on June 2, 2016 and be insanely wealthy by June 30. Somehow that didn't work out.
I don't get it.
In the interim Carol has been through hell, and our retirement has become a frightening and dangerous thing, at least to me.
I am not one to endure elderly housing, eat cat food and debate with Medicare representatives.
Somethings gotta give. (Great Jack Nicholson movie, by the way.)
I have revised my game plan. I expect to be insanely wealthy by June 30, 2018.
That's me. That's my life, neatly summed up.
Inconsistency defines me, although in certain self destructive ways I am quite consistent. If you are consistently self destructive does that then elevate said inconsistency to a virtue?
Not sure about that, but I do enjoy looking at things in reverse. I have no faith in generally accepted accounting principles.
"Generally accepted accounting principles." As an accountant you run into that phrase 315 times a week. It is accounting nerd mantra. GAAP for those in the know.
The funny thing is that I am likely to use that phrase in conversation, expecting people to understand my intent. That is how I prefer to communicate. That is why I am so often met with blank stares.
It is incredible to me how few people appreciate dry humor. Too intelligent for them. Most people need it spelled out. I will say something sarcastically - with a straight face - and people will take me literally. Amazing. I get tired of saying "I was joking". Perhaps I should seek out a different crowd to run with.
Anyway, the point I was making in my own twisted way is that I have grown to not trust conventional wisdom. There are no answers. No road map, no way to know how to live life in accordance with some universal principle. Priests don't know, doctors don't know, psychiatrists don't know, philosophers don't know.
You are on your own, Bubba.
I am erratic because I never intended to live a conventional lifestyle. I never believed in mortgages, lawn maintenance, home repair, working "for a living", deadlines or commitments.
Still don't.
So I never committed. I was never all in.
I fell into it. As a result, every job I ever had was a joke to me. I never thought I would do the nine to five. Thought my life would be more interesting than that.
I was an accountant but I was never a "good" accountant. I could have made a lot more money if I applied myself, could have retired well, and I have no doubt I have the intelligence to do that, but there was an evil voice in my head that kept repeating "This is a fucking joke". It kept me in a strange and twisted in between, where I could hold down a job but not excel at it.
The irony of all this is that because I walked a conventional path, Carol, Keith and Craig came into my life. Three people I could not live without in any situation under any circumstance.
If The Devil sat down right next to me right now and said "I will take you back to 1975 when you were 21 years old and offer you a different life. A life completely in sync with your soul (which I will own eventually, he says with a vicious smile), one that will vanquish anxiety and fill you with fun, pride and accomplishment BUT you will never meet Carol, and Keith and Craig will never be born," I would reply "No deal, my man. Go away - we will meet up again soon enough."
That is 100% truth, whether you doubt me or not.
So here I sit. Pondering my life. I "semi-retired" on June 2, 2016. I have been semi-retired for over two years now. My plan was to retire on June 2, 2016 and be insanely wealthy by June 30. Somehow that didn't work out.
I don't get it.
In the interim Carol has been through hell, and our retirement has become a frightening and dangerous thing, at least to me.
I am not one to endure elderly housing, eat cat food and debate with Medicare representatives.
Somethings gotta give. (Great Jack Nicholson movie, by the way.)
I have revised my game plan. I expect to be insanely wealthy by June 30, 2018.
Tuesday, May 29, 2018
Lots of Death Today
Are you fucking kidding me?
The Tuesday after Memorial Day Weekend.
People are shattered. Especially considering the fact that it rained for 2 days of the weekend. At least around here.
Campers, barbecuers, partyers - Jesus Fucking Christ - that is a boatload of frustration.
Suicides. No doubt about it. Johnny Fuckubot wakes up to the 5 am alarm, with a vicious fucking hangover and thinks: "This is it. I cannot fucking take anymore."
He reaches into the nightstand, grabs his Glock G43, presses the barrel right up against the side of his head, says "Fuck this life" - and pulls the trigger.
Blood and bits of brain spray onto his wife's face, who wakes up to the sudden explosion and says: "You fucking asshole, one more mess you left behind that I have to clean up. Then again, good riddance, loser - now I can wrap my legs around young Johnny LoverHot. Ciao, baby."
or
Frankie Sucksatlife reports to work with his tail between his legs and his pride tucked away in the freezer. Head down, he does his job until his boss - Bobby Jerksoffalot - says: "Frankie - for Christ sake, man - you are moving too slow, your work is sloppy and your attitude sucks."
Whereupon Frankie reaches under his greasy workbench, grabs the Taurus Raging Bull Model 444 Revolver 44 magnum, lifts that puppy up, points it into his boss's face and proceeds to blow his boss's face - and head - clean off.
Yeah, there is a lot of death today. But it feels clean. It feels necessary.
America is a land chock full of opportunity.
The Tuesday after Memorial Day Weekend.
People are shattered. Especially considering the fact that it rained for 2 days of the weekend. At least around here.
Campers, barbecuers, partyers - Jesus Fucking Christ - that is a boatload of frustration.
Suicides. No doubt about it. Johnny Fuckubot wakes up to the 5 am alarm, with a vicious fucking hangover and thinks: "This is it. I cannot fucking take anymore."
He reaches into the nightstand, grabs his Glock G43, presses the barrel right up against the side of his head, says "Fuck this life" - and pulls the trigger.
Blood and bits of brain spray onto his wife's face, who wakes up to the sudden explosion and says: "You fucking asshole, one more mess you left behind that I have to clean up. Then again, good riddance, loser - now I can wrap my legs around young Johnny LoverHot. Ciao, baby."
or
Frankie Sucksatlife reports to work with his tail between his legs and his pride tucked away in the freezer. Head down, he does his job until his boss - Bobby Jerksoffalot - says: "Frankie - for Christ sake, man - you are moving too slow, your work is sloppy and your attitude sucks."
Whereupon Frankie reaches under his greasy workbench, grabs the Taurus Raging Bull Model 444 Revolver 44 magnum, lifts that puppy up, points it into his boss's face and proceeds to blow his boss's face - and head - clean off.
Yeah, there is a lot of death today. But it feels clean. It feels necessary.
America is a land chock full of opportunity.
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