Music 2021

My travels through the world of music have been deep and meaningful in 2021.

I dug deep - really deep -  into U2 at the beginning of the year as I negotiated a new world that included prostate cancer. I listened to them non-stop for months on end and they were soothing, inspirational, Gods of empathy, thought provoking - I sincerely believe that without them I would not have handled radiation and beyond, the way I did.

I leaned on them and they supported me. I will always have that relationship in mind as I continue to deal with prostate cancer. Edge, Larry, Bono, Adam - I love you guys.

I migrated to Little Steven's Underground Garage. Funkiest goddamn music on Sirius. 

The man's musical knowledge runs deep. He focuses on the music of the 50's and the 60's - paying deep homage to the artists and playing deep, deep tracks, while telling fascinating and entertaining stories. But he also introduces new acts who are in touch with the spirit of it all. And all the dj's on the station share the love and tell great stories and reveal meaningful facts about the music and artists they feature.

Months into my obsession I was rewarded with the release of Steven Van Zandt's autobiography: "Unrequited Infatuations". A spectacular book. Brutally honest.

I have not written down my impressions yet because I fear I cannot do it justice. Sometimes a book comes along that is so deep that I drown for a while before I can properly express my emotions.

Next I migrated to The Blues. My home base. Been doing a deep dive for months now and, of course, my heart and my soul and my mind are healthier for the effort.

On December 29 I switched to The Beatles channel. On the second to last day of the city job.

The Beatles channel is my happy channel. They always make me feel good. Always.

I staggered to my car at 6:30 yesterday morning (last day of torture), pumped up The Beatles channel and was rewarded with "What Is Life" by George Harrison.

Which leads me to an important point.......................

What Is Life

 "What I feel, I can't say, but my love is there for you anytime of day"

"Tell me, what is my life without your love? Tell me, who am I without you by my side?"

Those are the words I heard at 6:30 yesterday morning. Lyrics from "What Is Life", by George Harrison. And they resonated perfectly with what I have been feeling, given the turn my life is about to take.

I am dedicating 2022 to Carol.

She has stood by my side for coming up on 43 years. They say you can't love someone else if you don't love yourself. I also believe you can't make someone happy if you yourself are not happy.

I have not been happy much at all in my life. And Carol has had to deal with that. Which she has, remarkably enough.

She should have dumped me 25 years ago for a more stable individual with a successful career. But she didn't.

I owe her.

I am poised to be happy in 2022. I want to use that happiness as a weapon to make Carol happy.

I feel like Scrooge felt on Christmas morning after being visited by the three spirits of Christmas.

"I will honour Christmas in my heart, and try to keep it all the year. I will live in the Past, the Present, and the Future. The Spirits of all Three shall strive within me. I will not shut out the lessons that they teach."

He said this so powerfully, so emotionally, that it was obvious that it came from the heart. That he had learned his lesson.

I have learned my lesson.

First of all life is too short to be unhappy. More importantly, life is too short to make someone else unhappy.

I am going to concentrate on being grateful, on being positive - I am going to focus on being happy and making the most of it.

I am going to try really hard to make Carol happy. It's going to be a priority for me. She is a naturally happy person anyway. If I can contribute to that, intensify her happiness - that will be an amazing accomplishment.

What is life? It's a goddamn mystery, is what it is.

The only sure thing about life is that if you have someone to love, it is a hell of a lot more enjoyable.

I have that.

I have Carol.

Clearing The Decks

I am done with the city job.

I worked Wednesday and Thursday and that was it, baby! And thank Christ for that. Two days of horrific torture. It was like the last days of a prison sentence before being paroled.

That job was like running a marathon with a 25 pound weight strapped to each ankle. Pure torture.

I had no real understanding about how much damage this job did to me. Obviously I had a conscious awareness of the pain, but there was a subconscious suffering that apparently was worse than what Christ went through on the cross.

I kept shaking my head last night and smiling with the awareness that I never have to go back there again. And again this morning. 

But it goes deeper than that. I am literally overwhelmed at how happy I feel. I feel like an entirely different person. Positive. Hopeful. Inspired. I have come back from the dead.

Floated home on a wave of euphoria last night. Imprisoned Carol in a bear hug of happiness. Woke up this morning at 7:15 and decided it would be nice to sleep late. But I couldn't. I was so damn happy and so damn excited about my new life and especially my new perspective that I was vibrating at the speed of gratitude.

So here I am. December 31, 2021, a new man with a fresh opportunity and the right perspective.

I am armed and dangerous.

I Am Indeed A Minor God

I have been away from work for 11 days (today being Day Eleven).

I exercised on 8 out of those 11 days.

This is not a small miracle. It is a personal accomplishment of seismic proportions. Redolent of single-minded focus and Olympic-level commitment.

A man 40 years my junior could not have accomplished as much.

Of course the health implications are wonderful, but the ultimate goal has been weight loss. And weight loss when enduring hormone therapy is an elusive and daunting challenge.

I actually feel like I gained weight during this period. I will find out on Friday.

I keep coming back to the fact that in the beginning, Dr. Feelgood told me I would feel the weight gain in my belly before I see it on the scale.

I thought this was weird, and immediately dismissed her as an overhyped quack. However she was right. It is hard to explain, but the reality is that I cannot judge weight gain or loss by how I feel. Because "feel" during hormone therapy is not the same as "feel" as a normal human being.

I have kicked ass over the last 11 days. I have dieted as well, with obvious exceptions. No doubt I have added a decade to my life expectancy.

But have I lost weight?

No fucking clue.

If I throw the scale out the fucking window on Friday, you will have your answer.

December 27

And then it is over.

Boom. Just like that.

The buildup to Christmas is insane, especially the hype on TV and generally out and about in the universe.

Carol and I are brilliant. Years ago we turned Christmas into Thanksgivng Part II. Minimal presents, virtually no Christmas shopping.

So we can fucking enjoy the holiday.

And enjoy it we did.

The weather added a twist to Christmas intensity - ice, ice, baby. Fucking nuts. We were uncomfortable driving to Craig & Amanda's house - Eddie had a longer drive, and Keith had the longest drive. Not fun for any of us. And the thousands of other people who felt compelled to brave the weather.

But Christmas does that to people. It will be celebrated come hell or high water.

Ultimately I am glad everybody made the effort - everybody showed, no incidents, and we had a spectacular day.

Christmas snuck up on me this year, which is odd, given the fact I have been off work since December 17.

Fortunately Carol and I snuck in all four of our ritual Christmas movies before The Day, although we had to watch two on December 24.

But I have a personal ritual of listening to Christmas songs endlessly as the holiday approaches. Suddenly it was December 24 and I realized my spirit was lacking. So in the afternoon, as Carol baked a pecan pie and apple crisp, I sat in the recliner and dialed up song after song after song on YouTube.

Quite delightful.

My new favorite is a song called "Merry Christmas, I Love You" by Robert Finley. Spectacular. In the video you get to watch Black Santa beat up a purse snatcher. It doesn't get any better than that. I also love the song.

So cross Christmas off the list. It is done. It is over. It was spectacular.

2022 looms. And I mean looms.

A new year is a daunting thing. I make a big deal out of it, but I suspect I am not alone.

Everybody craves change. Everybody wants a better life. There are millions of people depressed today because they are back to work. Christmas is a memory, the job is reality. That sucks.

There is nothing worse than going back to work after a holiday break. Except a new year that offers no hope, no change.

Motivation is key. You cannot wish for a better life, you gotta do something to make it happen.

I think in many cases a new year is motivation for change. In most cases, unfortunately, I think it is not enough. It is a tough mountain to climb.

So here we are. Thanksgiving - a memory. Christmas - a memory. January 1, 2022??????????????????

You have a little time before the big day.

Think.

Merry Christmas, I Love You

I discovered a new Christmas song this year.

New to me; I guess it has been around awhile.

"Merry Christmas, I Love You" by Robert Finley.

Robert Finley is a blues dude, born in 1954. 

This song caught my attention because those five words together are so powerful.

Christmas is a magical, mystical thing.

Merry Christmas. 

Everything else is happy. Happy Thanksgiving. Happy New Year. Happy Birthday. Happy Anniversary. Happy Arbor Day.

You never use the word merry in any other context. Unless you are strange. So Merry Christmas carries some weight.

There is no more meaningful thing you can say to another human being than "I Love You."

You put Merry Christmas together with I Love You, and you really got something. Something powerful.

It's a simple song (the video is amusing) but the sentiment knocked me over.

It is important to express love and affection simply, powerfully, and directly. We need this as humans as badly as we need water.

These five words do it perfectly.

"Merry Christmas, I Love You".

So Little Time

I will touch Carol's cheek and kiss her hand.

I will hold her hand and kiss her cheek.

Whenever I want to.

Because there is so little time.

I will hug my sons emphatically.

Spend random moments with them

for no other reason than to be with them.

Tell them I love them.

Because there is so little time.

I will cherish my friends and the 

easy laughter we share.

Appreciate the truth that these are people

I have chosen to be in my life.

No obligations. 

Pure, vulnerable, trust.

Because there is so little time.

I will appreciate what I have.

A life that is not what I imagined, yet

so full of love and luck and comfort.

I will sharpen my perspective and ignore

the superficial.

Because there is so little time.

I will be vigilant in beating back regret 

and worry, while nourishing hope.

Moving forward relentlessly, refusing to look 

over my shoulder.

Not allowing doubt to weigh me down.

Because there is so little time.

There is so little time to appreciate the 

remarkable people in my life, and the special 

moments of my life.

I will make the conscious effort.

We Did It Again

We bought another bike for a local Toys For Tots Christmas event.

Last year we bought a boy's bike, this year we bought a girl's bike.

One aspect of this that we love is that the program is specifically targeted for kids in our town. That makes it a little more special.

The feeling we get from doing this is intense. It just feels so good to know that a kid who maybe would have had a pretty thin Christmas is going to have a HUGE Christmas. And that kid's parents get to feel the way a parent feels when their kid is happy.

There should be a special word for that feeling. It is a unique and precious thing.

It is an odd feeling when we drop the bikes off at the drop-off location. A little on the empty side because at that point we are letting go and will never meet the kid who gets it. Never get to see the smile. 

Of course that is a selfish emotion. Overall, the satisfaction we get out of doing this is fulfilling. This kind of thing is exactly what Christmas is all about.

We dropped the bike off on the last day of the drop-off period. We walked into the store and told them we were there for Toys For Tots. They told us TFT had already come by and picked up the donations. Then they realized we had a bike and they said they would call TFT - "they will definitely come back for that."

I doubt they would have done that for Lincoln Logs.

Again, it made us feel good.

Carol and I have a very good life. We have a magical, mystical family.

Sharing our good fortune is the right thing to do.

My Birthday

My birthday has suddenly become very important to me this time around.

Lightening short-circuited my brain as I was reading this morning.

I am reading a book titled "THE BLUES - Why It Still Hurts So Good". Written by Marie B. Trout, PhD.

Marie wrote the book as a study completed for her PhD dissertation about the role of blues to modern fans.

Marie is also the wife of and long-term manager for Walter Trout. Walter Trout is a blues guitar God. I saw him a couple of years ago at a very funky place called The Flying Monkey. He blew my face off. I required reconstructive surgery following the show.

The book is very much a textbook. Tough sledding in parts because of its academic nature. However I have had many "Holy Shit" moments too - so I keep on reading.

The book resonates with my soul and allows me to be exactly who I am, opening me up to unbidded meaningful vibes. So this morning the birthday realization popped into my brain while sipping coffee.

2022 is going to be a big year for me. Possibly the year I have hungered for, for decades. My birthday is always a big deal because of the timing and because of who I am.

I cannot sit on my ass on January 1 and celebrate my birthday passively. Gotta go out.

Not sure what that will be or who it will include, but its gotta be special. Dinner, maybe - music. Not sure yet. Gotta let the intensity of this realization subside a bit before I make a decision.

Does not have to be BIG. It just has to be. I need to celebrate the end of my 68th year on Planet Earth. It's important. I need to kick off 2022 with a dose of Me-ness. Make a statement. Intermingle my personal vibe with the vibe of the new year and negotiate a new direction for myself.

2021 has been an interesting year for me. First off I was diagnosed with prostate cancer. That was exciting.

Then you got fucking Covid, the inability to be with my family, the continuing mind-fuck of the job.

But I also worked on myself. Tinkered with my brain and continue to do so. Tinkered with my body; a bit of a roller coaster but the discipline is back.

My love for Carol grew deeper as I finally opened up my mind to accept her for the amazing and fascinating person that she is. This brought more happiness to me, a commodity I cherish (previously in short supply).

Lost Maka, a very precious cat. Broke my heart. Brought Emmmy Lou and Patsy into our home, two very precious cats who have exponentially intensified the love and sensitivity in our life.

I began to understand the power of gratitude.

I intensified doubt in my mind as to the kind of father I am, and had it blown away by a beautiful text Keith sent me.

Experienced Craig buying his first home and getting engaged to Amanda.

I re-connected with my cousin Mary Ann after decades of neglecting my family. Feels so right.

Got me a new job looming on the horizon. January 3. How perfect is that?

It has been a very good year.

January 1, 2022 will be a day to celebrate the triumphs of 2021, and to set the table for the future triumphs of 2022.

Gonna be a good day.

Christmas 2021

Christmas is getting to me this year.

We watched "Love Actually" last night. The opening gambit in our four-pronged Christmas tradition.

"Love Actually", "It's A Wonderful Life", "A Very Murray Christmas", "A Christmas Carol" - George C. Scott version. These are the movies we watch every Christmas season.

I gotta have them.

"Love Actually" actually stirred some emotion in me last night. "Love Actually"? Are you kidding me? This is how I know I am primed for Christmas this year.

I am experiencing dueling emotions about the holiday. It thoroughly disgusts me that we have returned full bore to the fucking Christmas hype on TV - even after 800,000 Americans have died from Covid.

Nothing changes in America. We never learn. No matter what disasters confront us, the most important thing is that we go out and buy stuff. Corporations come up with these heart-rending commercials that bring tears, but no matter how they try to disguise it the message is "Buy our shit."

And they don't give a damn about us as human beings, although they pretend to. They only care about us as consumers.

Enough negativity.

It occurred to me recently as we put up our tiny table top Christmas tree that age causes shrinkage.

We used to travel to Vermont every year when the kids were young to get a Christmas tree. It was a tradition, it was a long drive, and we loved it. Carol's brother Sarge used to work for a guy who sold trees. Sarge would always set aside the most beautiful tree - the biggest goddamn tree - just for us.

We'd visit with Sarge and Cori for a bit, strap the tree to the roof of the car and head back home.

These trees were huge. Often 12 feet tall. The trunks were so big we had to buy a special stand to fit them.

Now we have a 4 foot tree that sits atop a table and takes 3 minutes to put up and decorate.

Age causes shirnkage. In Christmas trees. In life. Our get togethers are smaller now. Our family circle is smaller now. Our social activities are much reduced. Even our bodies shrink - except for my fucking waistline.

My whole family is gathering for Christmas. This is deeply meaningful to me. We were unable to pull that off for Thanksgiving. 

We are gathering at Craig's brand new house. Craig & Amanda, Eddie & Carolina, Keith & Krista, Carol & me.

I am so excited.

This has not happened since all this Covid shit began. Last year was a disaster, and this year has been incomplete. But on Christmas day we are going to pull it all together.

The whole family beginning what may be a new tradition. The passing of the torch.

I am the eldest male in the family. A mantle I wear uncomfortably. But sometimes I take the time to see things from that perspecive.

I am the Testa elder. I am enormously proud of my family. They make me feel good.

My sons are incredible men. They are living the lives they have created for themselves. An amazing thing to see. 

We are into Testa Family 2.0. Karen & Emily were once part of the family, and from a parent's perspective it is an odd thing to see them go. But Amanda & Carolina have stepped up. I like the way this family feels.

My brother and I have huge differences of opinion. But when I think about him it always comes down to one thing - the way he handled himself when his son Jonathan - his only son - died of a heroin overdose.

He was strong.

I got down to spend the night with him a couple of days after Jonathan died; unfortunately I was delayed a bit because Carol and I were dealing with Sarge's death, who died from cancer the day before Jonathan died. A very difficult time in our life.

I pulled into the parking lot, my brother came out to greet me, we wrapped our arms around each other and sobbed.

It has been a long and winding road from that point to where he is now, but he built a new life for himself and he is happy. I love and respect him.

On Christmas Day I will be surrounded by people I love. People I respect. People I trust with my life.

For the first time in two years.

Age causes shrinkage. Except for the love I have for my family. It has grown, and I suspect it has no upper limit.

I am so grateful for Ed & Carolina, Amanda, and Krista. I am enormously grateful for Carol & Keith & Craig.

I struck gold with the family I have around me and I never forget it or take it for granted.

Never.

It's going to be a very good Christmas.

11

As of Friday, December 17, 2021, I am on vacation - out of work until 12/29 and 12/30.

Eleven days.

You may consider me a chump. I gave my notice on 12/10. My last day will be on 12/30. I already planned on taking Christmas week off before I knew I would be leaving. I decided it was still a good idea.

So I worked a week, I have a week off, I go back to work two days (two 5:30 days!). As I said, call me a chump, but I did not feel comfortable having the second week of my notice be a vacation week.

Even considering..............................

It is what it is.

Right now I am like Muhammad Ali training for a title bought. I am digging in, baby.

I am using these 11 days as a springboard towards greatness.

Exercising my ass off, dieting much more strictly, filling my head with positive thoughts and knowledge, limiting my whiskey intake.

I don't need it anymore. I don't have nearly as much pain to kill.

Change, baby - change. When you change your habits it changes your outlook and positivity results. When you are already independently chipping away at your diseased brain, that effort combined with change of habits results in exponential change.

How can I not triumph in 2022?

Two inspirations hang on the wall in front of me (and have been there for many years):

"To change one's life, start immediately. Do it flamboyantly. No exceptions. No excuses." William James

"It is never too late to be what you might have been". George Eliot

Both of these sentiments have made perfect sense to me for many years. But I have been unable to integrate them into my life due to various diseases of the heart and the soul and the mind.

Right now those words vibrate at the frequency of my essence. The right time, the right place. It's called resonance.

Resonance is defined this way: "When one object vibrating at the same natural frequency of a second object forces that second object into vibrational motion."

Vibrational motion, baby - that's where I am at. Inspiration acted upon.

Eleven days of peace, love & understanding. That's 8 more than Woodstock.

I turn to James Brown to shout my emotions to the heavens (with subtle editing): "Whoa, I feel good, I knew that I would now, I feel good, I knew that I would now, so good, so good, I got me."

17

There are 17 regular season games in the NFL this year.

The first time ever in the league's 101 year history.

Obviously, I am ecstatic.

They have been playing 16 regular season games since 1978.

You ask - one goddamn game? What's the big deal? Adding one game to the schedule is equivalent to adding 10 games to Major League Baseball's schedule.

Ya dig?

Football is played once a week. Even though they play on Sundays, Mondays and Thursdays. Each team only plays once in the span of a week. Unless they play twice. So every game is intense. 

There are so many baseball games that "number of fans caught yawning on camera" is considered a valuable metric.

This is a big deal. Especially for fanatics - of which I am one.

It's like Christmas, my birthday, winning Powerball, losing 25 pounds - it is spectacular.

An extra week of football, baby.

This improves my life immeasurably.

Homage to Grape-Nuts

Eating Grape-Nuts is like practicing celibacy.

It's like eremitic monasticism (characterized by a complete withdrawal from society).

It's like self-flagellation.

It's like sado-masochism.

Eating Grape-Nuts cleanses the soul. Self-deprivation to the max.

I am going to keep it up.

It can only make me a better human.

Holy Cow, Baby

I paused from reading this morning, to whisper this:

"I am grateful for this moment, the new job, Carol, the cats, my sons" - the effect was like practicing deep breathing.

What is happening to me?

2022 offers every appearance of becoming a watershed year.

I Visit The Blues

 "I drift like a ghost in the darkness, make my move around midnight, I'm ageless like a vampire, and make love like the wolfman in the full moonlight."

Sexual braggadocio. Prevalent in so many genres of music but especially so in The Blues. I love it.

"I ain't looking for no trouble, baby, but if you need some I'm your man, I ain't looking for no trouble, baby, but if you need some I'm your man. I do my drinking with Mr. Lucifer, cancelled my ticket to the promised land."

The element of danger. Invigorating. The whole "I don't give a fuck" attitude. I drink with Mr. Lucifer and cancelled my ticket to the promised land - are you kidding me? Deep down though, admit it - it does give you a little thrill to imagine yourself being that ballsy.

From "I Visit The Blues", by Little Steven and the Disciples of Soul.

The Friend I Don't Have

I was reading contentedly this morning, put my book down to sip some coffee, and the thought popped into my head that this blog is the friend I don't have.

I have mentioned that there is not one person in my life with whom I can talk to knowledgably about the things I love, the things that are most important to me. I am talking about face to face, personal, daily interaction. Not long distance. Steve is my long distance friend and our conversations are quite real; they are satisfying and spiced with laughter. (Talk about covering my ass.)

That has to be the driving force behind me doing this for over ten years. If I couldn't do this I would curl up and die.

Most likely that thought has occurred to me before, and most likely I have already written about it. I don't remember. Think of this as the 2021 version of that thought.

I speak my mind in here. I talk about things I love, things that bother me; I lay bare my soul and insecurities and I sprinkle in some braggadocio and insanity. My emotions are raw and real and on full display.

I do not reveal 100% of who I am, though. Family and friends read this blog - I do not want to blow their minds by allowing free access to my darkest thoughts.

I tried an experiment a while back. I joined a website anonymously where I could say anything I wanted to say. At first it was cathartic. Then it got weird. There are strange people out there and many wanted to become my friend. That was the end of that little excursion.

I have never put any effort into monetizing this blog, and I think that results from a combination of laziness, and the way I approach this beast. Self-therapy. That's really what it is.

Like most of the negative aspects of my life, this lack of connection is my own fault. I started writing in 2011 as an emotional outlet. I am still heavily dependent on this emotional outlet 10 years later - an obvious sign that I have not put much effort into changing my situation. 

That will have to change in 2022.

This is dangerous - a list is formulating regarding 2022 aspirations. I have already put my fatness on the line in writing - a move that is motivating and vulnerable. The circle of friends has to be on the list. I have other things in mind, but I will not put them in writing. That way you will not have the ammunition on 12/31/22 to say "You fucking fraud, you blew it again."

It all comes down to the ultimate creative question - if I ever become comfortable in my own skin, will I still be driven to write in here? (Is pain necessary to create?)

I hope to answer that in 2022.

Sobering Words For Idiots

 "Democracy disciplined and enlightened is the finest thing in the world. A democracy prejudiced, ignorant, superstitious will land itself in chaos and may be self-destroyed."

Mahatma Ghandi

Football

Once again I will try to explain my love of football.

I was watching Hard Knocks In Season: The Indianapolis Colts last night, and my emotional reaction got me thinking. Once again.

Hard Knocks is a show on HBO that gives fans an insiders view of the football world. I have been watching it for years. Up until now it has only been pre-season stuff. This is the first year they are doing it during the season. Fabulous stuff.

Football is what life should be.

The show features the players and coaches on and off the field. Within the game, and also with friends, and with family - wives and kids. Competitive highs and lows within the game, personal highs and lows off the field.

Football is an intense and dangerous sport. What hit me last night is that these guys are well aware of that and live their lives with intensity.

They live.

I never have a problem when players engage in over-the-top celebrations during a game. After a touchdown or a sack or an interception or a fumble recovery or a punt return. There is as much fear as there is machismo on that field. You see it when a player gets seriously hurt and everybody takes a knee, helmet in hand.

So run down the field screaming like a madman, or jump straight up into the air, or slap your teammate on the helmet, do an insane dance or a choreographed dance with five teammates, jump into the stands. Do whatever your spirit moves you to do to express what you are feeling at that precise moment. Let your feelings fly, baby.

These guys are truly living in the moment. And they do it off the field too.

There was a scene last night where one of the players had his teammates over for a barbecue. They laughed a lot and easily, they spoke with intensity, you could feel the energy in the room. And the respect. The camaraderie. 

The energy level was not quite what I get at my barbecues. This energy was way up there on a different level. One that most of us will never experience.

But it is also there when you see these guys with their wives and kids. In an inverted kind of way. You see very large men being gentle and loving. Doing their little daughters' hair. Playing on the floor. Talking to, kissing their wives.

But I get the sense that even these moments are intense. That football players understand the fragility of their careers and their health, and they are grateful for the sensitivity their families provide.

If you read a lot of poets and a lot of authors you will come across endless references to the fact that most people live their lives as the walking dead. Football players do the exact opposite. They live on the edge, on and off the field.

This is why I love this sport so much. On the field, off the field, everything about it is huge. Everything about it is amplified. Everything about it is intense. Alive, alive, alive.

Watching Hard Knocks last night made me feel alive. THE PATS play tonight and I can't wait to watch the game. It will make me feel alive.

And I respect and envy how football players live their lives.

This what I see and feel when I watch football.

Do you get it?

Keith Richards

Happy Birthday, Keith.

78 years old today.

You are on the short list of people I admire with every fiber of my being.

There is no better example of how to live a life in exact accordance with your essence.

You fought to make that happen early on until people figured it out. Now the respect that flows your way is a tsunami.

As a music lover, I stand in awe of your musical knowledge. You are and always will be a student of music - all genres, but particularly The Blues, which is where The Stones come from.

You guys championed the original blues masters; never forgetting about them, never letting them down.

I will never forget the story of when you guys toured Chess Records in 1964. Chess was a much revered blues label and you treated it like church. However, as you wandered around you came across Muddy Waters - painting the fucking ceiling. Leonard and Phil Chess, who owned the label, believed that artists had to work - especially if they weren't selling records. At that time blues was not selling.

The irony was that it took a bunch of white, British artists to introduce The Blues to an American audience. The Stones led the charge and included many blues masters (including Muddy Waters) on your concert tours and TV appearances. There were times when The Stones insisted that a blues master be allowed to play on a TV music show or The Stones would not appear.

That is ballsy and committed.

I always wish you a Happy Birthday, I rarely wish Mick a Happy Birthday. My relationship with Mick is similar to my relationship with Paul McCartney.

Mick is a Rolling Stone, Paul is a Beatle. I love them both. But there is an element of superficiality about them.

Superficial is a word that can never be used to describe you, Keith, in any way in any world in any galaxy.

Thank you for 60 years of music, insanity and inspiration. 60 fucking years.

You are a role model for how to live a life authentically.

Love you, man.

Valuable (With Wonder)

I have been married to Carol for 43 years. Coming up on 44 in February.

I look at her with wonder.

I have only recently learned to do that in the last few years, but at least I figured it out.

I am focused on her emotionally because happiness is well within my reach now and I don't want to blow it.

This thing where she gets pleasure out of the littlest of things - Christ, she is happy 10 times a day. Up until now I have been satisfied if I get happy once a decade.

No more, though.

Up until now I have experienced happiness in a sad way. Let me explain. When I feel random moments of happiness, I immediately follow up on that by feeling sad. Not in a conscious way, which is what makes it so bad - it just happens.

My brain recognizes happiness as a foreign emotion, and gets sad because of the very fact that it is foreign.

No more, though. I won't allow it.

I am lucky to have Carol in my life to provide the ultimate example of how to enjoy life, how to appreciate the everyday happiness that surrounds us.

I study her like a lab experiment and she doesn't even know it. When she is talking happily and excitedly about something, the first thing I do is smile - many times inwardly, so she doesn't think me a cretin. That is called being in The Now - I immediately recognize her ability to be happy and I appreciate it.

Then I try to learn from her.

How can I be this way? Spontaneously? Frequently?

This is an important puzzle piece to help me make a successful transition into 2022. Everything has been laid at my feet - the recipe for happiness is on the table, baby, and I expect to cook me up a new and better life. A new and happier me.

Our relationship is so much better because of this approach - I have lightened up and recognized the fact that Carol is just naturally better than me at being happy; at enjoying life.

And she is teaching me by example.

Thank God she doesn't charge me tuition - the lesson is so valuable, I could never afford to pay for it.

A Healthy Work-Out

Have you ever picked up a box of Grape-Nuts?

It weighs a ton.

This is why supermarkets set up a rope & pulley system to get it off the shelf, with wheelbarrows strategically placed in the aisle for transport to the cash register.

So, it has to be healthy.

It just has to be.

FUCK NO

 When I sit here in my brand new and very fucking comfortable office chair I am inspired to write a novel entitled "A Tale of Two Chairs."

Two chairs that provide for me a great deal of comfort.

And perhaps rob me of ambition.

I am about to go downstairs and settle into my magnificent, quite luxurious recliner for the night. To relax and try to stave off thoughts of a 5:15 am alarm.

Are these chairs spoiling me? Diverting me from the balls to the wall effort it will take to resurrect my life from the ash heap of failure?

Perhaps I should drag them to the dump. Or donate them to a homeless shelter.

Perhaps I should replace them with lumpy chairs with exposed springs and offensive odors.

Chairs that make my ass bleed.

FUCK NO!

I am 67 years old, weeks removed from 68.

I revel in my cushy comfort and make no apology to any man.

The Way It Tastes

I am perched upon the precipice.

My life will change dramatically in 2022.

The key to seeing it through to fruition -  fruition being the Dramatic Rebirth of The Joe - is tapping the full potential of my mind. In other words, the most important aspect of where I am is what I do with these changes.

In reality I have spent a lifetime unbirthing myself. Someone named Joe was born on January 1, 1954. He was a complete and unique individual. But as he went through life he folded up little by little, bit by bit, in reaction to stimulus and events he perceived as negative. Building walls, crouching behind them, cloaking his true personality, and building one that would be easily palatable to others.

I have had opportunities for change many times in my life. I blew it every time by only changing my circumstance and not myself. If Palatable Joe remains, I lose. Change becomes superficial.

My eyes are wide open this time. I know exactly where I am, I understand the significance of where I am, especially at this stage of my life. I know exactly who I am and who I want to be.

I need to reinvent myself. I don't think rebirth will be enough. The irony of course is that reinventing myself actually means just becoming myself. I have drifted far off course to the point where those in the know laud me as a Shakespearean actor of great depth and nuance.

Playing the lifelong role of Palatable Joe.

The truth is, any role played lifelong results in staleness and suffocation, if it is not true to character.

I have not been true to character.

The harsh and challenging reality is that I cannot accept this change passively. Not this time. I gotta go after it aggressively.  

Change in 2022 looms large. A new job, a new home, a new me - the real me. I have been wiping the sludge off my facade, chipping away at the walls - I have caught glimpses of myself. I have felt my essence. It was startling and pleasing.

I like the way it tastes.

A Mind Is A Terrible Thing To Waste

 "You have power over your mind - not outside events. Realize this, and you will find strength."

Marcus Aurelius

Boring Cereal & A Vibrant Personality

I eat boring cereal.

My favorites are Corn Chex, Rice Chex, Wheat Chex, Corn Flakes, and Wheaties. I love to let Wheaties soak in milk for a few minutes until they get soggy. Sogginess creates the perfect balance between taste and texture.

I don't always eat cereal for breakfast. I love English muffins, toast, corn muffins, omelets, BACON!!!!!!!, but when I go on a cereal binge I fall back upon the old favorites. Right now I am chowing cereal as part of the Joe Reclamation Project.

I had a bowl of Grape-Nuts this morning. Grape-Nuts! Wanna know where that inspiration came from? The main character in the book I just read ate Grape-Nuts regularly.

What the hell is in Grape-Nuts?

How about whole-grain wheat flour, malted barley flour, salt and dried yeast. That's it. No addded sugar. It is actually one of the healthiest cereals you can find.

Not exactly exciting though.

I eat boring cereal to counteract my vibrant personality. Many people describe me as scintillating.

If I ate Cap'n Crunch or Lucky Charms it would push me way over the top. It would be like Elton John walking into a room filled with Mormons. People would be blinded by my brilliance.

Don't get me wrong. I have eaten my share of Cocoa Pebbles, Frosted Flakes, Trix, and Froot Loops and loved them all. Shit, a couple of months ago I bought a box of Chocolate Life and chowed it with no remorse.

But generally as a mature adult, and with consideration for the health and well-being of others, I stick to the boring stuff.

Just so you know, for my own peace of mind as I wolf down a bowl of soggy Wheaties, I am usually wearing a Nudie's rhinestone suit and a Fedora.

Would you expect anything less?

A Beautiful Sentiment

 "If you'd whined this much as a baby, I'd've slipped more whiskey in your bottle and risked the chance that you'd be a dullard."

Chuck Rhoades Sr. to Chuck Rhoades Jr - Billions - Season 4 - Episode 5

Riffing On The Cemetery

Riff #1:

I came across someone walking a dog through the cemetery recently.

I immediately began to wonder what kind of vibe a dog picks up around the dead. Let's face it, animals have a sixth and seventh and tenth sense. They know things we don't; they experience things in a completely different way than humans do. Probably a more complete and perfectly intuitive way.

I don't imagine he felt any kind of death vibe, not in any way he would understand, because he doesn't know he's going to die. But he must have sensed a human presence, a presence quite different than the one his owner emanates.

I'm sure his nose was working overtime.

I truly hope he was not able to make any type of connection between the dead and his owner or the dead and himself.

Animals deserve their innocence. It is a large part of what makes them so easy to love.

Riff #2:

Sometimes I roll through the cemetery focused on individual gravestones. Looking for stories, looking for names, looking for history, looking for beauty.

Sometimes I just park in a spot that gives me a broad view of a large number of graves. There is something daunting about seeing hundreds of gravestones laid out before me and knowing they are only the tip of the iceberg relative to the total number of people buried in that cemetery. Just one cemetery in a city with numerous cemeteries.

I did that recently and it really got to me.

I was driving back to the office (always a mistake) and I had to stop at a red light. I looked to my left at the parking lot of a municipal building. It was angle parking so the cars were splayed out before me in every direction. There were a lot of them.

It struck me with force and clarity that there was not a hell of a lot of difference between those parked cars and the gravestones.

My Wife (I Think I'll Keep Her)

After I gave my notice at work on Friday I emailed Carol to let her know the deed was done.

Shortly after that she forwarded an email to me that we got from the Capitol Center for the Arts (my new job and a place we get regular emails from). The email spelled out the new stricter Covid guidelines the CCA is adopting.

I responded that this issue is something I was worrying about, but that I made the decision to change jobs and we would deal with whatever fallout came with it.

She immediately got back to me and said (I am paraphrasing): "Entertainment venues are adopting stricter Covid guidelines everywhere, there will be no more shutdowns because people will not stand for it and businesses cannot afford it. This is a safe move, the right move, you made the right decision. This is a time for celebration, not for worry! You are moving on to bigger and better things. Enjoy it!"

I got tears in my eyes.

She knows that I don't know how to be happy. Sounds silly but it is true. It is rare that I can enjoy a moment of pure happiness; I always taint it with self-doubt, second guessing, regret, fear, anxiety - any one of a hundred neuroses and psychoses.

That email blew me away. It shattered any negative thoughts I was having. 

She is right. This is a supreme moment for me. I am leaving a job that has sucked every drop of life from my heart and soul for over two years, to go to a place where I am surrounded by music and art and theatre - creative people and sensitive souls.

When I walked in to meet with my boss, people were hugging me, telling me how happy they were to see me - a warm feeling of acceptance that immediately nourished my heart and soul instead of killing them.

I felt alive. Not dead.

Carol's email inspired me to dedicate myself to cheeriness this weekend. I decided to try to be positive and happy, especially around Carol - for four whole days. A commitment like that from me is about as realistic as expecting Jesus to commit himself to following the philosophy of the Marquis de Sade.

It has resulted in much laughter already. We were driving around doing errands yesterday and some guy driving a truck pissed me off and I immediately launched into a tirade liberally laced with profanity. Then I looked at Carol and said "That wasn't very positive". We both laughed heartily.

And that is only one example. There were others.

I got great news that I will be starting a new job in the first week of a new year. And immediately started worrying.

Carol set me straight. A simple, straight-forward, somewhat exasperated email turned me right around and I am enjoying this weekend deliciously. I am enjoying the way I feel. Hope. Happiness.

The weight that has been lifted off of my shoulders makes it difficult to keep my feet on the ground.

I love Carol so deeply. 

The woman suffers from a severe perseverance disorder. At least in my case. She never gives up on me. Always trying to find ways to make me happy. To teach me how to make myself happy. To realize the good stuff that I have.

Perseverance and love.

I am one lucky dude.

The Cat's Out of The Bag

I gave my notice at work yesterday.

The cat's out of the bag. And a load has been lifted from my shoulders. A crushing weight.

My last day of work will be December 30, 2021. I am working regular hours next week, taking Christmas week off, working 2 days the last week of the year.

I am going back to the Capitol Center for The Arts. First day - January 3, 2022.

I have gained some perspective over the last 2 years. I left CCA a burned out man. At the time, though - I was working both jobs - CCA, City of Concord. Until Covid hit. I got furloughed from the city job in April of 2020; from CCA in May of 2020. When the call-backs came I chose not to return to CCA.

My perspective has shifted. 

Both jobs are customer services gigs, which means there is a lot of annoying bullshit associated with each. Diffference is at CCA I am surrounded by music and theatre. I used to have great conversations with customers about music. I got to meet musicians. I had free access to any show I wanted to attend - for both me and Carol. When I worked a show, the box office closed 1/2 hour after the show started. And I could grab a beer and head into the theatre.

I took very little advantage of any of these perks.

I now realize that since I have to work, I have to find some happiness in doing it. The city job was killing me because it is so not me. There was no fun in it at all and it dripped acid on my soul.

I am going to proactively appreciate the creative atmosphere of CCA and take advantage of those things that give me life.

Let's talk about 2022.

I will be starting the new year with a new job. That is huge. HUGE. It is without a doubt the most important thing I could have accomplished as I close out my 68th year of life.

I am halfway through hormone therapy. By the end of the year I will be done.

I am back to exercising and dieting in the hopes that I can lose at least 1/2 pound by 12/31. It's all about establishing momentum.

We are making progress on the house, finally, and hope is high that we can dump it on some unsuspecting rube early in 2022. Move and begin a new phase of our life. A hopeful and happy phase.

I continue to chip away at my calcified brain with hammer and chisel. I am making progress. Diseased fragments fall to the ground as I walk.

I am experiencing the soul-nourishing power of gratitude more frequently. This morning I sat in a dark house on a rainy December morning in silence - and felt so grateful for Carol, the new job, the book, the coffee and the cats. I was at peace.

One major piece of the pie that still eludes me is a therapist. The one I have been waiting on has not come through. So I am going to double-down on my efforts for the rest of this month. Scoring a therapist heading into 2022 would be HUGE.

I feel very good and very hopeful about 2022. An odd and foreign feeling for me for sure. 

But a damn good one.

December 8 - A Mixed bag

Fuck you, Mark David Chapman.

May you rot in hell. Soon. And eternally.

My wish for you is that you suffer more than any other human being who has ever existed has suffered.

Happy Birthday, Jim Morrison. 

You brought poetry to rock 'n roll and I am forever grateful. And you spiced it up with literature, religion, philosophy and psychology. You made rock 'n roll intelligent.

Happy Birthday, Gregg Allman.

There is not enough room in here for me to express what you meant - and still mean - to my life. You gave me happiness, insanity, appreciation, wonder, LIFE - you made me feel alive time and time again.

You gave me The Blues. The Allman Brothers first album initiated my interest in and love of the blues. I noticed that all the songs were not written by you.

Who the hell were The Spencer Davis Group? Muddy Waters? I investigated, I learned, I loved.

But you did write Whipping Post. A song I have listened to - in concert, at home and in my car - 100,000 times. To this day, when that opening bass line kicks in I still get fucking goosebumps.

I cried when you died.

Your final album - Southern Blood - released after you died - was stunning. Songs chosen to acknowledge what you knew was coming, as well as to take a look back. And to acknowledge people like Jackson Browne, The Grateful Dead, Bob Dylan, Tim Buckley, Lowell George, and Wille Dixon.

"I hope you're haunted by the music of my soul when I'm gone, please don't fly away and find you a new love, I can't face living this life alone, I can't bear to think this might be the end, but you and I both know the road is my only true friend."

From My Only True Friend, Gregg Allman, from Southern Blood.

Your lyrics bring tears and chills - every fucking time I listen to them.

Thank you, Gregg - you made my life better.

I love you.

On The Edge of Tears

A vulnerable, disquieting feeling.

Every day.

Walking to the car after work.

Ripped from sleep to a rude, unwanted, alarm.

Too early. Inescapable.

Tears on the edge, blinked back in self-defense.

Thinking. Just thinking. Quiet moments of reflection.

And desperation.

Too often.

Not a manifestation of weakness.

A warning.

Tears blinked back in a recliner. A bed. An office chair.

Standing in the kitchen. Loving a cat.

Alone. With others. Alone with others.

Precursor to an explosion.

Or a solution.

Become Anti-Fragile or Die

"Become anti-fragile or die."

I wrote this down on a scrap of paper. I have scraps of paper all over the house. Because I am a writer.

I thought it was a quote from Billions. I went online to confirm that, and lo and fucking behold there are 250,000 reference points for the term "anti-fragile."

Because our society is cold-hearted, vicious and soul-suffocating.

Sensitivity is not something to be revered, it is something to be thwarted, disguised, reviled and combatted.

I found an article titled "10 Principles to Live an Antifragile Life". Good advice, bad advice.

The one book that pops up over and over again is: "Things That Gain From Disorder", by Nassim Nicholas Taleb. This is actually where the quote came from in Billions.

As I looked in to this, a lot of the advice was practical. An attempt to establish guidelines to protect yourself from being crushed by life.

Of course this was not how the quote was used in Billions. Nor do I believe that the majority of people who come across or quote these words are sensitive people.

"Become anti-fragile or die" is another version of "suck it up." Mindless, soul-less pablum designed to ignore human nature and celebrate cruelty. Usually espoused by poseurs.

My favorite response to the "suck it up" bullshit (stolen from someone else) is: "When I feel down and someone tells me to suck it up, I get the urge to break their legs with a baseball bat and then say "Walk it off."

To celebrate sensitivity is to celebrate humanity.

Mocking it is murder.

Or suicide. Depending on your perspective.

I Am Willing

 "Willingness to fraternize with the depraved. Powerful weapon."

Bobby Axelrod, Billions, Season 4, Episode 3

I Need Flunkies

Gotta renew my license at the DMV this afternoon.

I don't want to do it.

Carol renewed hers recently - said it took 15 minutes. Piece of cake.

Still, I am not interested.

I want to send a flunky in my stead wearing a Joe mask. If I was rich I could probably even find a way to avoid the mask (I've been watching too much of Billions).

I am a bit of a snob. I don't ever want to deal with any of the mundane things one has to deal with bureaucratically. 

Which is hilarious when you think about it because I have the ultimate bureaucratic job. Date stamping shit, making copies, making excuses, pumping info into a computer, spitting it out for review, following up for approval, mailing the fucking paperwork.

Still, I am not really a bureaucrat - I only play one on TV.

Renewing a drivers license, registering my car - not interested. Shit, man - buying a car - the mountain of paperwork and signatures that are required - dealer, financing, insurance - makes me wobbly.

Life insurance, homeowners insurance, health insurance - not interested.

I want to send flunkies in my place to fulfill doctors appointments. That would be the coolest.

I feel like a piece of meat at medical appointments, especially recently - and I sense condescension (real or imagined).

Generally - I don't want to answer any more questions in my life. I don't want to have to sign things.

I don't want to have to show up somewhere at a pre-determined time and date.

I want to live in a cave.

Or get me some flunkies.

The Real Fear

"If we don't change, we don't grow. If we don't grow, we are not really living.

Growth demands a temporary surrender of security. It may mean a giving up of familiar but limiting patterns, safe but unrewarding work, values no longer believed in, relationships that have lost their meaning. 

As Dostoevsky put it, "Taking a new step, uttering a new word, is what people fear most." The real fear should be of the opposite course."

Gail Sheehy, journalist and author, as quoted from James Clear's weekly email.

Taking The Plunge

I weighed myself yesterday.

Came in at 194 pounds. 194 pounds on December 4 in the Year of Our Lord 2021. Just to mark it officially.

I can hear you now. "You fat little fuck. 194 pounds? At 5'7"? Are you fucking kidding me? How do you even move? Have another donut, you fat pig."

Sensitive words richly deserved.

However, as you well know, I am nothing if not an optimist. When I lost 10 pounds many months ago, it got me down to 185. I have not weighed myself for the last few months because I could feel myself getting fatter. I did not want to know. But it felt like I gained back 12 or 15 pounds. I felt like a bowling ball on legs. Still do.

But it turns out I "only" gained 9 pounds back. Oddly enough that is reason for optimism. Weight loss does not seem as daunting to me as it would have had I bulked up like Blimpo Man.

So there you have it. I have laid it all out on the line. December 31, 2021 will be the day of reckoning.

I am gonna give it hell and hope for the best.

A Strange Quest

Sometimes I go looking for things to worry about.

Does that seem silly to you?

A Physical & Mental Inventory

I'll try to be honest.

Physically I feel like shit. Have for quite a while now.

The weight I'm carrying on my 5'7" frame is roughly akin to Atlas carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders. Problems with my knees and my right hip. A general sloth-like feeling. Which is accentuated by lack of sleep. I sleep like shit every night and wake up tired.

I am considering a reckless move today - publishing my current weight. So I can compare it to my weight on 12/31. I cannot lose much weight in one month but I can lose some weight. Of course it could go the other way too; I might weigh 425 pounds today and 435 pounds on 12/31.

I don't know. That's a lot of pressure. We'll see.

At least the weight gain is something I have some control over. I can do something about it. Although Dr. Feelgood's words ring in my ears from a year ago. He told me that the weight I gain during hormone therapy is very hard to lose. I don't know why. I hope he's wrong.

Anyway.......... many other body parts hurt but are not worth mentioning because they are age related.

My brain is a 50/50 split. Anxiety and self-loathing have a firm hold on my thoughts, roots that have dug deep, but I have been going at them with a scythe and hoe for most of 2021. Progress is being made.

Over the last two days, the guys working in the basement have done tremendous work - it looks like a completely different place. They ripped out moldy sheetrock, ripped out shitty carpet, got rid of a lot of trash and dirt and detritus.

We look at their accomplishment and feel hope. HOPE. Hope that we can actually transfer the burden of this house onto the back of some poor, unsuspecting rube.

Hope continues in the area of my life that causes me excessive pain. In fact I received great news last night. I can't share it with you because spies are everywhere and they do not wish me well. Truth will be revealed when the time is right. Still, HOPE.

So I gotta go to work. Gottta rough up my body to reclaim it. Gotta keep on hacking away at my brain until Real Joe is set loose upon the world.

I can do this.

I feel it in my bones.

Two Cats

I said repeatedly over the years that for me personally, I scaled the mountain of pet love to perfection with Maka and Lakota.

It started with Sundance, the neighborhood cat that used to greet my drunken ass at 3 am when I was a teenager living at home with the parents. He came out of the woodwork and we would sit together as I patted and loved him. I don't know where he lived or what his name was; I named him Sundance.

We had a cat in our first apartment; pets in our first home.

We moved here in 1986 and began a progression of pet love in this home that continues until this very day.

Maka and Lakota were the stars of the show for the last 18 years. The sweetest, most loving and gentle cats on planet earth. I had both of them in my lap almost every night; one of them in my lap every morning as I read.

Lakota died on January 31, 2020; Maka on September 11, 2021.

September 13, 2021 began a new era.

Emmy Lou and Patsy.

I did not think it possible for my love of a pet to transcend the power of the love I felt for Maka and Lakota. I was wrong. Which is a great lesson - to realize that there are no limits to happiness.

These two cats have stolen my heart and Carol's heart in an overwhelming way. They have been living here for 2 and 1/2 months and they own this house and they own us.

They are young and insane and fun; they are sisters who love each other and play and sleep together.

They are sweet and inquisitive and loving.

I just had to stop typing here for 5 minutes while Patsy laid down in my lap. She doesn't do that when I read, but when I sit in front of my laptop she is right up in my lap, and it is so precious to me.

They have their habits, we have ours. They sleep with us every night. Emmy Lou is a bit impatient in the morning; she climbs all over us. She touches her nose to my nose, which, of course, I love. Then we stare into each others eyes. Amazing shit.

This is love expressed and felt exponentially. The love they have for each other is obvious and tender and precious; they love us openly, we love them openly. All that love builds upon itself and reaches a level of intensity I would never have believed possible.

If you are not a pet lover you think I am a sap. I don't care. If you are not a pet lover I don't trust you and your opinion means nothing to me.

Human beings need love in its purest form in order to survive this nasty life. Human love is great but flawed. Pet love is the pinnacle of emotion.

Emmy Lou and Patsy fill our hearts and souls with love. 

There is no better state of being.

Holy Shit, Hoochie Mama

Today is December 2, 2021.

You undertsand what that means. Right?

In 30 days it will be January 1, 2022.

This time of year freaks me out. The entire month of December quietly prods me: "You didn't do anything. You accomplished nothing. You didn't even try. You are wasting your life, motherfucker. You will be 68 in 30 days. Sixty fucking eight. How much time do you think you have left?"

I feel odd this year. Not apocalyptic. Some things in my life are moving in the right direction. Got some people here working on the house today, cleaning up mold and other evil things in our basement. They'll probably find a couple of corpses. If they do I'm throwing them on the grill. Special supper. 

Big project. Two days. A big step towards the goal of foisting this house on some unsuspecting rube.

In addition, it is highly likely that change will occur in the area of my life that causes me the most pain. There are rumblings in that direction and I feel quite hopeful.

These are two hugely important areas of my/our life that must change, and that is exactly what is happening. That's heady stuff.

I gotta get moving on this weight gain bullshit. It can't be ignored. When your body does not feel like your own, when you feel uncomfortable and gross, you are always aware. You cannot pretend that all is well. And that will fuck with my head. I can't have that.

Losing a couple of pounds this month will go a long way to restoring confidence.

I don't know how to handle this. Typically I trip into the new year filled with foreboding. This time around there is some positiveness mixed in.

It's not a bad feeling.

2022 can be a year of big change for Carol and me.

As I have said a million times in here, my mother used to tell me I'm a late bloomer. I hated her for that; it did not sound like a vote of confidence to me. But, as I have said before, she might have been right.

Tough for me to say - I hate admitting that my parents were right about anything.

Blooming at the age of 68? Seems ludicrous. Most people at that point in their life are slowly dying - not living - whether they admit it or not. A sensation that I am quite familiar with.

The slowly dying thing reminds me of a Townes Van Zandt lyric that I love from a song titled Waitin' Around To Die.

"Sometimes I don't know where this dirty road is taking me, sometimes I can't even see the reason why, I guess I keep a-gamblin', lots of booze and lots of ramblin', it's easier than just waitin' around to die."

Great philosophy. I got the boozin' down but I sure as shit ain't gamblin' or ramblin'. Maybe that will change in 2022.

Back to this late-bloomer shit. Why not at 68? I mean I gotta do something sometime. Or die a fucking pantywaist.

Imagine if I stepped right in to myself at this point in my life. Just aired out my true personality, talents, quirks and interests for all to see? In bare, naked honesty?

It would be such a joy for me to see the looks on peoples' faces. They would not have a fucking clue who I am. 

Imagine if I sought out people of similar interests and actually hung around with them? I suffocate every day because I can't talk to people about the The Blues, The Allman Brothers, music in general, song lyrics, poetry, literature.

Know who I talk to about all that now? NOBODY! That's why I am so fucking bored. Every conversation I have every day puts me to sleep. So much so that I conduct most conversations on auto-pilot, making meaningless comments at all the right places and in all the right tones so that people actually think I am listening to them.

The rare and random times when I  actually stumbled into a conversation with someone who shares my enthusiasms blew me away. Blew me away at how happy I was, how natural I was, how me I was.

Those brief moments felt so fucking good. If I surround myself with the right people I could feel that good almost all the time. I wouldn't know how to handle it, that happiness - but I would quickly adjust.

I am laying a lot of shit out here today but, Christ, man - a new year approaches. A new year offers a chance for everybody to turn the page. Doubly so for me because my birthday ushers in a new calendar year and a new year of life for me.

That's powerful stuff, baby. Magic, really.

I am positioning myself to exploit all the goodness out of the resulting karma that January 1, 2022 will bring.

Gonna be a new day, baby.

My Biggest Failure in 2021

Fatness.

Weight gain is kicking my ass. Let me tell you people, hormone therapy is a motherfucker.

The problem is that the side effects of hormone therapy are relentless and I am not. 

You know the story - in the beginning I was winning this war. I lost 10 pounds when the doc kept telling me I was about to become blimpo.

At that point in time I was relentless. I exercised every day I didn't have to work. And on work days I would do the stairs. I would climb up and down flights of stairs at work - 3 or 4 times a day, two or three flights at a time.

I went on a semi-low carb diet and was fairly religious about it.

Merriam-Webster defines relentless this way: Showing or promising no abatement of severity, intensity, strength or pace.

And there lies the rub. You cannot fucking lighten up because every potato chip you eat during hormone therapy adds 5 pounds.

For months now I have been exercising sporadically at home. I have stopped doing the stairs at work. I eat 32 donuts a day.

I gained back the 10 pounds and more.

I feel like a big, fat, disgusting caricature of a human being.

Because I am a big, fat, disgusting caricature of a human being. I feel gross and uncomfortable.

I have not thrown in the towel. I proved to myself that I can win this war - I did lose 10 pounds way back in the way back. I did it once, I can do it again.

December is the springboard. I will summon up all my willpower and get fucking serious again. It is vitally important that I roll into 2022 with momentum.

For motivation I got the word relentless tattooed across my stomach. There was plenty of room for it.

My goal is to make it illegible.