Learning

What is learning?

Is this something that people actually do? How does it work?

Apparently learning happens when you experience something, and then take a step back to evaluate that experience. You figure out if it was a good experience or a bad experience given the parameters of your goals, aspirations and dreams, and then make whatever mid-course corrections you deem necessary to get you to where you want to be.

At least that's what I am told.

Seems like learning could be a very valuable tool in living a life.

I have determined that I need to strengthen my learning capabilities. So I hired a Life Learning Counselor & Gut-Check coach. We hit it off right off the bat.

His fee is $10,000 which appears steep, but I figured at this point in my life I need rapid, high quality results.

He asked for $5,000 up front to cover Preparation Contingencies. Seemed reasonable to me.

I haven't seen him since.

Freaky Deaky

Gravestones with high quality photos of the deceased embossed on them.

Freaky deaky, baby.

I don't think embossed is the right word. Embalmed? Just kidding.

You get the point.

I stumbled upon an area in the cemetery yesterday with four or five gravestones like this in one small area. I haven't seen this before and I don't know why they were clustered in this area.

Some kind of bureaucratic cemetery rule? Like "we keep all the freaks together."

Because it was freaky.

I wandered amongst them and was uncomfortable. Maybe because it makes death more personal; more real.

Generally, I feel at peace in this place; somber, thoughful. I was a bit edgy yesterday.

I was continually drawn back to one stone that had a beautiful picture of the husband and wife on it. Arms around each other looking straight out at me. Smiling.

It really emphasized what these people had lost.

I prefer to read inscriptions and epitaphs, check out names and dates, very much aware that I am in a place where I am not yet ready to take up residence. Merely passing through. I prefer not to look at faces.

I came across a stone with a picture of a man with his daughter. He was forty years older than she was; they died on the same day. Some kind of story there.

His birthday was January 1, 1937. That freaked me out a bit. For those who don't pay attention, my birthday is January 1.

I undertsand the desire to personalize gravestones, and I'm sure it means an awful lot to those left behind. You get to look into their eyes while you visit and talk to them. Keep their memory forever fresh in your mind.

It is just too real for me. 

Part of what I enjoy about the cemetery is the anonymity. I can read the stone and get images in my mind based on dates, names, inscriptions, style of stone etc. Create stories. My mind is free to wander.

But pictures, man. Too much.  Pictures take the guesswork out of the whole deal.

P.S. - I continue to hunt my White Whale.

The Clown Show That Is Our Government

 "Congressman is literally the only job in the world you can get with so much prestige and so many perks, while being a complete dufus with absolutely no skills, knowledge or qualifications."

Bill Maher, "New Rules", 8/7/2021

Or What?

Those two words might very well be the two most powerful words in the English Language, in that combination.

You say "This is the way it's going to be from now on. Period."

And the person you are threatening asks "Or what?"

Puts your back up against the wall, doesn't it?

We are all full of bluff and bluster, but when it comes down to the nitty gritty, most of us are made of Silly Putty.

All talk, no action.

Somebody asks you "Or what?" and you have to back up your threat. You have to tell them what you'll do and they have to believe you will actually do it.

Or you are wasting your fucking breath.

A Beautiful Turn Of Phrase

Edge turns 60 on Sunday, August 8.

The Edge, Edge - however you want to refer to him. He is a personal friend of mine so I just call him Edge.

Phil Taggart - a DJ on U2-X radio on Sirius XM, in tribute - is sponsoring a kind of "Your favorite guitar god" kind of thing.

When he was talking about it yesterday he said to consider the people you admire who "took 6 strings and 21 frets and plugged them into God's amplifier."

Are you fucking kidding me?

If you are a lover of guitar virtuosi, that combination of words says it all.

I was not consciously aware that I am a lover of killer guitar until a guy I worked with in a warehouse years ago referred me to a song.

The Waterboys - The Return Of Jimi Hendrix.

He said to me "I know you love electric guitar, here is a song I know you will love." He picked up on that truth based on many conversations we had about music.

He was right.

So taking "6 strings, 21 frets and plugging them into God's amplifier" is a sentence that electrifies my soul.

Happy Birthday, Edge.

10,000 Hours

 A theory exists that it takes "10,000 hours of intensive practice to achieve mastery of complex skills and materials, like playing the violin or getting as good as Bill Gates at computer programming."

This theory was popularized in a book written by Malcolm Gladwell called "Outliers." In it he dissects the success of people as diverse as The Beatles, Bill Gates, Canadian hockey players, a mega-successful lawyer etc.

A co-author of the study from which this conclusion comes is Anders Ericsson. He claims Gladwell left out an important consideration - that how good a student's teacher is has significant impact on their success as well.

10,000 hours is roughly translated as 10 years. So if I choose to master something of value, theoretically, I would be 77 by the time I emerged into the world as the genius I eventually expect to be recognized as.

I'm kind of tired already, though.

I remember learning to play the trumpet. I was a damn good trumpet player - first trumpet first chair as a junior in high school. I succeeded David Tick and held the chair for two years.

David Tick was super cool. He sat in the stands at football games with his trumpet, smoking a cigarette, long hair flowing, while all the girls swooned over him. He was an atypical band student. He was a bad boy.

He graduated, I inherited the seat. I was not a bad boy but I could very definitely play.

My mother insisted that my brother and I practice our instruments 1/2 hour a day. That was the deal. My parents bought the instruments but we had to commit to regular practice. It was a pain in the ass but the discipline definitely contributed to our success. My brother is an excellent drummer to this very day.

That's the practice part.

I took lessons from Harry Harotian. This should be the good teacher part of the equation.

Trouble is he would fall asleep while I played. Literally fall asleep. I would get to the end of a phrase, stop playing and be met be silence. I'd look over and he'd be sleeping in his chair.

How the hell do you sleep with a trumpet trumpeting 3 feet away from you? I don't know, but he did.

I also don't know if it was a commentary on his lifestyle or a commentary on my playing.

Drawing A Line In The Sand

August 1, 2021.

Write the date down.

I have a new policy - I will write nothing in here that reeks of whining.

You have heard this all before so I don't fault your incredulous disbelief. If I don't follow through, feel free to shoot me in the face. I won't mind.

I have had enough of myself.

I put some work into self-improvement in 2021 with an eye towards rescuing my life. I really didn't accomplish much, other than to make me feel better about myself. That ain't half bad, but I am in a place in my life where I need concrete change; measurable forward momentum. The clock is ticking so loud I cannot hear myself think.

I thought I was documenting solid progress in here, talking about everything I was doing, changes I was making. Looking back, all it amounts to is more whining. 7 straight months of whining.

Actually, it is much worse than that. I have established a solid record of whining since I began this blog in 2011. 10 consecutive years of pissing and moaning.

It is even worse than that. I have whined my life away. 

Instead of making necessary changes in my life to make me happy, I sat in dark corners and beat myself up. Not very productive. Obviously.

Last week, the brother-in-law of a woman I work with was diagnosed with cancer and told he had 2 to 4 months to live. Months. Two to four years if he undergoes chemo.

Weeks back, Carol retired. 

A guy I work with is retiring at the end of this month after working 30 years for the City of Concord. Of course that is all he talks about and he is all smiles. 

This past Monday I found out my five closest friends going back to high school days are all retired.

I feel like a boxer who gets rocked with a left hook, gets wobbly and then leans into a solid right knock out punch.

I am done with my wimpy bullshit.

In 2021 I have been focusing on 5 things I felt would allow me to reclaim my soul. After getting up off the canvas, I have whittled it down to two, 1 of which wasn't even included in The Big Five.

1) I will do everything in my power to repair and sell this house.

2) I will exercise like a motherfucker.

#1 is my ticket to retirement. #2 is a response to the fact that hormone therapy has been kicking my ass.

Those are my two priorities every day when I get out of bed from now on. Period.

Anthing else beneficial I can do for myself above and beyond those two obsessions is frosting on the cake. 

I probably won't post in here as frequently as I have in the past. How could I? I suspect the "no whining" stipulation is going to cramp my style for a while. 

Judge me any way you want. I have given you ample ammunition over the years to justify you laughing at me. And I realize you could rightfully tag this post as whining. 

I have identified "life or death" situations in here before. From a certain perspective I was wrong, from a certain perspective I was right. Short term vs long term.

Here I am again. My mind is reeling and my body is betraying me.

A line in the sand.