On vacation we learned, Bill and I, that young ladies love old men.
As we sat on the deck, looking down on the beach, at bikinis, a clear vibe
came up from the sand.
A clear vibe of love for two sixty year olds appreciating fresh faced beauty.
Twenty year olds with zero body fat thinking "God, I love men with
grey hair, beer guts and bald spots."
Twenty year olds with zero body fat thinking "A forty year age gap
means nothing when you are talking 'bout love."
It was so obvious to us.
And gratifying.
It made things uncomfortable for our women, knowing that Bill and I
could walk down to the beach and scoop up any babe we chose.
But they understood the caliber of the hunks they chose as mates so many years ago.
They knew the risk.
Still, we made light conversation, Bill and I, because we are pros.
But our eyes scanned the sand, evaluating, comparing, deciding which of the young beauties would complement our natural charms.
We didn't expect anything, necessarily, didn't want anything.
Except the satisfaction derived from improving someone's life
through the simple act of association.
The chosen ones' peers would be overcome with respect and awe.
Others would come to them for love advice, wanting to know just how you go about
attracting the attention of grey, old men.
But they would hold tight with that advice, to minimize the competition.
Makes sense. Makes a lot of sense.
We were ready, Bill and I, to make our move, poised to creak out of our chairs
and head down to the beach.
To bestow our blessings like the Pope to the poor.
Suddenly it seemed like another Margarita was in order.
No reason, other than our thirst and the delicious nature of the concoction.
Our women began to talk food; our women were hungry.
Plans were made to walk, arm in arm, downtown for premium junk food.
Margaritas slipped away and so did the time.
We never did make it down to the twenty year olds, never gave them
that thrill.
But we could have, Bill and I.
Friday, September 12, 2014
Coldest Sentence Ever
Watching House of Cards recently.
Frank Underwood is talking to Doug, his right hand man, about how to deal with somebody who is getting in his way.
Francis says: "Don't try to scare him. Remove hope from the equation."
Frank Underwood is talking to Doug, his right hand man, about how to deal with somebody who is getting in his way.
Francis says: "Don't try to scare him. Remove hope from the equation."
Wednesday, September 10, 2014
Do They Just Make This Stuff Up?
And in a related blog post, as I pondered Oteil's comment about time becoming more important than money, it got me back to black holes.
I recently watched a documentary featuring Stephen Hawking in an attempt to stretch the boundaries of my tiny brain.
In this documentary he set about proving that there can be no God because of scientific theories regarding the creation of the universe.
He went far beyond the Big Bang and far beyond my ability to understand it all.
But somewhere in his argument the subject of black holes came up, and I believe he said that time does not exist in black holes, or that time stops in black holes.
This immediately piqued my interest.
If I could crawl inside a black hole and stop time, I would decorate the interior with mirrors and contemplate myself endlessly until I understood myself perfectly.
Then I would re-emerge a new man, the real me, back into my current life, ready to do with my talents and strengths what destiny had originally planned for me.
Fully. Satisfyingly. Soul validatingly.
Let's not consider what happened to my family and friends while I was in the black hole. With my diminished powers of comprehension I could be in there for a long time. The consequences for everyone else are too complicated to factor in.
I just rooted around online trying to dig up more facts about this stop time thing. Got nowhere with that but learned a lot about black holes.
In the 1970's Hawking shook up the scientific world with his theory of black holes. Black holes being entities with gravity so powerful even light can't escape. They possess a mysterious singularity at their cores that approaches zero size and infinite density, with the power to pulverize anything that comes within reach.
Then, in January of this year, Hawking said there are no black holes. At least not as previously conceived.
His original theory postulated an "event horizon" - an invisible threshold to the black hole beyond which nothing can escape. If you tried to get back out of the black hole you could never do it because of it's immense gravitational pull.
This does not help me at all.
A couple of years ago, physicists at the Kavli institute analyzed the event horizon and came to the conclusion that rather than being invisible, it would have to be a seething sheet of energy. They called it a firewall, saying "the event horizon would literally be a ring of fire that burns anyone falling through."
This does not help me at all.
Hawking now theorizes that instead of a sharply defined event horizon, black holes could have a mushier barrier called an "apparent horizon", which is firm enough to hold stuff in, but not firm enough to generate a ring of fire.
This does not help me at all.
BUT he goes on to say that the apparent horizon could disappear, leaving the door open for escape from a black hole.
This gives me hope.
However, before I rocket off to the nearest black hole to find myself, I think I will wait a while in case Stephen Hawking changes his mind again.
Maybe I'll just read some Kierkegaard in the meantime.
I recently watched a documentary featuring Stephen Hawking in an attempt to stretch the boundaries of my tiny brain.
In this documentary he set about proving that there can be no God because of scientific theories regarding the creation of the universe.
He went far beyond the Big Bang and far beyond my ability to understand it all.
But somewhere in his argument the subject of black holes came up, and I believe he said that time does not exist in black holes, or that time stops in black holes.
This immediately piqued my interest.
If I could crawl inside a black hole and stop time, I would decorate the interior with mirrors and contemplate myself endlessly until I understood myself perfectly.
Then I would re-emerge a new man, the real me, back into my current life, ready to do with my talents and strengths what destiny had originally planned for me.
Fully. Satisfyingly. Soul validatingly.
Let's not consider what happened to my family and friends while I was in the black hole. With my diminished powers of comprehension I could be in there for a long time. The consequences for everyone else are too complicated to factor in.
I just rooted around online trying to dig up more facts about this stop time thing. Got nowhere with that but learned a lot about black holes.
In the 1970's Hawking shook up the scientific world with his theory of black holes. Black holes being entities with gravity so powerful even light can't escape. They possess a mysterious singularity at their cores that approaches zero size and infinite density, with the power to pulverize anything that comes within reach.
Then, in January of this year, Hawking said there are no black holes. At least not as previously conceived.
His original theory postulated an "event horizon" - an invisible threshold to the black hole beyond which nothing can escape. If you tried to get back out of the black hole you could never do it because of it's immense gravitational pull.
This does not help me at all.
A couple of years ago, physicists at the Kavli institute analyzed the event horizon and came to the conclusion that rather than being invisible, it would have to be a seething sheet of energy. They called it a firewall, saying "the event horizon would literally be a ring of fire that burns anyone falling through."
This does not help me at all.
Hawking now theorizes that instead of a sharply defined event horizon, black holes could have a mushier barrier called an "apparent horizon", which is firm enough to hold stuff in, but not firm enough to generate a ring of fire.
This does not help me at all.
BUT he goes on to say that the apparent horizon could disappear, leaving the door open for escape from a black hole.
This gives me hope.
However, before I rocket off to the nearest black hole to find myself, I think I will wait a while in case Stephen Hawking changes his mind again.
Maybe I'll just read some Kierkegaard in the meantime.
Time
You never know where inspiration is going to come from.
Reading "One Way Out", about The Allman Brothers.
Oteil Burbridge, the current bassist with the band, in talking about recent history and wanting to finally put all the internal squabbles behind them, said:
"Time is as important as money at a certain point in your life. Maybe more important."
Boom.
The book almost trembled in my hands when I read those words.
There is probably not one member of my generation that is not thinking that way right now.
1/01/14 knocked me off balance and pushed me to try harder. To try different approaches, to make a change, to coral my life meaningfully in my arms.
I have taken steps, but not enough and not big enough. I am good at letting myself down, but working harder at not doing so.
1/01/15 approaches. I hear it coming. 61. Just can't stop the thundering footsteps of time.
Since I cannot stop them I must work harder within them.
Went to Old Orchard Beach last week, Thursday to Sunday. Deeply restful for me and Carol. In addition I am on vacation this week.
Eleven consecutive days away from The Asylum, in total.
Feels like a thousand.
I am rested. Peaceful.
Focusing on working the change for the rest of this break. Tinkering with my insides and my habits.
The rich and the successful take months off to reinvent themselves. Especially creative types.
We little folk don't have that luxury.
But eleven days can be an eternity. If you make progress. If you effect change.
Time is more important to me than money because I ain't got a whole hell of a lot of it left, no matter how positively you choose to look at it.
60 ain't middle age.
To a certain extent, these days are an escape. But just escaping is not healthy because that ugly beast will still be there on Monday, September 15.
An intelligent person would put this time to good use.
How smart am I?
Reading "One Way Out", about The Allman Brothers.
Oteil Burbridge, the current bassist with the band, in talking about recent history and wanting to finally put all the internal squabbles behind them, said:
"Time is as important as money at a certain point in your life. Maybe more important."
Boom.
The book almost trembled in my hands when I read those words.
There is probably not one member of my generation that is not thinking that way right now.
1/01/14 knocked me off balance and pushed me to try harder. To try different approaches, to make a change, to coral my life meaningfully in my arms.
I have taken steps, but not enough and not big enough. I am good at letting myself down, but working harder at not doing so.
1/01/15 approaches. I hear it coming. 61. Just can't stop the thundering footsteps of time.
Since I cannot stop them I must work harder within them.
Went to Old Orchard Beach last week, Thursday to Sunday. Deeply restful for me and Carol. In addition I am on vacation this week.
Eleven consecutive days away from The Asylum, in total.
Feels like a thousand.
I am rested. Peaceful.
Focusing on working the change for the rest of this break. Tinkering with my insides and my habits.
The rich and the successful take months off to reinvent themselves. Especially creative types.
We little folk don't have that luxury.
But eleven days can be an eternity. If you make progress. If you effect change.
Time is more important to me than money because I ain't got a whole hell of a lot of it left, no matter how positively you choose to look at it.
60 ain't middle age.
To a certain extent, these days are an escape. But just escaping is not healthy because that ugly beast will still be there on Monday, September 15.
An intelligent person would put this time to good use.
How smart am I?
Monday, September 8, 2014
Wanna See The Cats Wanna See THE PATS
Made the annual trek to Old Orchard Beach.
Just like the Allman Brothers make the annual trek to The Beacon, only completely different.
Sweet release and maximum R&R.
A change of scenery is so therapeutic. Getting out and away just to remind yourself that working and licking wounds are not all there is to life.
We typically spend two nights up there. Arrive Friday around 1:00, enjoy Saturday, leave Sunday morning.
Too short. Too quick. Not enough. I was suicidal every Sunday morning.
We stretched it out this year and it made all the difference. Got there Thursday, left Sunday. Three nights and two full days.
Felt like a real vacation. Sunday morning I was exceptionally calm and ready to get home to see the cats and THE PATS.
The weather was gorgeous. We dug sun, sand and surf, junk food, booze, family, people watching, buying cheap but necessary trinkets, long walks on the beach, deep conversation, trivial conversation, relaxing like we were the ones to invent the word.
I believe the relaxation is intensified because you are surrounded by thousands of people who are doing the same. Everybody there is getting away from it all and just digging on the beach and the sun and the warmth and the deliciously slow pace.
You absorb their calm, they absorb yours and the whole thing just feeds on itself.
Goddamn peaceful is what it was.
Chunks of time are spent sitting up on the second floor porch outside the room looking down on the beach. Listening to the waves. Watching families with little kids having a blast. Teenagers on the edge of innocence playing and teasing. People walking dogs, dogs that are free and happy to get soaked; wagging happy hellos to anyone bending over to rub their heads.
Dark nights looking out over the ocean and wondering how anyone ever got up the balls to voyage back in the day when navigation was by the stars and spotlights did not exist. Looking to the horizon and wondering what it would be like to live somewhere else, to live a different life.
Or to change your life, so the dividing line between every day and getting away does not feel like the edge of a razor blade.
Got to visit Sarge a couple of times. That put a perspective on things. Sarge, my heroic brother-in-law, is waging an immense battle against cancer. He is currently staying in a rehab facility very close to his home.
Friday, Corey and Kevin got him out of there and we visited him at home. He was in a wheelchair but his spirits were up. We were with him for a couple of hours, most of it outside on a beautiful day.
Carol, me, Lorraine, Sarge, Corey, Kevin and John. Seven close and loving family members enjoying time together. Simply. Honestly. Appreciatively.
Amazing, amazing, amazing.
Saturday he was not up for moving, so we went to the facility. He was wiped out in bed. At one point he got up to go to the bathroom and Carol suggested we get him in the wheelchair for a tour of the facility.
Brilliant idea.
Sarge perked right up and we took a long walk around this beautiful and peaceful place.
He was in my mind all weekend as I enjoyed our beautiful escape. He brought me deeper in appreciation of our vacation than I have ever been.
We walked downtown, checking out stores, in and out; checking out human beings being human, eating what we wanted when we wanted, sitting at stone tables in the circle with the ocean behind us and happiness all around us.
A few peaceful hours on the beach on Saturday, luxuriating in the sun, the sound, the ease; popping into the ocean to cool off and returning to the sand to dry off.
So simple, so beautiful.
We checked in with Kevin on Sunday before we left, and the news was not good. Sarge's brain is literally under assault and sometimes he has violent episodes.
Sunday morning it took two cops and a few nurses to subdue him. They moved him to a medical center.
That news weighed heavy on our minds as we drove home. Still, we kept the conversation light, laughed a little, and stayed positive.
Got home to the cats with love and relief. Missed them deeply, they missed us. Watched THE PATS play a terrible game and get their asses handed to them. First game of the season.
We were given a gift. A gift of having the resources to be able to go away. A gift of beautiful weather in a favorite spot, surrounded by loving family members. A gift of appreciation for the delicate beauty of life and being together in peace and happiness.
Sarge has brought many things to all of our lives over the years. Positive things, always.
Now he inspires us with his strength and determination as he fights fiercely.
He inspires us with his upbeat attitude.
Being around Sarge made an exceptionally beautiful weekend even more beautiful.
We spent three nights and two and a half days at Old Orchard Beach in Maine.
It did us a world of good.
Just like the Allman Brothers make the annual trek to The Beacon, only completely different.
Sweet release and maximum R&R.
A change of scenery is so therapeutic. Getting out and away just to remind yourself that working and licking wounds are not all there is to life.
We typically spend two nights up there. Arrive Friday around 1:00, enjoy Saturday, leave Sunday morning.
Too short. Too quick. Not enough. I was suicidal every Sunday morning.
We stretched it out this year and it made all the difference. Got there Thursday, left Sunday. Three nights and two full days.
Felt like a real vacation. Sunday morning I was exceptionally calm and ready to get home to see the cats and THE PATS.
The weather was gorgeous. We dug sun, sand and surf, junk food, booze, family, people watching, buying cheap but necessary trinkets, long walks on the beach, deep conversation, trivial conversation, relaxing like we were the ones to invent the word.
I believe the relaxation is intensified because you are surrounded by thousands of people who are doing the same. Everybody there is getting away from it all and just digging on the beach and the sun and the warmth and the deliciously slow pace.
You absorb their calm, they absorb yours and the whole thing just feeds on itself.
Goddamn peaceful is what it was.
Chunks of time are spent sitting up on the second floor porch outside the room looking down on the beach. Listening to the waves. Watching families with little kids having a blast. Teenagers on the edge of innocence playing and teasing. People walking dogs, dogs that are free and happy to get soaked; wagging happy hellos to anyone bending over to rub their heads.
Dark nights looking out over the ocean and wondering how anyone ever got up the balls to voyage back in the day when navigation was by the stars and spotlights did not exist. Looking to the horizon and wondering what it would be like to live somewhere else, to live a different life.
Or to change your life, so the dividing line between every day and getting away does not feel like the edge of a razor blade.
Got to visit Sarge a couple of times. That put a perspective on things. Sarge, my heroic brother-in-law, is waging an immense battle against cancer. He is currently staying in a rehab facility very close to his home.
Friday, Corey and Kevin got him out of there and we visited him at home. He was in a wheelchair but his spirits were up. We were with him for a couple of hours, most of it outside on a beautiful day.
Carol, me, Lorraine, Sarge, Corey, Kevin and John. Seven close and loving family members enjoying time together. Simply. Honestly. Appreciatively.
Amazing, amazing, amazing.
Saturday he was not up for moving, so we went to the facility. He was wiped out in bed. At one point he got up to go to the bathroom and Carol suggested we get him in the wheelchair for a tour of the facility.
Brilliant idea.
Sarge perked right up and we took a long walk around this beautiful and peaceful place.
He was in my mind all weekend as I enjoyed our beautiful escape. He brought me deeper in appreciation of our vacation than I have ever been.
We walked downtown, checking out stores, in and out; checking out human beings being human, eating what we wanted when we wanted, sitting at stone tables in the circle with the ocean behind us and happiness all around us.
A few peaceful hours on the beach on Saturday, luxuriating in the sun, the sound, the ease; popping into the ocean to cool off and returning to the sand to dry off.
So simple, so beautiful.
We checked in with Kevin on Sunday before we left, and the news was not good. Sarge's brain is literally under assault and sometimes he has violent episodes.
Sunday morning it took two cops and a few nurses to subdue him. They moved him to a medical center.
That news weighed heavy on our minds as we drove home. Still, we kept the conversation light, laughed a little, and stayed positive.
Got home to the cats with love and relief. Missed them deeply, they missed us. Watched THE PATS play a terrible game and get their asses handed to them. First game of the season.
We were given a gift. A gift of having the resources to be able to go away. A gift of beautiful weather in a favorite spot, surrounded by loving family members. A gift of appreciation for the delicate beauty of life and being together in peace and happiness.
Sarge has brought many things to all of our lives over the years. Positive things, always.
Now he inspires us with his strength and determination as he fights fiercely.
He inspires us with his upbeat attitude.
Being around Sarge made an exceptionally beautiful weekend even more beautiful.
We spent three nights and two and a half days at Old Orchard Beach in Maine.
It did us a world of good.
Thursday, September 4, 2014
The Good Ole Days
I am reading "One Way Out - The Inside History of the Allman Brothers Band."
In 1973 a new roadie joined the band. He describes the experience thusly:
"Here's how things were in the rock and roll world in 1973: they taught me how to drive an eighteen-wheeler pulling a forty five foot trailer on the highway, with no special license, and my teacher sitting next to me drinking whiskey and snorting cocaine. Off to Watkins Glen!"
Nowadays people wear helmets to walk to the mailbox and rock bands play with bottled water sitting up on their amps.
I miss the good old days.
In 1973 a new roadie joined the band. He describes the experience thusly:
"Here's how things were in the rock and roll world in 1973: they taught me how to drive an eighteen-wheeler pulling a forty five foot trailer on the highway, with no special license, and my teacher sitting next to me drinking whiskey and snorting cocaine. Off to Watkins Glen!"
Nowadays people wear helmets to walk to the mailbox and rock bands play with bottled water sitting up on their amps.
I miss the good old days.
Monday, September 1, 2014
Idyllic
Kicked this loooooooooooong weekend off in grand style on Saturday.
Attended my cousin Tom's wedding to his partner Steve in a most exquisite setting.
First of all, the vibe for the day was set by this couple. They are fun to be around. They are positive, successful and loving. They bring something to this planet, as opposed to the many who subtract something from this planet.
The wedding was held on the property of a guy, a family member, who has conquered the world. This guy was the marketing director for THE PATS when they were busy winning three Super Bowls. He now runs his own marketing company. Private road leading to private beach on a gorgeous lake.
Outdoor wedding on the edge of a lake. Doesn't get any better than that.
The setting was spectacular and arranged to maximize leisure. Perfect weather, brilliant sunshine, not too hot, sun bursting off the surface of the lake.
Lounge chairs facing the beach for napping and sunning. Tables set up under a large tent for socializing and chowing. Access to the house for booze and bathroom. People water skiing, donut riding, jet skiing, and party boating. But not too many, not too noisy. Just enough to add to the atmosphere.
There was some friction before the beauty. Directions were perfect until we got within ten minutes of the place. Then they went goofy. We got completely lost. We stopped three times for directions. The first two times did not help. Strangers' smart phones said "you are real close" but still could not get us there. Third time was the charm. Talked to a native who told us we were right around the corner, and then got us there.
Problem was, neither of us brought our phone. We couldn't call the wedding party, they couldn't call us. They actually held up the ceremony for a while hoping we would show. We arrived in the middle of it.
And...................it was a casual affair but I didn't get the memo. My brother spoke to Carol the night before and told her no tie, just shirt and pants. All I heard was no tie so I sported suit pants, a vest, a dress shirt and a suit coat, all in black. As we jumped out of the car and hurried to the ceremony I noticed all the guys wearing Tommy Bahama shirts, casual pants and boat shoes. I was very pretty and extremely out of place.
The ceremony was beautiful, then the relaxation began. Appetizers circulating liberally, excellent dinner, top shelf booze. This guy opened his home to us, including his well stocked bar.
I went looking for the Crown, the bartender had none (at the time). My brother pointed out they had Macallan, a premium scotch. 1.75 liter bottle. Probably cost $50,000. Had some of that and my taste buds rejoiced. Later on the bartender informed me they did indeed have Crown Royal. I went with that because I would have felt guilty invading this guy's home and sucking up all his expensive scotch.
But I digress.
Chowed down, enjoyed the company, everything was easy and relaxed. Come cake time we walked out onto the dock. There was a walkway leading out to a dock set up with a table and chairs.
Went out there with my beautiful wife, my brother, his ex-wife and absolutely relaxed. The dock was bobbing and weaving gently to the waves created by passing boaters. At one point my cousin Richard joined us. Eventually, Tom joined us.
That might have been the highlight of the day. It was so damn peaceful. So damn beautiful. Floating on the water, digging on family, chowing excellent cake (and I am not a big cake fan), absorbing the sheer sense of peace, nature, and ease.
It was one of those rare days. It was idyllic. Celebrating the love of a magical couple. Doing it in a setting that was spectacular. Doing it comfortably as our souls reveled in the recognition that this is what life is meant to be.
Attended my cousin Tom's wedding to his partner Steve in a most exquisite setting.
First of all, the vibe for the day was set by this couple. They are fun to be around. They are positive, successful and loving. They bring something to this planet, as opposed to the many who subtract something from this planet.
The wedding was held on the property of a guy, a family member, who has conquered the world. This guy was the marketing director for THE PATS when they were busy winning three Super Bowls. He now runs his own marketing company. Private road leading to private beach on a gorgeous lake.
Outdoor wedding on the edge of a lake. Doesn't get any better than that.
The setting was spectacular and arranged to maximize leisure. Perfect weather, brilliant sunshine, not too hot, sun bursting off the surface of the lake.
Lounge chairs facing the beach for napping and sunning. Tables set up under a large tent for socializing and chowing. Access to the house for booze and bathroom. People water skiing, donut riding, jet skiing, and party boating. But not too many, not too noisy. Just enough to add to the atmosphere.
There was some friction before the beauty. Directions were perfect until we got within ten minutes of the place. Then they went goofy. We got completely lost. We stopped three times for directions. The first two times did not help. Strangers' smart phones said "you are real close" but still could not get us there. Third time was the charm. Talked to a native who told us we were right around the corner, and then got us there.
Problem was, neither of us brought our phone. We couldn't call the wedding party, they couldn't call us. They actually held up the ceremony for a while hoping we would show. We arrived in the middle of it.
And...................it was a casual affair but I didn't get the memo. My brother spoke to Carol the night before and told her no tie, just shirt and pants. All I heard was no tie so I sported suit pants, a vest, a dress shirt and a suit coat, all in black. As we jumped out of the car and hurried to the ceremony I noticed all the guys wearing Tommy Bahama shirts, casual pants and boat shoes. I was very pretty and extremely out of place.
The ceremony was beautiful, then the relaxation began. Appetizers circulating liberally, excellent dinner, top shelf booze. This guy opened his home to us, including his well stocked bar.
I went looking for the Crown, the bartender had none (at the time). My brother pointed out they had Macallan, a premium scotch. 1.75 liter bottle. Probably cost $50,000. Had some of that and my taste buds rejoiced. Later on the bartender informed me they did indeed have Crown Royal. I went with that because I would have felt guilty invading this guy's home and sucking up all his expensive scotch.
But I digress.
Chowed down, enjoyed the company, everything was easy and relaxed. Come cake time we walked out onto the dock. There was a walkway leading out to a dock set up with a table and chairs.
Went out there with my beautiful wife, my brother, his ex-wife and absolutely relaxed. The dock was bobbing and weaving gently to the waves created by passing boaters. At one point my cousin Richard joined us. Eventually, Tom joined us.
That might have been the highlight of the day. It was so damn peaceful. So damn beautiful. Floating on the water, digging on family, chowing excellent cake (and I am not a big cake fan), absorbing the sheer sense of peace, nature, and ease.
It was one of those rare days. It was idyllic. Celebrating the love of a magical couple. Doing it in a setting that was spectacular. Doing it comfortably as our souls reveled in the recognition that this is what life is meant to be.
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