PUP

In the NFL there is the PUP.

Physically unable to perform. It is a category for a player who is physically unable to practice or play. This is a designation that apparently is more beneficial to the player than being on injured reserve.

I say apparently because I took a look at the definition of PUP and as you might expect there are various categories, exceptions, rules and regulations.

I only have three and 1/2 hours before I leave for work. I don't have time to sift through it all.

My thoughts are as follows.

The NFL has a PUP. Relative to my job I want an MUP.

Mentally unable to perform.

Given the cold hearted, selfish, back stabbing nature of my boss, and the corrupt, inefficient and exploitive nature of the organization I work for, I feel mentally unprepared to deliver upbeat customer service.

I shall contact the union today.

Tweet Me, Baby

I am not a fan of the tweet.

Maybe I should be. The 140 character restriction challenges my creativity. I don't know. I don't even know what I am supposed to know.

Can anybody help me?

I was watching the NFL Network yesterday as I continue to soak up as much football as possible.

Might as well. It certainly feels like fucking fall outside.

Anyway there was a hilarious tweet in their silly little tweet segment.

A fan said he wanted the Dallas Cowboys to be pallbearers at his funeral so they could let him down one more time.

That is an excellent use of Twitter.

Not Really Done With Cheever

OK I'm done with John Cheever.

Then again I'm not.

61 short stories. 693 pages. Sorry, apparently I still have some of that accountant thing in me.

I can't remember the last time an author affected me so strongly. I love this guy, he blows me away, he was endlessly creative, deft with the written word, imaginative, amusing, insightful and entertaining.

I am not done with him because he also wrote 5 novels, and apparently there is a collection of his journals out there too.

I still have work to do. I look forward to it.

I am living dangerously today because I am in between books. As I have explained previously, I don't believe I can die when I am immersed in a book. It is when I am in between books that I become vulnerable.

You would expect that I would just pick up the next book and read a couple of pages for protection.

However, it is exciting to live dangerously once in a while. To live on the edge.

If I survive the day I will begin a new book tomorrow morning. The only extravagance I have indulged in since I began the torture of this job last February, is books. I have so many books backed up that it thrills me.

Wish me luck today.

Ciao, baby.

Father's Day

This is a first draft. I'll clean it up and submit it somewhere. But I knew you couldn't wait to read it.




Joe was obsessed with the possibility that he had been a lousy dad.

Today didn’t matter as much because when your sons are in their thirties fatherhood is more of a spectator sport.

But the past. The past drove him crazy with worry.

He irritated his wife endlessly, looking for validation that he had been loving. “Was I a good dad? I mean, was I attentive? Sensitive? Did I take out my frustrations on them?”

The last question was the one he worried about most. Joe’s entire life had been consumed by lousy jobs that left him screaming for release. Jobs that suffocated his spirit and forced him to drink.

Booze was the first thing he reached for when he got home just so he wouldn’t smash his head against the wall and scream at his family. He didn’t have a choice, really. Employment forced his hand. Raging nerves were dangerous untreated; alcohol brought a measure of peace.

Until of course he had consumed more than was required.

His wife was consistently reassuring in her responses, but the dead brain cells in his head left vacancies where memories should have been.

He wasn’t quite sure if she was being truthful or considerate.

Joe’s gut told him that he had been a good dad but he couldn’t help wondering if there were alcohol fueled rages that left scars on his sons’ souls.

There were holes in the cheap bathroom door that stood in bold suggestion of just such a possibility.

Joe’s wife was a sweetheart. At least she appeared to be.

She put up with a lot. Like his drinking and insecurities and his stubborn commitment to underachieving, which reduced their life together to subsistence levels.

They could have done better. Lived easier.

But Joe was mired in self-doubt, success eluded him and pizza was an extravagance as a consequence.

Still his wife handled it all calmly, with her innate ability to smooth out the rough edges. At least she appeared to. There were tensions and hints of impatience, maybe some frustrations, but generally she maintained an even keel.

She had created a garden in the front yard that was a triumph and a source of peace for both of them.

A pool had stood in this spot for many years. An above ground pool plenty big enough for the four of them to play, laugh and relax in. A pool that left behind great memories.

When the kids moved out the pool stood silent and eventually Joe’s wife was inspired to take it down and replace it with paradise.

They spent a lot of peaceful moments out there listening to the fountain, the breeze, the birds and each other.

Father’s Day was always toughest on Joe, especially recently. His kids’ schedules were hard to coordinate and he had spent a few Father’s Days without them.

Those were the days his imagination tortured him the most.

This year was the roughest because he had to work. He worked for a state run liquor store and it was open seven days a week.

Joe was old school and despised working on Sundays. He could remember when barely anything was open on Sundays and people seemed to survive.

Still the kids were not going to be around so Joe volunteered to work so another father could celebrate.

He made it through the day dealing as best he could with all the insensitive idiots who said repeatedly “I can’t believe you are open today.” He would look at them incredulously. He wanted to scream “I wouldn’t be here at all if you were considerate enough to plan ahead.”

He held his tongue.

Joe bought a couple of nips to sooth him on the ride home.

His wife kissed him hello and then gave him a look. She tasted the whiskey on his lips, which always pissed her off.

He walked into the house, poured himself a tumbler of whiskey and invited her to join him in the garden.

Before going back out he asked “Honey, do you think I was a good dad? Do you think the kids are thinking about me today?”

She smiled. She told him he had been and still was a great dad.

It was a gorgeous day. Brilliant sunshine, beginning to fade, but plenty warm with not too many bugs.

The fountain was gurgling, the birds were singing, a gentle breeze rustled the leaves as Joe realized he did not have it all that bad.

He felt at peace.

He heard his wife approaching with a tray full of munchies. She said “Happy Father’s Day, honey” and Joe began to turn to say “Thank you,” but the words never left his lips.

She pulled the trigger quickly, cutting off his response and then returned the gun to its spot next to the cheese and crackers.

She sat next to Joe and ate enthusiastically, marveling at the soothing effect of the fountain.

Dig

"Beware the barrenness of a busy life."

Socrates



We all run around whining about how busy we are and how little time we have.

I find this amusing because I think it applies to every generation no matter the time or the place.

17th century folk didn't have "smart" phones, 300 inch TV's, and all the other technological distractions we have today. They also didn't have toilets, cars, planes, lawn mowers, snow blowers etc.

Their time was consumed simply in survival. And it was hard work.

Do you think they felt there wasn't enough time in the day?

Guaranteed.

We allow ourselves to be distracted by life in whatever form it takes, and miss out on the real meat, the substance of what it means to be alive.

Why I just found out today that I have two sons - one married, one with serious intent. One is 34 years old, the other 30.

I never noticed because I have been so damn busy.

How the hell else could sixty years have gone by at the speed of light?

"Beware the barrenness of a busy life."

I think this means we don't know how to spend our time wisely.

Case closed.

"America" and The Shrink

At the end of the magnificent "America" night at the fabled Hampton beach casino, Sir Eric of Swenson loaned me his America CD.

I have listened to it incessantly since. These boys have really gotten under my skin.

The last three songs are "Sandman," "Sister Golden Hair," and "Horse With No Name."

Bing bang boom.

I listen to and enjoy the entire CD except for Muskrat Love which Eric has taught me to hate because he hates it. I don't even know what the song is about, I just skip the damn thing.

So the music beautifies me until the end when those three songs knock me off my axis.

I'm driving to see Super Shrink this morning and "Tin Man" begins to play.

"Oz never did give nothing to the Tin man, that he didn't, didn't  already have."

I was knocked senseless and drove off the road into a stand of trees, bounced off a boulder the size of Montana and settled on the edge of a precipice that promised to plunge me to a broken and bloody death.

Or something like that. My memory is not quite clear regarding this incident.

BOOM. The shrink is Oz and I am the Tin Man.

He is not creating or reinventing me. He is hacking away with a sledgehammer and a scalpel, trying to uncover the Joe buried beneath the bile. He is not giving me anything that I don't already have. He is trying to expose the truth and hold a mirror to it so I can get comfortable with myself.

The process fascinates me. I thought I would reveal my wicked twistedness and he would burrow into the past attempting to uncover the source of so much poisonous thought and behavior.

I was afraid I would find out that during my formative years my parents locked me in a closet for 23 days of every month feeding me only cock-a-roaches and rancid water.

Instead he is starting with who I am now and trying to change the way I think, perceive, act and distort. By steering me to the truth.

It was another good session. I never know how the conversation is going to go. Last couple of visits I wondered along the way what the hell I was going to say. How can I avoid repeating myself?

It doesn't wok that way. He asks me how the week went, I tell him and that leads us down a specific road.

He is very good at that. Making me aware of changes he is seeing, reminding me of traps I continue to fall into, based on real life.

He makes me think. This is what I like best.

My brain is hungry for direction. It wants me to change but needs a new perspective to work from.

The old perspective is covered with rust and blood and is useless and self defeating.

He gives me a new perspective.

It was a good morning today.

My brain is simultaneously nourished and famished. Each new thought creates desire for more new thoughts.

"America" and Super Shrink. A potent combination that eased me into a beautiful Wednesday and away from my poisoned self.

Can't ask for more than that, baby.

Retirement

I was browsing through the latest issue of Rolling Stone and came across articles on two guys familiar to me.

Eric Clapton. Paul McCartney.

I say browse because that is what I do. I don't read the magazine cover to cover anymore because there is a lot in there I don't care about.

I go to my go to guys and then check out the stuff that is more youth oriented. I really do check out the younger stuff. I'll read a paragraph or two to get a feel. If I get a Kardashians or Bieber vibe, I move on.

Comfort derives from being able to rely on those who have always inspired me.

Clapton is being interviewed and he is talking end of the road stuff. His friend JJ Cale recently died and it seems to have inspired reflection.  Cale wrote monster Clapton hits like "After Midnight" and "Cocaine." They recorded an album together years ago that was superb. Cale's songwriting talent was a huge inspiration for Clapton.

EC just released a tribute album: " The Breeze: An Appreciation of JJ Cale."

Anyway.......................during the interview Clapton mentioned that he might not do another Crossroads fund raising concert. Crossroads is  a drug addiction treatment center located in Antigua and founded by Eric Clapton.

These concerts are legendary featuring amazing performers and performances. Many CD's and DVD's document the magic.

Anyway Clapton said it's getting harder to put it all together. He then mentioned that he might do one more album, go out for a few shows and then call it quits.

The interviewer gently pointed out that Clapton told him the same thing in 2001.

The article on McCartney pointed out that he recently had to cancel 12 dates on his current world tour because of a virus he contracted in Tokyo.

The conversation naturally gravitated towards retirement.

McCartney said: "I want it all. I've got a great home life, and I've got a great life on the road - it's not like we're on a Greyhound bus anymore. People say to me, "Don't you get tired?" it's a three hour show, and I'm onstage every second. I keep thinking the laws of logic ought to apply and I ought to be really tired - but I'm invigorated. I enjoy it. So the answer to "Are you going to retire?" is "When I feel like it." But that's not today.

People who do what they love for a living never want to stop doing it.

As opposed to the rest of us slugs who crawl desperately towards retirement.

The key to life is to find something you love and make it the dominant force in your life.

Easier said than done.