This is a blog about nothing. Just thought I’d let you know that right up front.
Not in the sense that the TV show “Jerry Sienfield” was about “nothing”, we all know that “Jerry Sienfield” really was about something. OK. Maybe you didn’t know “Jerry Sienfield” was about something, maybe you didn’t really care, but it would be really hard to argue that the show was really about nothing. Plenty of things happened.
My life has been kind of like that, nothing much happens. I didn’t change the world, invent anything of real worth; I never got to be a Doctor, a Research Scientist, or an Archaeologist, etc. I didn’t summit any 8,000 meter peaks, heck I didn’t even climb any of the 14,000 foot peaks that populate the mountainous regions of western North America.
But at the same time as nothing big was happening, lot’s of things somehow happened for me and too me. I was explaining this to a friend, (Monster’s rarely make friends, at the same time as they usually have had many friends… Ya, I know, it’s confusing, right?) Anyway, I was explaining to my friend that plenty of life had happened to me while nothing was happening.
At first he said nothing, maybe it was the two shots of Jack Daniels. Maybe it was the two gummies from the wonderful folks at Doobie Sisters. I couldn’t tell, and I’m not sure he could either. In retrospect, it might have been ambiance of the steakhouse we were sitting in. We sat outside for the “ambiance” of traffic noise from Cortez Colorado on a Thursday night. (How about 3 outbound links in that paragraph – take THAT Google!)
In addition to the quantitatively high decibel road-noise, we were being serenaded by a low rent Willie Nelson looking kinda cowhand/cowpoke/singer. He was playing old country standards apparently all with the same exact key, same exact rhythm, and the same damned quiet atonal voice pitched to whisper perfectly inaudibly when matched to the road-noise.
So, I held up a flaming Bic lighter and yelled “Free Bird!” Ya, folks kinda stared at me after that! Perhaps they were even staring before that, I’m not sure…
Frankly, I thought he’d have done better singing to the cows while they were still alive. They might have liked his mutterings. At least that’s what I thought. I’m not sure if it vocalized it, or just muttered under my breath. Some folks just don’t appreciate good sarcasm when they hear it, so why bother.
I muttered a few things under my breath that night, not many of them kind, knowing that they were perfectly inaudible to my wife or the couple we were sitting with. If no one can quite hear me, I can’t be accused of being critical of everything. Right?
It still happens, the part about being accused of being critical. It’s almost inevitable. The small handful of psychic’s I saw every summer as a youth told me it was both a gift and a curse, the ability to see many arguments from both sides. No matter what argument you make in today’s politically charged climate, half the folks out there are for you, and half the folks are against you.
I’m not quite sure why my Mother loved going up to Psychic Camp every summer, but she made sure I got as many “readings” as possible. I thought it was mostly “reading” the person by detailed observation. One year I drove up in my MGB convertible, and the “psychic” told me that my car broke down often…
Really? See my head under the bonnet of my car? Yeah, right dude.
I figured that was not so much of a reading as a furtive look at my MGB convertible sports car, they are known for breaking down every time a cloud blows over. Ya buddy it was pretty easy to nail that one.
BTW – My car didn’t start that night when the event was over. Ya, my car often had problems starting, ya know. Psychic’s? Pshaw… Pshaw…
Then one day I got involved with politics. The ability to talk out both sides of my ass at the same time was helpful when I was as a political organizer. I went door-to-door asking for donations, and people gave me money. I got at least 60% of the money returned in my paycheck. It was a good gig while it lasted.
Still…
Somehow, it leaves me with many arguments instead of absolute beliefs. Sometimes I’m inappropriate. I often find myself not fitting in.
I had way more textural issues than the average young boy. All tags had to be cut out of my shirts and my pants, immediately! The clothing also had to be washed, and then dried in a drier before I’d wear it. I really only liked the feel of cotton fabrics, I broke out against rayon, polyesters, and acrylic fabrics.
Wool of any kind? That was absolute torture, even with another fabric on underneath the wool. I would break out after most attempts to dress up, and even a few attempts to dress down. Wear a silk “disco short”? Yea right, not real likely.
I had a lot of other “issues”, that had they happened today might have led to an autism diagnosis. Those “issues” weren’t looked at the same back in the 1970’s. We all cope in our own way, and I coped in my own.
I did became an excellent test taker without trying, for what that is worth. And, I learned to how to “work around” the areas where I was different. Well mostly. There isn’t much you can do for some things…
I have to wonder, is that why my worms ran away?
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