[An unplanned Doug-ression composed 17 March 2003]
I shouldn't be writing this right now.
I should be sitting in the Olive Garden with my friend Mark. Tomorrow (Tuesday) is his birthday(he'll be doing something with his family then). We have been observing each other's birthday with a trip to O.G. for well over a decade now. Not only do we go to the same restaurant (different locations), we order the same thing every time: chicken parmesan. Some might find the repetition dull, but it's a tradition. More important, it gives us reprieve from what has proved the most difficult part of eating out: figuring out where to go. ("Where do you wanna go?" "I don't know, where do you wanna go?"...) Even if every other time we get together there's the same old problem, at least twice a year we know well in advance not only where we're going but what we're having.
The process works something like this:
1) Enter restaurant.
2) Wait for table.
3) Get shown by hostess to table.
4) Sit down at table.
5) Open menus.
6) Verify that chicken parmesan is still on menu.
7) Close menu.
8) When waiter or waitress arrives, one of us orders.
9) The other says, "I'll have the same."
Except that didn't happen tonight as we'd planned.
I left work the moment my shift was over, rushed to the train station, got home, quickly changed and got on the freeway to meet Mark at the comic shop where he would be closing up. Everything was on schedule. On the freeway I was stuck behind some idiot who seemed content to do the speed limit in the fast lane. Now, I'm not the most aggressive driver on the road, but I'm not sheepish by any means, and I was on my way to the Olive Garden event so I was motoring with slightly more enthusiasm than usual. After a couple minutes the driver accelerated slightly, but that wasn't enough. I said aloud, "Look, no matter how fast you go, I can go faster."
Then there was a loud noise from the passenger side of the car, that I remember thinking sounded like I'd run over a flower pot. From the sound something must have bounced off and careened across the other lanes. I thought, Hmm, that was odd. I should have immediately identified the unmistakable cacophony of hubris being struck down, but I continued driving.
After maybe 10 seconds I started to discern some sluggishness from my car. Nothing dramatic, but noticeable. To be on the safe side I put on my blinker and started over to the slow lane. As I crossed the other lanes, it became obvious that the rear tire was going flat. I got over just in time to exit the freeway and pull on to a side street. I'd only gotten as far as three exits from my apartment. I turned off the ignition, popped the
hatchback latch, and got out. The right rear tire was completely deflated. I pulled out my cell phone and dialed the shop's number. Well, eventually I did; the first two times I misdialed and was getting increasingly frustrated. By the time Mark answered on the third try, the only answer I had when he asked how it was going was to say (and I quote), "Life is shit!" (Sure, I could have put an asterisk over the "i" to retain the G rating, but we're adults here; it's not like you wouldn't have known what it was.)
I won't deny that even after I alerted Mark to the situation (and we decided to try again on Wednesday night) and I proceeded to get out the jack and tools and spare tire that more vulgarity escaped my lips. Some of it was undoubtedly, by some standards, blasphemous. Hey, no one was within earshot. Say what you will about profanity, but there is something innately cathartic about it. Before I even had the lugnuts off, I had already sublimated the urge to flip off the sky and was considering how, all things considered, it could have been much worse. The tire didn't blow out; I was able to get off the freeway and put on the spare on a quiet side street; it didn't happen two days ago when it was raining profusely (it was merely really windy); I was still close to home so having to return going no faster than 30 MPH would not take too long; I didn't have to get a new tire right away since I take the train to and from work during the week; the spare was even inflated. Sure, I just had a flat on the left rear tire a month and a half ago (just before my birthday--hmm... I hope this flat tire thing isn't becoming another birthday tradition...), but in the grand scheme of the universe, I'd still been very lucky.
Besides, if Fate/God/whatever was really trying to mess with me, She/He/it was really only throwing minor inconveniences at me. I ask you: Is this the sort of reaction a pessimist would have? Maybe, maybe not.
Anyway, 20 minutes later the spare was on, the flat tire (with a deep gash along the outside--not on the tread, but the round part) and jack and tools were put away, and I was on my way back home. Still, I hadn't eaten, and so instead of chicken parmesan, I had chili dogs from Weinerschnitzel. And by culinary standards, that may not have been much of a step down (depending on whether you consider O.G. to be semi-fine dining or homogenized pseudo-Italian food). If nothing else, Olive Garden distinguishes itself by not having a drive-thru.
So here's the question: If Fate/God/whatever really did hate you, how would you know it? Would She/He/it just smite you and be done with it, or would She/He/it toy with you like a cat with a mouse, dragging it out as long as possible?
As long as She/He/it keeps it interesting and keeps providing me with material, I don't really care if this is tokens of love or of hate or of just random chance... as long as I get have dinner with Mark eventually.
~
Doug
p.s. You were expecting something about St. Patrick's Day. Admit it. Predictability is the death of art.
p.p.s. Hey, this is kind of like art.
p.p.p.s. My friend Kathie is going in for surgery for uterine cancer on Thursday (and I have the nerve to be upset about a lousy flat tire--I know). She wouldn't want me to bring things down with anything sappy, so I'll pass along this plea from her: "Please send out good thoughts for me - to whichever deity you choose, God, Buddha, Ala, Ganesha, Ra, Zeus, [Henry Rollins]; hedging all bets here." You don't have to not buy gas or send this to 10 of your friends, just think positive thoughts for someone who deserves them. Thanks.
Monday, March 17, 2003
Saturday, February 22, 2003
Finally--the impromptu poll results... revealed!
[email composed 22 February 2003]
After I sent out a poll to a sampling of my friends asking for their opinions regarding whether I was an optimist or a pessimist, I figured some of you may have been curious about the results. As to not skew the results one way or the other, I offer the actual responses (edited down to the specific answer). They run the gamut. This was not a surprise to me.
The "good":
- Without a doubt, an incurable optimist, with a sunny disposition and a deep spirituality
- optimist when it really comes down to it
- Pessimistly Optimistic
- a sarcastic optimist
- optimist disguised as a pessimist
- optimist
- pessimistically an optimist
The "not so good":
- pessimist
- pessimist with optimistic tendencies
- pessimist
- outwardly a pessimist, but I sense a bit of optimist deep down that tries to escape occasionally
- Pessimist
- Pessimist
The "neither/both":
- pessimist--but not really; I actually don't think you are either
- Neither
- both optimistic and pessimistic
- show[s] the tendencies of both [this one came with a long explanation]
- at times both, which I guess makes him a realist
- realist...if I had to pick either or I would go for optimist
And the best ones:
- As long as your happy with who you are, who cares what other people think?
- hmmmm...who cares?
Everyone is free to reach his or her conclusion from this. I certainly won't offer an argument one way or the other. All I can say is: I cannot help but interpret this as an indication that I am not one who is easily pigeon-holed into convenient categories. That pleases me greatly. Whether or not it should is another story.
Thanks to those of you who participated in the poll, and thanks for your continued tolerance of my obfuscating existence.
After I sent out a poll to a sampling of my friends asking for their opinions regarding whether I was an optimist or a pessimist, I figured some of you may have been curious about the results. As to not skew the results one way or the other, I offer the actual responses (edited down to the specific answer). They run the gamut. This was not a surprise to me.
The "good":
- Without a doubt, an incurable optimist, with a sunny disposition and a deep spirituality
- optimist when it really comes down to it
- Pessimistly Optimistic
- a sarcastic optimist
- optimist disguised as a pessimist
- optimist
- pessimistically an optimist
The "not so good":
- pessimist
- pessimist with optimistic tendencies
- pessimist
- outwardly a pessimist, but I sense a bit of optimist deep down that tries to escape occasionally
- Pessimist
- Pessimist
The "neither/both":
- pessimist--but not really; I actually don't think you are either
- Neither
- both optimistic and pessimistic
- show[s] the tendencies of both [this one came with a long explanation]
- at times both, which I guess makes him a realist
- realist...if I had to pick either or I would go for optimist
And the best ones:
- As long as your happy with who you are, who cares what other people think?
- hmmmm...who cares?
Everyone is free to reach his or her conclusion from this. I certainly won't offer an argument one way or the other. All I can say is: I cannot help but interpret this as an indication that I am not one who is easily pigeon-holed into convenient categories. That pleases me greatly. Whether or not it should is another story.
Thanks to those of you who participated in the poll, and thanks for your continued tolerance of my obfuscating existence.
Sunday, February 09, 2003
To thine own self be true, if it workest for thou
[another Doug-ression kinda thing composed 9 February 2003]
I have something of a confession to make: I don't wish for anything when blowing out candles on a birthday cake. Oh sure, I pause momentarily whilst the flames burn to allow something to come to mind, but nothing does. It's not that I have no wishes, it's just that I know better than to actually wish for them; Fate and I don't have that kind of relationship, where She would respond to a direct conscious plea. Besides, we know that my raw desires tend to be impractical, imprudent, and/or impudent, and are best served to me in a refined state.
Whether "Fate" refers to the Western world's sense of God or the Eastern world's sense of destiny or merely my unconscious mind exerting its influence over the universe is something I cannot say definitively (and presumably I never will). Does it matter? Must the exact nature of reality be clarified and quantified and narrowed to one particular paradigm? I figure as long as the arrangement more or less works out for my ultimate benefit it matters little whether the "true" nature of the situation is any, all, or none of the above; the labor pains we can ignore if the baby turns out okay.
Deconstructing the act, I must admit I don't believe there is anything more special about a wish made at that moment when the candles sit lit atop a cake than a wish made at another time. It's somewhat daunting to think that I get only one good wish each year on or around the anniversary of my birth. Such stipulations put a great deal of pressure on the decision of precisely what to wish for, and certainly cause it to warrant more than a moment's consideration. Even ignoring my trepidation regarding Fate's whims, a careful analysis of the magnitude of the act would surely result in me being stymied in trying to narrow the field to just one wish. If I fail to blow out all the candles in a single breath, the whole deal's off--the pressure only builds.
And of course, while this would be going on, everyone gathered around who just sang "Happy Birthday" to me would be waiting impatiently, the candles would be melting wax all over the frosting, and the general festive mood would be dampened. (I grasp that the party guests wish me well only to the extent that I keep my neuroses in check and don't allow them to delay the slicing and distribution of the cake, and I respect that.) This obviously serves to reinforce the notion of feigning the wish, keeping up appearances, giving the people what they want, and just blowing out the candles. This also increases the likelihood that there will be a party the next year.
Besides (if I may be allowed a bit of sentimentality), the fact that anybody cares enough to throw me a party is more wish fulfillment than I need. It's not that I have hideous self-esteem and cannot believe people like me--of course, they do; I'm pretty hot stuff--but I never lose sight of how wonderful that is. And hey, wishes or no wishes, there's cake.
I know wishes come true every day. Usually I don't realize it until much later, and most of the time I didn't even actively wish for them; I've learned to live with that. It's not blind faith. It's acknowledging that there's a time to struggle against the tide and a time to float downstream. It's based on years of analyzing what has and hasn't worked to get me what is best for me, and to that extent it is a logical and pragmatic method of dealing with the chaotic shared experience we call life. Maybe this is a stupid, lazy outlook and completely impossible to justify. Of course, is it any more idiotic than expecting the mere act of extinguishing flames with one's breath to change the course of events in the universe?
Happy birthday to you. Whenever it is.
*******
"Who said that every wish
would be heard and answered
when wished on the morning star?
Somebody thought of it,
and someone believed it;
look what it's done so far."
- from "The Rainbow Connection", written by Paul Williams, sung by a frog
*******
Remember: In the context of Hamlet, "To thine own self be true" did not mean one should always adhere to one's principles; rather, Polonius meant one should always look out for numero uno, first and foremost. (Thanks to Michael Macrone's Brush Up Your Shakespeare! for clarifying that for me.)
*******
My friend Mandy's dutiful research has revealed this week, February 10 - 16, 2003, is apparently Random Acts of Kindness Week, as decreed by whomever it is that determines these things. Make up your own joke about the impending war regarding this.
*******
Indicia of sorts, for the uninitiated: The Doug-ression (besides being a hideous play on words) is a rambling diatribe/confession/pseudo-personal essay that Doug inexplicably feels inspired to compose occasionally, and then to inflict upon those with e-mail. (To protect the recipients' e-mail addresses, he sends them out BCC.) The ideas are 100% Doug's (to the extent that any idea can be "original" in this post-post-modern age), for better or for worse. Apologies if you were expecting another forwarded joke about how awful Mondays are.
If you'd rather not receive these things from him in the future, just wait for your next birthday and wish for Doug to lose your e-mail address when everybody finishes singing. Make sure you blow you really hard.
Forwarding this to 10 of your friends won't bring you good luck. Unless you believe it will.
I have something of a confession to make: I don't wish for anything when blowing out candles on a birthday cake. Oh sure, I pause momentarily whilst the flames burn to allow something to come to mind, but nothing does. It's not that I have no wishes, it's just that I know better than to actually wish for them; Fate and I don't have that kind of relationship, where She would respond to a direct conscious plea. Besides, we know that my raw desires tend to be impractical, imprudent, and/or impudent, and are best served to me in a refined state.
Whether "Fate" refers to the Western world's sense of God or the Eastern world's sense of destiny or merely my unconscious mind exerting its influence over the universe is something I cannot say definitively (and presumably I never will). Does it matter? Must the exact nature of reality be clarified and quantified and narrowed to one particular paradigm? I figure as long as the arrangement more or less works out for my ultimate benefit it matters little whether the "true" nature of the situation is any, all, or none of the above; the labor pains we can ignore if the baby turns out okay.
Deconstructing the act, I must admit I don't believe there is anything more special about a wish made at that moment when the candles sit lit atop a cake than a wish made at another time. It's somewhat daunting to think that I get only one good wish each year on or around the anniversary of my birth. Such stipulations put a great deal of pressure on the decision of precisely what to wish for, and certainly cause it to warrant more than a moment's consideration. Even ignoring my trepidation regarding Fate's whims, a careful analysis of the magnitude of the act would surely result in me being stymied in trying to narrow the field to just one wish. If I fail to blow out all the candles in a single breath, the whole deal's off--the pressure only builds.
And of course, while this would be going on, everyone gathered around who just sang "Happy Birthday" to me would be waiting impatiently, the candles would be melting wax all over the frosting, and the general festive mood would be dampened. (I grasp that the party guests wish me well only to the extent that I keep my neuroses in check and don't allow them to delay the slicing and distribution of the cake, and I respect that.) This obviously serves to reinforce the notion of feigning the wish, keeping up appearances, giving the people what they want, and just blowing out the candles. This also increases the likelihood that there will be a party the next year.
Besides (if I may be allowed a bit of sentimentality), the fact that anybody cares enough to throw me a party is more wish fulfillment than I need. It's not that I have hideous self-esteem and cannot believe people like me--of course, they do; I'm pretty hot stuff--but I never lose sight of how wonderful that is. And hey, wishes or no wishes, there's cake.
I know wishes come true every day. Usually I don't realize it until much later, and most of the time I didn't even actively wish for them; I've learned to live with that. It's not blind faith. It's acknowledging that there's a time to struggle against the tide and a time to float downstream. It's based on years of analyzing what has and hasn't worked to get me what is best for me, and to that extent it is a logical and pragmatic method of dealing with the chaotic shared experience we call life. Maybe this is a stupid, lazy outlook and completely impossible to justify. Of course, is it any more idiotic than expecting the mere act of extinguishing flames with one's breath to change the course of events in the universe?
Happy birthday to you. Whenever it is.
*******
"Who said that every wish
would be heard and answered
when wished on the morning star?
Somebody thought of it,
and someone believed it;
look what it's done so far."
- from "The Rainbow Connection", written by Paul Williams, sung by a frog
*******
Remember: In the context of Hamlet, "To thine own self be true" did not mean one should always adhere to one's principles; rather, Polonius meant one should always look out for numero uno, first and foremost. (Thanks to Michael Macrone's Brush Up Your Shakespeare! for clarifying that for me.)
*******
My friend Mandy's dutiful research has revealed this week, February 10 - 16, 2003, is apparently Random Acts of Kindness Week, as decreed by whomever it is that determines these things. Make up your own joke about the impending war regarding this.
*******
Indicia of sorts, for the uninitiated: The Doug-ression (besides being a hideous play on words) is a rambling diatribe/confession/pseudo-personal essay that Doug inexplicably feels inspired to compose occasionally, and then to inflict upon those with e-mail. (To protect the recipients' e-mail addresses, he sends them out BCC.) The ideas are 100% Doug's (to the extent that any idea can be "original" in this post-post-modern age), for better or for worse. Apologies if you were expecting another forwarded joke about how awful Mondays are.
If you'd rather not receive these things from him in the future, just wait for your next birthday and wish for Doug to lose your e-mail address when everybody finishes singing. Make sure you blow you really hard.
Forwarding this to 10 of your friends won't bring you good luck. Unless you believe it will.
Tuesday, December 24, 2002
It's beginning to look a lot like... time for another Doug-ression.
[email composed 24 December 2002]
For those of you who've been suffering my rantings and ramblings for a while, you may have been expecting a message in honor of the winter solstice, since in the past I have sent ones about it and the spring equinox, the summer solstice, and autumnal equinox. If you were paying attention, you would have noticed the solstice passed over the weekend. Yes, it's winter, and I didn't tip you off ahead of time.
Eh, I was bound to let you down eventually. Let's move on.
I'm not going to rail against the over-commercialization of Christmas. It is what it is. I bought gifts like everyone else. It keeps the economy going. If you don't think that's important, you obviously don't have a 401k. It is a marketing wet dream when you get down to it, started by three guys following a star, so we can't begrudge capitalism for taking advantage of it. Still, it reminds us that it's pretty neat to give someone something to make him or her happy just because we like him or her.
I'm not going to quibble about the secularization of Christmas. Sure, it has the whole "Christ" thing right there in the name, but we don't pronounce the "t" and we soften the "i" sound when we say it aloud, and if that helps it be something that everybody can celebrate, I'm not sure that's altogether bad. I have friends who are atheists who still exchange gifts with others. I have friends who are Jews and Buddhists who join in on the festivities of December 25th. It's a national holiday, and that opens the door for everybody to join in. Yes, it could be construed as hideously disrespectful of these other religions--because it pretty much is--that their followers must adhere to another's schedule, but it could just as easily be construed as hideously disrespectful of the religion that gave it its name, in that all these others are essentially crashing the party. Somehow we generally seem to overlook this, and at least in my tiny portion of the world, it seems to bring disparate people together when it should divide them further. In the northern hemisphere this is the darkest time of year, and we need something to lift our spirits to see us through to spring. If the Christians are willing to share and the rest of us are willing to go along with it to whatever degree we see fit, and we end up with a celebration that acknowledges our loved ones, that's hardly worthy of derision.
I'm not going to talk about the pagan origins of Christmas again.
I'm not going to recap the past 12 months of my life. First, anyone who knows me grasps that for me to do so would amount to a novel. Second, if I didn't bore you with a message about an event at the time it happened, I'm not going to try to encapsulate it now. (I'm not criticizing those who send out family newsletters in holiday cards. I enjoy reading about what's going on with those whom I don't see regularly. Maybe eventually some holiday in the middle of the year will prompt a similar update from those who are so inclined.) I'm not going to make any promises that I'll be more prolific regarding these messages in 2003; maybe I will, and maybe I won't. I do hope I will be, but I know easy it is for me to lapse back into my lazy, procrastinative ways; I see no reason to set myself up to disappoint you all even more than I undoubtedly will.
I'm not going to wish you "Happy Holidays". No, the phrase appearing in that last sentence was not some clever ironic twist. While I certainly do hope that things go well for you during these last days of the year, I sincerely hope with equal fervor that things go well for you every day. (The people who stopped reading at the end of the first paragraph can have lousy days, however. I ask so little. For cryin' out loud...)
I'm not going to write another paragraph starting with "I'm not...". Don't say I never did anything for you.
You have proven yourself worthy of my respect and admiration and affection (or you are someone whose name made its way into my address book). For that I am genuinely grateful. Please try to not screw that up in 2003.
Doug
(e-mail essayist, friend, son/brother/brother-in-law/cousin/nephew, Killer Guppy, Old 97's fan, rider of public transportation, air drummer, and a surprisingly good dancer for white guy)
For those of you who've been suffering my rantings and ramblings for a while, you may have been expecting a message in honor of the winter solstice, since in the past I have sent ones about it and the spring equinox, the summer solstice, and autumnal equinox. If you were paying attention, you would have noticed the solstice passed over the weekend. Yes, it's winter, and I didn't tip you off ahead of time.
Eh, I was bound to let you down eventually. Let's move on.
I'm not going to rail against the over-commercialization of Christmas. It is what it is. I bought gifts like everyone else. It keeps the economy going. If you don't think that's important, you obviously don't have a 401k. It is a marketing wet dream when you get down to it, started by three guys following a star, so we can't begrudge capitalism for taking advantage of it. Still, it reminds us that it's pretty neat to give someone something to make him or her happy just because we like him or her.
I'm not going to quibble about the secularization of Christmas. Sure, it has the whole "Christ" thing right there in the name, but we don't pronounce the "t" and we soften the "i" sound when we say it aloud, and if that helps it be something that everybody can celebrate, I'm not sure that's altogether bad. I have friends who are atheists who still exchange gifts with others. I have friends who are Jews and Buddhists who join in on the festivities of December 25th. It's a national holiday, and that opens the door for everybody to join in. Yes, it could be construed as hideously disrespectful of these other religions--because it pretty much is--that their followers must adhere to another's schedule, but it could just as easily be construed as hideously disrespectful of the religion that gave it its name, in that all these others are essentially crashing the party. Somehow we generally seem to overlook this, and at least in my tiny portion of the world, it seems to bring disparate people together when it should divide them further. In the northern hemisphere this is the darkest time of year, and we need something to lift our spirits to see us through to spring. If the Christians are willing to share and the rest of us are willing to go along with it to whatever degree we see fit, and we end up with a celebration that acknowledges our loved ones, that's hardly worthy of derision.
I'm not going to talk about the pagan origins of Christmas again.
I'm not going to recap the past 12 months of my life. First, anyone who knows me grasps that for me to do so would amount to a novel. Second, if I didn't bore you with a message about an event at the time it happened, I'm not going to try to encapsulate it now. (I'm not criticizing those who send out family newsletters in holiday cards. I enjoy reading about what's going on with those whom I don't see regularly. Maybe eventually some holiday in the middle of the year will prompt a similar update from those who are so inclined.) I'm not going to make any promises that I'll be more prolific regarding these messages in 2003; maybe I will, and maybe I won't. I do hope I will be, but I know easy it is for me to lapse back into my lazy, procrastinative ways; I see no reason to set myself up to disappoint you all even more than I undoubtedly will.
I'm not going to wish you "Happy Holidays". No, the phrase appearing in that last sentence was not some clever ironic twist. While I certainly do hope that things go well for you during these last days of the year, I sincerely hope with equal fervor that things go well for you every day. (The people who stopped reading at the end of the first paragraph can have lousy days, however. I ask so little. For cryin' out loud...)
I'm not going to write another paragraph starting with "I'm not...". Don't say I never did anything for you.
You have proven yourself worthy of my respect and admiration and affection (or you are someone whose name made its way into my address book). For that I am genuinely grateful. Please try to not screw that up in 2003.
Doug
(e-mail essayist, friend, son/brother/brother-in-law/cousin/nephew, Killer Guppy, Old 97's fan, rider of public transportation, air drummer, and a surprisingly good dancer for white guy)
Thursday, October 24, 2002
There is No Such Thing as Coincidence. Maybe.
[email composed 24 October 2002]
Like a great many people in the U.S. (I presume), I have been unofficially collecting the commemorative state quarters that started coming out a couple years ago. By "collecting" I mean when I see a quarter with the emblem of a state I don't think I have, I don't spend it. I don't display my collection: I merely have a stack of quarters on my dresser, one from each state that has come out so far--as far as I can tell; I'm not investigating whether I have them all or anything. I'm sure years from now, after the U.S. Mint has completed the series, I'll discover holes in my collection. And eventually when I'm desperate for laundry money, the collection will slowly disappear; clean clothes always win out over pseudo-collectibles.
This morning I bought a donut at a bakery next to the station while I waited for the next train. In the change from my purchase I received the quarter commemorating Louisiana. I didn't notice this until some time in the afternoon when I was absent-mindedly fishing around in my pocket and pulled out the coins in there. Not recognizing the image on the back--the silhouette of the country with the land area of the Louisiana Purchase highlighted--I thought to myself, Hey, I need to hold on to that one.
Finding the new quarter was just about the only good thing that happened to me while I was in the office today--the only other high points occurred outside the building: going to lunch, calling my mother to wish her a happy birthday while on a break. In a way, it wasn't merely 25 cents, it was a tiny silver ray of sunshine in a grey day (both figuratively and literally). But mostly, yes, it was 25 cents.
It also held the miniscule joy of a unexpected treasure. Perhaps it's sad that our hunter-gatherer instincts, once imperative for survival (hunting down giraffes, picking berries and nuts, etc.), have been sublimated into identifying unfamiliar images on little metal pieces and drawing the same satisfaction from that act as once befitted several days' effort that provided meat for the entire tribe, but such is our lot in modern post-post-post Industrial Revolution life. I'm sure Darwin would have no opinion about this, not merely because he's dead, but because that's not the kind of evolution he was talking about; the way his theory has been misappropriated aside, we all know that being fit has not proven the reason for our survival.
I digress.
In the evening, after I exited the train, I stopped by a fast food restaurant to procure nourishment, or what passes for that. (It was late, I was tired, and didn't feel like tracking down a giraffe.) Even though the Louisiana quarter could have been used to make exact change for my purchase, I specifically refrained from using it. By using a dollar instead, I got back three other non-Louisiana quarters in change.
I left with my food in a bag and the quarters (along with a few pennies and a nickel) jingling around in my pocket, and headed home so I could see how badly the Angels were losing in the World Series game. On my way to my apartment, I passed a grubby man of non-permanent residence. While I often pass by such individuals without guilt, there was something about having food right there in my hand that made me respond to his plea for spare change. I fished around in my pocket, trying to pick out the nickel and the pennies (stingy bastard that I was, masquerading as a philanthropist). I didn't want to make it seem like that was what I was doing--and I don't know why I cared what the man thought--so I just pulled out a couple coins and placed them in his dirty hand. For a few coins he thanked me with an enthusiasm that dwarfed all the form letters I've received after donating much larger sums to the alumni fund from my university. I continued on my way. After about half a block, I reached back into my pocket, scooped up all the coins there and by the light of a street lamp nonchalantly examined what remained: three quarters and a few pennies.
Three non-Louisiana quarters, of course.
You saw that coming. I knew it would happen when I was fishing around in my pocket in front of the man. We all know that's simply how the universe works: What one doesn't want to give up it takes away. Coincidence? Yeah, right. I don't know who's in charge of the universe, but He/She/It has a wickedly predictable nature in these situations.
Oh well.
I had escaped the office and wasn't in a bad mood any longer. I didn't need my little treasure any more. The karmic benefits alone must have been easily worth a buck, maybe buck-fifty. If only I could get that "return on investment" from my 401k.
Maybe I'll pull all my money out and give it to the homeless until the stock market picks up. Couldn't lose any more money than how the damn portfolio has been performing. Of course, the bottom fell out of the stock market just around the time I actually got a job where I have a retirement account. Of course. Of course.
(Yes, I was fishing around in my pocket in public. We all have our bad habits. I apologize for the imagery. Please don't think about it when you try to sleep tonight.)
********
The commemorative quarters I do have (in no particular order): Rhode Island, New York, Vermont, Virginia, Kentucky, Ohio, Massachusetts, Georgia, Connecticut, Maryland, New Hampshire, Delaware, Tennessee, North Carolina, and South Carolina. But not Louisiana.
(I also have a 1976 Bicentennial quarter, two golden dollar coins, and a penny from every year I've been alive. Not an impressive coin collection by any means, but it's what I have.)
[Note: I did eventually get a Lousiana quarter I didn't give away. Mostly because I stopped giving spare change to panhandlers.]
*********
Yes, I should have written something in honor of my mother's birthday. But I didn't. If that makes me an awful son, I apologize. Maybe it just means I love my mom enough not to drag her into this drivel of mine.
However, I will take this opportunity to note the last 20 songs that have played on my computer's jukebox software while I have typed this (since that's as many as the software keeps track of). I have had it set to play songs at random, and this is what it selected (as Dave Barry says, I am not making this up):
Mourning Air - Portishead
Worried Blues - Buddy Guy
My Mother - Buddy Guy ***
I Wanna Be Free - The Monkees
Surrender - Elvis
Brothers Under the Bridge - Bruce Springsteen
Whistle Bait - Larry Collins
Old England - The Waterboys
Air - The Muppets
Death Comes Ripping - The Misfits
Happy Birthday To Me - Cracker ***
Tough, Tough, Tough - Andy Anderson
(You're the Only One) Can Make Me Cry - Concrete Blonde
Largo, from "Xerxes" - Handel
Skyway - The Replacements
Singin' the Blues - Frankie Trumbauer and His Orchestra
Rockville - R.E.M.
That's the Way I Like It - K.C. & the Sunshine Band
Hey - Goo Goo Dolls
Carrothead - The Young Fresh Fellows
Notice the two I denoted with asterisks. Coincidence these two played on my mother's birthday? Ha!
*********
Stupid Doug factoid: He could identify all 50 states by their shape and relative geographic position by the third grade, and retains that ability to this day. Not that it seems to impress the chicks like it did back then.
*********
Thanks for reading all the way to the end. I know some of you made it this far.
Like a great many people in the U.S. (I presume), I have been unofficially collecting the commemorative state quarters that started coming out a couple years ago. By "collecting" I mean when I see a quarter with the emblem of a state I don't think I have, I don't spend it. I don't display my collection: I merely have a stack of quarters on my dresser, one from each state that has come out so far--as far as I can tell; I'm not investigating whether I have them all or anything. I'm sure years from now, after the U.S. Mint has completed the series, I'll discover holes in my collection. And eventually when I'm desperate for laundry money, the collection will slowly disappear; clean clothes always win out over pseudo-collectibles.
This morning I bought a donut at a bakery next to the station while I waited for the next train. In the change from my purchase I received the quarter commemorating Louisiana. I didn't notice this until some time in the afternoon when I was absent-mindedly fishing around in my pocket and pulled out the coins in there. Not recognizing the image on the back--the silhouette of the country with the land area of the Louisiana Purchase highlighted--I thought to myself, Hey, I need to hold on to that one.
Finding the new quarter was just about the only good thing that happened to me while I was in the office today--the only other high points occurred outside the building: going to lunch, calling my mother to wish her a happy birthday while on a break. In a way, it wasn't merely 25 cents, it was a tiny silver ray of sunshine in a grey day (both figuratively and literally). But mostly, yes, it was 25 cents.
It also held the miniscule joy of a unexpected treasure. Perhaps it's sad that our hunter-gatherer instincts, once imperative for survival (hunting down giraffes, picking berries and nuts, etc.), have been sublimated into identifying unfamiliar images on little metal pieces and drawing the same satisfaction from that act as once befitted several days' effort that provided meat for the entire tribe, but such is our lot in modern post-post-post Industrial Revolution life. I'm sure Darwin would have no opinion about this, not merely because he's dead, but because that's not the kind of evolution he was talking about; the way his theory has been misappropriated aside, we all know that being fit has not proven the reason for our survival.
I digress.
In the evening, after I exited the train, I stopped by a fast food restaurant to procure nourishment, or what passes for that. (It was late, I was tired, and didn't feel like tracking down a giraffe.) Even though the Louisiana quarter could have been used to make exact change for my purchase, I specifically refrained from using it. By using a dollar instead, I got back three other non-Louisiana quarters in change.
I left with my food in a bag and the quarters (along with a few pennies and a nickel) jingling around in my pocket, and headed home so I could see how badly the Angels were losing in the World Series game. On my way to my apartment, I passed a grubby man of non-permanent residence. While I often pass by such individuals without guilt, there was something about having food right there in my hand that made me respond to his plea for spare change. I fished around in my pocket, trying to pick out the nickel and the pennies (stingy bastard that I was, masquerading as a philanthropist). I didn't want to make it seem like that was what I was doing--and I don't know why I cared what the man thought--so I just pulled out a couple coins and placed them in his dirty hand. For a few coins he thanked me with an enthusiasm that dwarfed all the form letters I've received after donating much larger sums to the alumni fund from my university. I continued on my way. After about half a block, I reached back into my pocket, scooped up all the coins there and by the light of a street lamp nonchalantly examined what remained: three quarters and a few pennies.
Three non-Louisiana quarters, of course.
You saw that coming. I knew it would happen when I was fishing around in my pocket in front of the man. We all know that's simply how the universe works: What one doesn't want to give up it takes away. Coincidence? Yeah, right. I don't know who's in charge of the universe, but He/She/It has a wickedly predictable nature in these situations.
Oh well.
I had escaped the office and wasn't in a bad mood any longer. I didn't need my little treasure any more. The karmic benefits alone must have been easily worth a buck, maybe buck-fifty. If only I could get that "return on investment" from my 401k.
Maybe I'll pull all my money out and give it to the homeless until the stock market picks up. Couldn't lose any more money than how the damn portfolio has been performing. Of course, the bottom fell out of the stock market just around the time I actually got a job where I have a retirement account. Of course. Of course.
(Yes, I was fishing around in my pocket in public. We all have our bad habits. I apologize for the imagery. Please don't think about it when you try to sleep tonight.)
********
The commemorative quarters I do have (in no particular order): Rhode Island, New York, Vermont, Virginia, Kentucky, Ohio, Massachusetts, Georgia, Connecticut, Maryland, New Hampshire, Delaware, Tennessee, North Carolina, and South Carolina. But not Louisiana.
(I also have a 1976 Bicentennial quarter, two golden dollar coins, and a penny from every year I've been alive. Not an impressive coin collection by any means, but it's what I have.)
[Note: I did eventually get a Lousiana quarter I didn't give away. Mostly because I stopped giving spare change to panhandlers.]
*********
Yes, I should have written something in honor of my mother's birthday. But I didn't. If that makes me an awful son, I apologize. Maybe it just means I love my mom enough not to drag her into this drivel of mine.
However, I will take this opportunity to note the last 20 songs that have played on my computer's jukebox software while I have typed this (since that's as many as the software keeps track of). I have had it set to play songs at random, and this is what it selected (as Dave Barry says, I am not making this up):
Mourning Air - Portishead
Worried Blues - Buddy Guy
My Mother - Buddy Guy ***
I Wanna Be Free - The Monkees
Surrender - Elvis
Brothers Under the Bridge - Bruce Springsteen
Whistle Bait - Larry Collins
Old England - The Waterboys
Air - The Muppets
Death Comes Ripping - The Misfits
Happy Birthday To Me - Cracker ***
Tough, Tough, Tough - Andy Anderson
(You're the Only One) Can Make Me Cry - Concrete Blonde
Largo, from "Xerxes" - Handel
Skyway - The Replacements
Singin' the Blues - Frankie Trumbauer and His Orchestra
Rockville - R.E.M.
That's the Way I Like It - K.C. & the Sunshine Band
Hey - Goo Goo Dolls
Carrothead - The Young Fresh Fellows
Notice the two I denoted with asterisks. Coincidence these two played on my mother's birthday? Ha!
*********
Stupid Doug factoid: He could identify all 50 states by their shape and relative geographic position by the third grade, and retains that ability to this day. Not that it seems to impress the chicks like it did back then.
*********
Thanks for reading all the way to the end. I know some of you made it this far.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)