Wasting You Time

How do you waste your time?

We seem to have plenty of free time to waste, so what is your preference?

Now that it is summer, we can wander outside in the sunshine.

A picnic in the park or watching a ballgame until the weather gets too hot.

A venture to the beach or lake or pool will cool the skin until you realize what is in that water.

Country clubs are assembled to allow for price patrons to play tennis or wander on the greens in a slow procession of golf.

Some with gather to participate in parks to wear uniforms for softball teams with no winners.

If sports are not you preference, there are lots of books at the library. If that doesn’t satisfy your reading interest there are magazines and the Internet.

Of course if you feel creative there is drawing, painting, stain glass, knitting, quilting…

Do you want to waste some time, have a kid?  They will divert your attention from what you want to do to what they are doing. It is part of the game.

You could break the law and spend some time behind bars. That is a good waste of time.

I understand binge-watching television is a good way to waste time. From what I read there is social media gobbling up this stuff. Staring at a screen for hours until exhaustion.

Cooking is always a favorite. If not following televised recipes for meals requiring multiple trips to the Tummy Temple for spices and ingredients to satisfy the group to consume nourishment.

Shopping is a great way to waste time and spend money. Using your mouse or walking through brick and mortar, comparing sizes and styles and adding to the cart only to be brought home in a plastic bag or delivered in a cardboard box only to send it back and waste more time.

If you are checking how much time you are wasting your day, check your phone.

Time to spend is a treasure. Time that is not required by occupation or family or bodily functions is free time.

Then there is all the time you wasted reading this.

Have you upgraded?

You get those messages. Time to upgrade your laptop, tablet, and phone with no reason for the operation except the manufacturer told you to. Some require you to go to a website and download while others will just announce you are being upgraded when you start up. Some will inform in teeny tiny type what you are agreeing to while others will just download and at startup hope for the best.

Do you upgrade the rest of your life?

Getting higher education is an upgrade. Buying a new car is an upgrade. Wearing some fancy clothes is an upgrade. Moving to a bigger house is an upgrade. Getting a new title and office and a raise is an upgrade. Hopefully your second marriage is an upgrade.

What about upgrading your diet? Have you upgraded your exercise? Do you upgrade your awareness? Do you upgrade your social circle? When did you upgrade your spiritual understanding?

Still loading.

Wristwatch

The history of watches began in 16th century Europe, where watches evolved from portable spring-driven clocks, which first appeared in the 15th century. The ‘watch’ developed from the 16th century to the mid 20th century was a mechanical device, powered by winding a mainspring which turned gears and then moved the hands, and kept time with a rotating balance wheel. The invention of the quartz watch in the 1960s, which ran on electricity and kept time with a vibrating quartz crystal, proved a radical departure for the industry. During the 1980s quartz watches took over the market from mechanical watches, an event referred to as the “quartz crisis”. Although mechanical watches still sell at the high end of the market, the vast majority of watches now have quartz movements.

One account of the origin of the word “watch” is that it came from the Old English word ‘woecce’ which meant “watchman”, because it was used by town watchmen to keep track of their shifts. Another says that the term came from 17th century sailors, who used the new mechanisms to time the length of their shipboard watches (duty shifts).

The wristwatch had been a regular piece of jewelry since elementary school. Learning numbers and basic math and telling time came together but didn’t collate. Why a dozen hours and not ten? Half an hour? Set the watch to correct time required finding another clock. What if that clock was wrong? Time zones? Daylight savings time? Nighttime vs. Daytime?

The movie started at a certain time. The train arrived at a certain time. A class started at a certain time. Pick up your date at a certain time. That meeting will be at a certain time. Dinner will be served at a certain time. Work starts at a certain time. The program starts at a certain time.

Don’t be late so wear a wristwatch.

Time rules our lives and then….

We retire.

If we play our cards right, we can take off our wristwatch. Deadlines and time schedules should go away just like a daily planner.

There are still plenty of time restraints and clocks are on every electronic item we carry, but a piece of jewelry is not necessary to wear.

A calendar becomes useless unless to remind moon changes or birthdays.

Our ancestors didn’t wear wristwatches. They rose with the sunrise and watched the shadows to note the time. The same is true for our natural neighbors. They keep track of when to find food and when to rest without a wristwatch.

Then it is all free time…until the time runs out.

Anxiety

What makes your day interesting? Anxiety!

What a boring life it would be without anxiety?

Everything is going smoothing and then…

The television falls off the wall.

The transmission needs replacement.

One of the kids needs a ride to a soccer game and the other needs to go to the movies.

A car hits the dog.

A cabinet door falls off.

The flight is delayed and then canceled.

The battery dies on the phone.

All the socks are in the dirty clothes.

The hair color for the big party didn’t turn out right.

The computer gets hacked.

Flat tire.

A check bounced.

Your wife finds out about your girlfriend.

Your doctor tells you the results of the test.

The neighbor’s dog barks.

Can’t remember where the car is parked at the shopping center.

The store does not have the right size.

Waiting for the pizza delivery.

Getting arrested.

When she wants to go home early.

Closing time at the pub.

Leaky roofs.

Rats in the yard.

Pregnant daughter.

Eviction.

Living with the parents.

Debt.

The list goes on and on…

So how do we deal with all this stress?

Take a vacation. Rest on a sunny beach under an umbrella listening to the waves and reading a book. Travel to a foreign land and engulf in a different culture.

Get away from it all…but

When you come back anxiety will still be there.

It is what motivates you. It is in your dreams. It is in your stack of bills. It is in the nightly discussions.

Life is pretty good without this anxiety.

The past week has been over 100 degrees. Without air conditioning, it is HOT. Hot enough to slow down the functions of walking, eating, transportation or thinking.

This is a trend and that is anxiety for anyone to comprehend. When the grid is overloaded and the fans stops, we will become puddles.

That is anxiety.

Games

A game is competition with instructions on how we play the game. There is only one winner. There are many losers.

So what do you do with your free time? How do you waste your time with your down time?

We love to play games to fill the time between work, eating and sleep. What else is there to do?

Games are a way to associate with others. Games give a goal to reach.

There are outside games where teams of different colors run around on a field throwing a ball or knocking into each other to celebrate a score.

There are indoor games that engage participants to move plastic pieces around a board trying to outwit their opponents.

There is the game of love of purée and thrust until once accomplishes the win.

There are games like jigsaw puzzles that seem a waste of time to assemble or the digital ‘Angry Birds’ or more violent ‘Grand Theft Auto’.

Life is just a game, but we don’t win.

People I’ve been with

It is an interesting phrase.

Who have you “been with”?

Once a sign of accomplishments like marks on the bedpost.

Maybe a one-night hook-up or an extended affair, if you ‘slept’ with that person, you have ‘been with’ them.

Running a tally sheet of people you have ‘been with’ does give a sign of emotional connection and promiscuous behavior.

In youth it is a sign of sexual prowess, until you come across an ex-lover in an awkward moment.

The most intimate time two people can have together becomes note in a diary or a forgotten name.

Years later the thought might bring a smile or a curse.

At that moment, whether a wanted willing encounters or an expected ritual request, it happened and there are no take backs.

Results can become a meaningful relationship that last for years or a rom/com movie script.

So if I look across the room with an unknown but familiar glance of recognition, I may not remember your name but I’ve ‘been with’ you.

Data

You are nothing but 0 and 1’s now. Your height, your weight, the color of your hair is all digitized and recorded in massive databases.

Not only is the information you are required to divulge to get a driver’s license or a bank loan or apply for employment but your every movement or post are recorded and added to your profile.

You are being photographed everywhere to be compared to suspects of nasty activities.

What? What about my identification card?

Since I don’t drive but need some sort of identification that verifies I’m old enough to buy beer, I go through the same DMV process to have my mug photographed every so often to show others that I’m the person on the laminated card.

Then DMV figured that was too much trouble and just sent me a new updated identification card with the same photo. Do I look the same?

Is this the image I’ll carry for the rest of my life?

Authorities could check social media, as is so consistent these days, but the images that appear are years old or graphic interpretations of facial identified.

Then there is all that data we give away. What we buy, when we are on vacation, how many children we have, what is the name of our dog, where we live, what we eat, how we dress, what are our interest and hobbies, even how we shop are all available at a click of a mouse or swipe on a screen.

As if someone wanted to dig through our trash and find out my personal secrets, we give our data away by just logging on.

If I moved to another place, changed my hairstyle, created a new website, altered my image, changed my name, cancelled all communications with former e-mails, would I be private?

Or can you get away from those who want to know more about you than you know yourself?

Them

There is always a ‘them’. They are not part of ‘us’, so they are ‘them’.

Maybe they are taller? Maybe they are shorter? Maybe they speak different? Maybe they dress different? Maybe they worship different? Maybe they have different sexual preferences? Maybe they don’t like their working requirements? Maybe they follow different philosophy position? Maybe they move in next door? Maybe they eat different food? Maybe they don’t join the club? Maybe they fear you?

Maybe you fear ‘them’?

As we leave our family to open up to the world, there is a vast amount of different opinions and ideas. We can either accept ‘them’ OR we can run and hide.

When the UFO lands, do we accepted ‘them’ or do we try to blast ‘them’? Maybe that is why they don’t land?

Maybe ‘we’ are ‘them’?

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Age

From the first breath to the last is age. Measured by years it is the only defining marker other than a given name.

It happens at the regular pace but toward the end it seems to have been fleeting moments.

Suddenly the clothing stores do not stock your size or your playlist only include groups that are on 50-year anniversary tours. Taking a poop is the highlight of the day and naps are necessary.

Cold is colder and hot is unbearable. Nothing is in a hurry.

Books and television are becoming boring and those you had interesting conversations with are disappearing.

Yet every year a date will appear on the calendar to celebrate another passing.

Every morning opening your eyes is another day of adventure.

Appreciate it.

Demonstrations

Where do all these people come from? Why do they all gather? What is the reason for all these folks to be here?

Since everyone is yelling and talking at the same time, no one can understand what he or she is saying. Flags and banners and signs have cryptic meanings. Chants are drowned by the noise and songs are off key.

How do all these people get out of work at the same time? What about their jobs? Does the business close down when no one shows up to work?

As all these people fill the streets, what happens to the businesses along the way? Do they close shop? Are they overwhelmed by the masses?

Where can you get a drink? Where can you use the bathroom?

What about the traffic? What about those who did not demonstrate and had meetings to attend to or sales to be made?

What about the authorities? How do they manage these large masses of bodies?

What happens the next day?

Does everyone go back to work, sit down in their office, put on their uniform as if nothing happened the day before? Does the boss just write it off as an unpaid holiday or sick leave?

As with a rock festival or a ballgame, someone will have to pick up all the trash. Was that in the budget?

In the end, the people have made their voice heard but what was accomplished?

Under Siege

A military operation in which enemy forces surround a town or building, cutting off essential supplies, with the aim of compelling the surrender of those inside.

Sounds frightening, loud and bloody but today cities are under siege from digital attacks.

https://www.npr.org/2019/07/09/739999730/what-happens-when-hackers-hold-cities-hostage-with-ransomware-attacks

Imagine if you will, your city or town or burb gets attacked and basically shuts down. Pay up for you are under siege and nothing digital works. No computer service, no printers, no copiers, everything in city hall is turned off and can’t be turned on. The lights, air conditioning, elevators, fire suppression, coffee makers are all dysfunctional.

Now expand that thought to the hospitals and fire stations and police communication. The utility bills won’t go out but neither can the utilities. The potholes will grow in depth and the streetlights won’t turn on. Security systems don’t work and your smart speaker doesn’t answer back.

Remember everything has a computer in it. Your car, your toaster, your television, etc. are all under the computer command and when it doesn’t work there is no easy solution. The warranty warns of not do-it-yourself tampering while online help lines are no assistance and parts are unavailable due to tariffs.

How much will you pay to get out from this digital siege?

The next war might have no planes or bombs or armies but just a click of the mouse.

David R. Mooney

Don’t think I ever knew what the R. was for.

We went to high school together, but I don’t remember any interaction with him until college. I saw him in the orchestra-playing clarinet. A tall lanky lad somewhat awkward but we all were at that age.

In college (which was an institution until it became a university) I became familiar with him through another high school classmate and drugs.

During that time period what brought all of use together was mind-alternation. Some of us dabbled and some got intense.

One memory for me was the ‘Yule Log’ ceremony. After swallowing substance we were requested to perform the ritual of walking in a line into a colonial building and throwing a holly leaf into an open pit blazing fire to make our Christmas wishes come true. On the way of leaving the dorm I pulled silver tinsel from a Christmas tree and handed it to David. It had a profound effect that I didn’t know until later when he wrote about the experience.

We worked together at the public library, but I was in the basement and had little contact with him. We had tried to find a apartment together, but that didn’t work out.

After he left town we started to communicate through letters.

Then we started to send cassette tapes back and forth.

Before he left town, he’d come to a coffee house I was to manage confronting patrons with radical thoughts and ideas in a ruffled army jacket silk-screened ‘Frog Hollow Day Camp’. At the same time he heard Frank Zappa.

As time past, a letter writing conversation was continued. Before his website, his manuscripts were sent. Musical variations were discussed but he knew more of the structure than I did.

Still there was a lilt in the communications that continued turning into friendship.

He and his wife crashed at my pad on cots during a pass over and he slept on some cushion during test of the new bike path to Williamsburg. We did get a chance to bike around his old neighborhood and share some stories.

The last time I saw him was the 50^th high school reunion. He and his wife were very comfortable in the situation but his hearing loss limited the conversations in a crowded room and his wife was among strangers. There was no cake.

After a fall, he gave up his cycling that we shared.

He showed me his process of coding his music that was way too complex for me to understand. Still we stared some tunes and he posted several from snippets I’d sent him over the years. Compositions I could not imagine.

He was focused beyond the mere minded. Total detail definitions like his Triaxial weave that my wife quickly understood as she was basket weaving were beyond my tactile understanding.

As his health started failing I tried to send positive mojo to him and his wife discussing black and white television cowboys, kangaroos, Captain Beefheart, dancing on crutches, bucket-head jousting, Raymond Burr and Zappa. We hinted at politics, unions, protest but kept away to keep the conversation friendly.

His wife called me and told me the final had come.

He will be missed.

What the R stood for Rollins?

Here is his website:

http://opaquemelodies.com/

Society

It is a funny way we organize ourselves.

We have family names and titles and associations with employment, sports, hobbies, faith, behavior, gender, and skin color….

And we sort ourselves into categories, mostly due to privilege.

Or wealth? Or majority?

So what is the high society? The wealthy or the celebrity or the ones who appear on the red carpet and in the tabloids, are they the high society? Are they the ones we wish to emulate?

They live in big houses. They drive flashy cars. They travel on private jets. They throw lavish parties. They pay outrageous bills.

What about the other 99% of us?

After the war (WWII) the troops came home and the goal was to become the ‘middle class’. What is the ‘middle class’?

Houses were being built. Refrigerators were being constructed. Automobiles were rolling off the production lines. Schools and churches and hospitals and restaurants were being plopped into what was becoming ‘suburban middle class’.

These were the images from Life magazine or on the national television news base associated with. Without striving to become a CEO with it’s requirements, most just wanted an acceptable salary to raise a family, be acceptable in the neighborhood while trying to pay for insurance and save something to retire on.

This was the class that wanted their children to attend college with hopes of getting out of the ancestry of military, manufacturing, typing pools or manual labor.

What about the other caste?

Those who could not get quality education or housing or employment? How do they climb up the social ladder?

As defined a society is a group of individuals involved in persistent social interaction, or a large social group sharing the same geographical or social territory, typically subject to the same political authority and dominant cultural expectations.

Societies are characterized by patterns of relationships (social relations) between individuals who share a distinctive culture and institutions; a given society may be described as the sum total of such relationships among its constituent of members.

In the social sciences, a larger society often exhibits stratification or dominance patterns in subgroups.

A society can enable its members to benefit in ways that would not otherwise be possible on an individual basis; both individual and social (common) benefits can thus be distinguished, or in many cases found to overlap.

A society can also consist of like-minded people governed by their own norms and values within a dominant, larger society. This is sometimes referred to as a subculture, a term used extensively within criminology.

A society may be illustrated as an economic, social, industrial or cultural infrastructure, made up of, yet distinct from, a varied collection of individuals. In this regard society can mean the objective relationships people have with the material world and with other people, rather than “other people” beyond the individual and their familiar social environment.

After all that definition, society should be all the creatures of the planet working together, but….

Society is based on wealth, power, and righteous behavior as declared by the elders. Society is about class (or caste system).

So if you are financial sufficient, have necessaries plus unnecessary toys, more clothing than you could ever wear, third or fourth marriage to have a pretty face on your arm when you attend the constant party circuit and must reply with an overwhelming display of narcissistic pride.

If not in that social class, many aspired for the ‘middle class’. A stable marriage, good employment, two kids, a suburban house with a neatly trimmed lawn, weekend backyard barbecues and regular church attendance was the American Dream. There was no talk of domestic violence, alcohol addiction, teen pregnancy, traffic congestion, credit card debt, lazy children and animal abuse. The status of this caste required putting on a façade with constant purchase of new automobiles, remodeling, children’s sports or academic accomplishments and membership in community clubs and associations.

Then there are the less fortunate. Those without the skills or opportunities to employment, living in public housing with the corner bodegas and constant police patrols are the lower caste.

Each society class (or caste) has levels of prestige or aggression or defined power. It is a pyramid of power and wealth.

Be happy where you are on the society totem pole. 

Rainy Day at the Beach

So the kids have been out of school and are getting bored and you’re ready to take a break from the office, pack everyone into the car and head for the beach.

Today the hotel’s conveniences can provide diversions from inclement weather, but back in the day?

Before the sunscreen, Wi-Fi, cell phones, DVDs, streaming music; the beach was the place to escape the heat of the summer in the city. The cool winds and the refreshing waves were the only relief without air conditioning.

Rooms were large and sparse. Windows were floor to ceiling and wide open. Beds had few layers of linen and rockers had no cushions.

Even with sketchy phone and television (and electricity) reception; books were available.

The whole idea was to be in the breezes and watch the waves to get that summer restful karma.

Usually a granny would gather ladies to the kitchen to prepare piles of grub for everyone to nibble on throughout the day.

After the kids run around screaming frustrated of not being to play outside, the games come out. Board games with pieces missing but gives a focus on competition for some time. Adults will unfold folding tables and play cards while opening adult beverages but it is more about the conversation than the game. The elderly will retire to the porch to gently rock to the rhythm of the waves with some sort of wisdom that doesn’t need explanation.

Rain at the beach can disillusion those who want to drag out umbrellas, chairs, coolers, giant towels to sit in the sand with quick dips in the water and more interest in splattering cream all over their body and checking their email.

You are at the beach.

You are wearing a bathing suit.

Rain is just more water.

A shoeless walk down the sand in the rain is just as good as a walk down the beach blasted by the sun.

The ocean changes personality during rain and should be experienced. The waves get choppy and the currents shift, but the surf rides.

Waiting for the right wave might take a few tries, but no one worried about Jaws.

A squall may appear and everyone will run and hide but the sun will come out.

PENETRATION

“Hello Mister Johnson, I’m here to take your daughter out.”

Only been on one side of this situation but both parties know what I’m there for.

Heard an interesting discussion on (whisper… s – e – x) with the current accusations of inappropriate behavior with the #MeToo movement and I wondered.

All that fooling around in the backseat or heavy petting is merely a wrestling struggle of persuasion from religious teachings and parental rules.

Consent is the law of how far each other go until it goes ‘all the way’.

Insertion of one body into another has lots of terms and names and slang, but in the long run it is ‘penetration’.

Invasion of another person’s orifice to bring pleasure or pain is the result.

If the outcome is zygote and planned or unplanned procreation of the species is the result, both participants are different from the physical participation.

“Come in and meet her mother. She will be down in a moment.”

Whatcha Talking About?

Once we pass beyond “Goo Goo Gah Gah” we are taught words to describe items we point at.

Our family attempts to teach us basic communication and once we start talking we never shut up.

At first our limited appreciation is to bubbles and butterflies and shadows and sunshine.

Schools try to hone our speaking skills with proper English structure.

Boys and Girls have separate interest and different conversations.

Boys will talk about sports or cars or war while Girls talk about dolls and cooking and ponies.

Then puberty hits and boys start talking about girls and girls start talking about boys. It is called flirting.

In university, the talk moves to philosophy and theories and art appreciation as we try to define ourselves.

As we move into employment and a new diversity of conversations and backgrounds, our talk changes to complaining. Pay, working conditions, promotions were the constant chatter at the water cooler.

When children arrived, all focus turned to the rug rats and that was all anyone talked about.

As the children grew, the conversation changed to processions and gadgets.

There was still plenty to complain about with taxes, car repairs, software upgrades, uninterested marriage, neighbors, etc.

As the parent’s parents faded away, they passed down the conversation of pain and misery.

As the talk turned to pills and procedures we became juniors doctors with our own diagnosis fueled by Google.

The conversationalists become fewer and the rocking chair is welcoming, we get back to talking about bubbles, butterflies, shadows and sunlight.

Maybe we should have never left?

Walking On The Moon

With all the crazy news that pops up everyday, there is this thought we need to go back to the moon.

Take a minute and think about this.

Why did we go to the moon in the first place?

 I like everyone else on this planet called earth watch fuzzy video and broken audio of a couple of military guys shot into space that with some ancient computer skills distracted from a missile to float around another rock in space and then land on another world.

So these guys extract themselves from their eggshell to plant their footprint on the beach and then what?

Did we build any McDonalds? Did we drill for oil? Did we set up a conquering government with our bubble wrap suits and reflective shield facemask?

No. We jumped around, planted a flag, gave a salute and then blasted our way home leaving a pile of junk.

Then every other visitor would bring more junk like a car to mess up the space and leave all trash and poop. Well there was golf?

After bringing on some rocks of little interest, what to do next?

We won the race with the Russians to place a footprint on another rock but there was no prize.

If we go back will we pick up all our trash to bring home and dump it in the ocean or just be known as messy neighbors?

We won’t be invited back to the party.

On this day, ten years ago, my wife died

This will be my last ‘Hey Babe’ post. For a decade it has been therapeutic but life goes on.

I’m back to where I was before I met her and where I will probably stay. Never, say never, but with few contacts or interest, one becomes isolated.

The yard is being thinned out just to maintain. Indoor projects are a to-do list but in no hurry. Easier to hire someone else to do what is not inspiring.

The routine is still the same to get me motivated without instruction. A simple life of basic clothing, minimal eating, hydration and feeding the yard family is the daily requirement. A daily 5-mile ride clears the head, stretches the body (inside and out) and clears the wallet for primo grub for yard monkeys. In the winter there are additional layers and in the summer there are multiple t-shirts.

Still it is worth more than television to be welcomed in the morning by a bunny that just appears. Christmas gift giving to the critters had an addition of a pie or cake to Station #16. All these would have never had been done with a person I spent more time with than anyone else.

As the calendar flips pages, more join in wherever is after you stop breathing. Every morning is welcome as a privilege and a challenge. It is also a gift.

So bid adieu to the ‘Hey Babe’ posts.  

I still wear the key. 

Trash Day

Today is Monday. That is trash day. Remember to put out the recycle bin also.

At 9AM the monster truck will stop in the alley, dump my leftovers, and those wonderful people who do that every week will slowly roll down to the next house then stop and repeat the process until the truck is full.

Where is goes doesn’t matter to me as long as it is far enough away that I don’t have to see or smell it.

 

That is what we do with our trash.

Everywhere we go there is a wire container accepting our waste rather than just toss it. Then someone is assigned to take the trash out back to a larger container so it will not be there tomorrow.

We can produce trash, mounds of it.

As long as it is out of view, we can sit quietly on the couch, eating and binging and making more trash.

Hide it behind the mountain, stick it in a hole, cover it up with dirt, park it in the dessert, or sink it in the water.

Perfect, as long as no one can see it.

Archeologist will dig it up later and put it in museums. Trash is our cultural history.

The rest of it will just rot, out of sight and out of mind.

 

Until that Monday when the big trucks followed by two black men in yellow vest don’t arrive.

Where will we put our broken down car or flat tires or yesterdays electronics or last year’s appliance model or former war surplus or abandoned property or grandma?