Hotel California of Blogs

As a member of the elite chosen group who's been awarded a mood disorder, I have enough trouble navigating life on days that are generally smooth. When the going gets tough, I usually end up in a heap on the floor.

                     

You're probably wondering how you can qualify for a touch of madness too and I wish I could help but, unfortunately, the prerequisites are not published anywhere that I know about. The whole thing is probably handled by one of those secret societies we hear so much about these days.

Even without a mood disorder, you may find yourself teetering on the edge. Simply put, life comes hard and fast, and if you're not ready for it, your mood can go from sitting on top of the world to the bargain basement with no stops in between.

But fear not, my friends! I've found a way to navigate the absurdities of life and I'm here to share my secrets with you. You see, I've discovered that the key to surviving the constant barrage of life's demands is to find a bit of humor in it all. Like a beacon in the darkness, a good laugh can guide us through the darkest days.

That's why I write this blog, to share the moments of levity that I find in my daily life. From the ridiculous conversations I overhear on the bus, to the hilariously bad customer service I receive, I share it here on these pages. My hope is that by sharing my laughter, I can help you find a little bit of joy in your own life.

I don't want to give you the wrong idea; finding something to laugh about when you're up to your neck in the soup isn't always easy. But with a little experience, it gets easier, and when you can smile about it, you're in a better position to cope.

And so I write about my real life but try to emphasize the lighter side. My hope is that you will find something in what I write to make you smile too.

So come along for the ride, and let's explore the world of stupid humans together. Who knows, you might just find that the images and scenes I share will hold meaning for you too, and together we'll create a world that's more Zen than the usual reality.

Let me caution you that once you become accustomed to my world, there will be no going back. It's like the Hotel California of blogs, you can check out but you can never leave.

Zen As All Get Out!

The morning meditation in Brunswick Forest was interrupted by a landscape crew performing clean-up. I eyed this rabble with disapproval, resenting the universal calm that enveloped the horde at a time when, thanks to that little almond-eyed Princess Amy deep inside my brain, I felt like one of those heroes in a Greek tragedy pursued by the Furies.

After giving thought to the idea of bunging a few bricks into the midst of leaf blowers and lawnmowers, I instead gave up the qigong ghost and headed to the local caffeine den.

Ankling toward the bar, I noticed the headlines on the Wilmington Star News lamenting the latest abomination of the North Carolina legislature and I felt Princess Amy hotting up in the darkest recesses of my mind. She was getting rowdy. I hurried toward the bar hoping that a steaming cup of Jah's Mercy would restore my sangfroid. It was not to be.

"Where have you been?" said Amy Normal (no relation to Princess Amy) the part-time barista and Backup Mistress of the Castle Street Arts District Night, for it was she taking up space behind the Order Here sign. "I haven't seen you in days."

"Oh?" I said. The comeback, I am fully aware, was lacking the usual Genome flair but don't forget those Furies who, even now, were creeping ever closer like a gang of Aunts.

"It's no good saying, 'Oh' with that tone of voice as though you don't give a damn," she said. "Consider the planets, the solar system, the universal plan for spiritual enlightenment." She embellished the last remark by lifting a hand upward, as though we could see planets and whatnot from inside the coffee shop.

"Enlightenment?" I repeated, still feeling the Furies breathing down my neck. "Amy, I have just now left Brunswick Forest where I was performing my morning Qigong, but the landscape crew decided to show up and ruin my serenity with their leaf blowers and hedge trimmers."

"Oh, you and your Qigong," she said, rolling her eyes. "Why don't you just stick to yoga like normal people?"

"Yoga is for basic people," I retorted, trying to regain my composure. "Qigong is a spiritual practice that connects the body, mind, and breath. It's like yoga, but with more Kung Fu."

"Whatever you say, sensei," she said with a smirk. "But honestly, I think you're just using it as an excuse to avoid reality."

I couldn't deny that there was some truth to her words. I'd been feeling a bit down lately, and Qigong had become my escape vehicle. Actually, my entire life has recently become a daydream of sorts, the better to ward off the coming Artificial Intelligence insurgence. But with the Furies still hot on my heels, I decided to take her advice and face reality head-on, if only for a day.

"You may be right, Amy," I said, surrendering to the inevitable. "I will deal with the Furies, and the North Carolina legislature, and Princess Amy. I swear it. But first, I need a steaming cup of brew-ha-ha to help me through the day."

"That's more like it," she said, smiling as she prepared my order. "And who knows, maybe you'll find some peace and tranquility in the chaos of reality."

With my steaming cup of globally grown but locally roasted in hand, I left the coffee shop feeling more like a hero and less like a victim of Greek tragedy. As I walked through the streets of Brunswick, I couldn't help but think that sometimes, reality can be just as Zen as Qigong.

Urban Kayaking

Those who know me best are fully aware of the Genome's background. In that remote and isolated land that biographers will undoubtedly call my childhood, I was immersed in a world where unchanging sameness was the ideal. And yet, I  stood apart from the local fauna in that I talked and behaved as if I'd had thousands of strange and rare experiences. All from reading books, of course. I traveled through space and time simply by turning the page.

I still do it today.

That childhood of mine fathered a man who is not afraid of poverty of any kind; not financial, not thought, not curiosity. What does frighten me is boredom.

This morning as I completed the usual chores and drove the usual Ocean Highway to get to my usual Globally Grown, Carolina Roasted, I began to feel a little agitated. The day was bright and clear and no appointments were scheduled but that sameness that can sometimes feel comforting didn't feel that way this morning. It felt a little too near boredom.

And so I decided to turn the page. Instead of taking the usual drive-through, I decided to park and ankle into the cafe under my own power. Who could have imagined the excitement waiting inside?

'Good morning,' she said as I neared the stand-here spot. 'The usual?'

'Yes, please,' I said, and then as I pulled at my clinging shirt, 'It's getting hot out there.'

'You want this chilled?' she said.

I waved a hand back and forth to dismiss the suggestion of iced coffee and then, thinking about keeping the pages turning, I said, 'The recent renovations make the cafe look bigger and more inviting. I think I'll sit for a while and write.'

'You're a writer? What do you write fiction or non?'

'Well,' I said and then inserted a theatrical pause to better give the question some thought and determine which direction I wanted the conversation to take. 

'I write travel articles,' I said, 'but only to make my life seem relevant....' I paused again to add just a touch of tension and I raised an eyebrow, which is a French technique intended to spike the other's attention. 

She raised a brace of eyebrows, making me aware that she too was attuned to the French conversational nuances. And she added a slight nod as if to say, I get it. I believe the raising and nodding were done in concert with a moue. Is the word, moue; where one pouts slightly to indicate a thoughtful comparison of possible alternatives?

Then, feeling that I had found an empathetic audience, I delivered the punchline, 'but I blog for fun.'

'Oh,' she said.

I'd hoped for a bit more interest but realized that my intro was to blame--too weak. So I added more explanation.

'I try to find humor in everyday affairs,' I said, 'and then exaggerate the humor to make a more interesting story. Sometimes I throw in a dragon or a few elves if the subject can handle it. I think of it as fictionalizing my life. Makes me feel like the main character in my own novel and helps me to cope with a mood disorder.'

Her face lit up. I mean, it didn't light up like the dawn of a new day; but her eyes twinkled and she smiled as if she'd just had a juicy idea.

'If you're looking for humor in everyday events, have I got something for you,' she said.  Then looking at the male half of the coffee sketch she said, 'Tell Genome about your traffic accident.' And then for clarification, she said, 'He tangled with a kayak in a traffic accident yesterday.'

I stared at her with no little amazement. Had I understood her correctly? Surely not. I searched the database for an automobile with a name that rhymes with kayak. It was a bust. Cadillac came to mind but not close enough. I turned to speak to the star witness.

'Did she say kayak? I said.

'That's right,' he said.

She wasn't by any chance thinking of kayak car rentals or kayak hotel accomodations?

'Nope, it was a kayak alright,' he said. 'Crushed the side of my car and broke all the windows. I have a photo on my phone.'

And he did have a photo on his phone; lots of them; and when he spoke of crushed and broken, he was spot on.

'Holy hell!' That's what I said even though I realize the term makes no sense; still, I'm certain that I've heard others use the expression in similar circumstances and so I keep it in my list of spur-of-the-moment exclamations.

'I'll bet you're going tell me it was one of those whitewater paddlers,' I said. 'I've done my share of kayaking. In fact, I once wrote an article for Carolina Roads Magazine on kayaking the Intracoastal Waterway. And I can assure you, those white-water kayaking addicts will take every unnecessary risk that happens to wander by. And they do it just for the fun of it!'

'No white water,' he said. 'In fact, there was no water anywhere near the accident.'

'Hell's bells!' I said and I'm aware that I did it again; using a term that makes no logical sense but, in my defense, I simply use the language, I don't put this stuff in the writers' guide. 

'Isn't it enough that we must deal with all the cabbage-heads who run red traffic lights on Ocean Highway without having to watch for kayaks on the road too?' I said and I remember shaking my head as if to imply, What is this world coming to?'

'Was he fully insured? Did you get all his info?' I asked.

'He just paddled away,' he said. 'The investigating officer reported it as hit and paddle.' But he had a twinkle in his eye when he said it.

'Wait a minute,' I said, recognizing the twinkle for what it was. 'That's a good line. Wish I'd thought of it. But I'm beginning to feel that I'm missing out on the pertinent details. Before we get too far along with this story, begin with the beginning and spare no detail, no matter how small. I'll bet you hold me spellbound.'

'Actually, the kayak was in the bed of a pickup truck,' he said, 'and the guy was backing out of a parking space.'

'You mean to tell me that he was using that kayak like the rostrum or if you prefer, battering ram, on an ancient Roman war galley? That's surely illegal even in Brunswick County where almost anything goes.'

He shrugged.

'But now I understand how the accident happened. I hope the repairs work out to your satisfaction. But why it's called a truck bed is still a mystery to me. I mean what do beds have to do with trucks anyway?'

And so you see how this page-turning technique can pay off big time, under the right conditions. It's often the only tool you need to avoid boredom. 

Speaking of the right conditions, don't ignore the fact that the above took place near the steaming needful, the frothed best of the roaster's art, the brimming cup of Jah's Mercy. It often happens that way. I believe it has something to do with the Universe looking out for our best interests.

 

 

Never Felt So Alive

"How was your massage?"

The words surprised me because I didn't realize that anyone else was in the house. It was Ms. Wonder, of course, but she's normally not home so early in the afternoon.

"Oh, you're here, are you?" I said. How often do we say things like that and then immediately wish that we'd thought of something better? One day I'm going to memorize a handful of zippy comebacks so that I can be a little more interesting when someone puts me on the spot.

"I take it the massage was unremarkable," she said.

"Not at all," I said. 'It was an incredible massage."

"Incredible? An incredible massage? Do tell, please."

"Oh, you're going to hear more," I said, "and you'll hear it now. It was life-changing."

"A massage? Life-changing!"

I walked to the doorway because I wanted to see her face when I told her about my transformation, and there's no other word for it, it was transformative.

"I am a new man, Poopsie," I said.

"You don't look different," she said.

"But I feel different," I said. "In fact, reborn!"

No reply from the Wonder but both eyebrows raised to full limit and the eyes...oh those green eyes.

"I walked into that massage studio like a man on a wire," I said.

"You mean a bird on a wire," she said.

"I mean like a man walking a high wire," I said. "A man who knows that one little mistake will land him in the soup, and not just any soup, onion soup."

"You hate onion soup," she said. "Got more than enough onion soup in the army."

"One of many things I had too much of while being all that I could be," I said. "But I strode out of that studio...is studio the word?"

"Massage studio or massage parlor," she said. "I believe that either is correct. But you strode out. You didn't walk out on a wire."

"I strode, Poopsie, like a man sure of himself."

"Not full of himself?" she said.

"Sure of himself," I said" And although I was aware of her testing the puppet strings, I decided to give it a miss. "I was the man who needs no safety net," I said. "I never felt so alive."

"You've got my attention," she said. "Enough build-up, let's have the goods."

"Well," I said, "It's like this...

Amber worked her magic beginning at the neck and shoulder," I said.

"Amber isn't her real name," she said.

"Of course not," I said. "These massage therapists never use their real names."

"Like pole dancers never use the name that could be used as proof against them in court," she said.

"I don't know what that means," I said, "but I'm not going to take the bait. Let's get back to the incredible massage."

"As she worked a particularly tight spot in the shoulder, I winced with the pain. It was a hot, searing pain. Then at the lower spine, I winced again. The pain was loud and exploding. At the back of my thigh, I winced so tightly, I thought my eyelids might be stuck permanently. It was a big day for wincing."

"But then we got to the left calf muscle. Oh, that left calf..."

"Not the fatted calf," she said.

"Once again, Wonder, I will not fall for your attempts at misdirection. The pain in that calf muscle was so intense that it served the same purpose as the sacrificial calf, offered up to guarantee the answer to my prayers."

"Did you breathe into the pain," she asked and I was happy to know that she remembered those meditation classes that I taught so many years ago.

"I breathed into it and I breathed through it," I said. "I redirected the focus of the mind to fill up some of the bandwidth and hopefully negate some of the pain."

"And did it help?"

"The pain increased," I said. "I broke out in a cold sweat. My fists were clenched and my knuckles were white. I saw exploding stars!"

"Oh, my goodness!" she said. "Did you make a wish?"

Right about now, dear reader, you're probably wondering how I was able to stay focused when my Number One was offering up these verbal roadblocks, but to my credit, and you would have been proud of me if you'd been there, I ignored her remark and continued with my story.

"Suddenly, I was in a dark tunnel, floating alone in the void. Then a blinding white light appeared in the distance."

"You had a near-death experience," she said. "Did you see the spirits of a dear departed loved one?"

"At that moment, I thought I was a dear departed loved one," I said.

"Did you cry out?" she said.

"A Genome never cries out," Wonder. "We are men of steel. Departed or not. But no, the pain left as suddenly as it came. But one millisecond more and I wouldn't be here to tell the story."

"Now I understand," she said. "You strode out a changed man--a man transformed--because we never feel so alive as when we are face-to-face with death. Incredible!"

"That's what I said. Do you remember the last time I came face to face with D?" I asked. Now it was her turn to ignore me.

"Will you make another appointment with Amber?" she said.

"Not in this life, Poopsie, not in this life; once is enough."

"Wise choice, I think," she said. "Nothing to gain. You've won that contest. Why risk it with a return visit? Thank you for sharing that with me."

"It was a reminder for us all if we choose to accept it, that life comes hard and fast," I said, " and we must always be ready for what comes our way."

"Ain't that the truth!" she said.

Never Surrender, Never Give Up

"Run for your life! Run! Run! Run!"

I'll give you one guess who said the above. That's right, the princess herself, limbic system Amy.

Minutes before it all began, I'd taken possession of the table near the window but not too close to the band in the Port City cafe. My morning coffee was brewing and I had pen and paper at the ready to begin this post.

You will be able to appreciate the importance I placed on this little ritual especially after reading my previous post about how I rely on this blog to help me cope with my personal mood disorder.

"Amy," I said, "chill old girl. The storm has passed." 

I searched for something more to drive the point home but I admit that my heart wasn't it. The thought running through my mind was, Oh, no! Here we go again. But I tried to keep control of the situation.

"The bright sun," I said. "The blue sky." You can see that I was struggling to come up with something convincing. Finally, just to end the thought, I said, "And all the fixings."

"But you don't understand," she said. "You must run and run fast; as fast as you can."

"But why?" I said.

"Because," she said, "if you don't run, you'll be left behind. You'll never amount to anything and you'll be forgotten."

"Cappuccino." 

This last comment threw me into the interstitial space. I thought WTF Amy! I was completely nonplussed. Cappuccino?

"Sir?" said a voice in my right ear and it was then that I realized the barista had brought the coffee to my table.

"Oh thank you," I said. "Did you call my name and I didn't hear you?"

"Yes, sir," she said. "You seemed to be involved in a phone conversation."

"Ah-ha," I said because...well, you probably don't need an explanation.

"Thank you," I said. She smiled a sympathetic smile.

"Run now," said Amy.

I'd had enough of this drivel from the seat of my emotions if the amygdala is truly the seat of emotion. One might say that I was mad as hell and wasn't going to take it anymore.

"I'm not going to run," I said, and I tried to keep the voice calm and the atmosphere low-key because I had a plan and didn't want the little blister catching on to my scheme. "But I will go for a brisk walk around the block," I said. "Fresh air and a little boost to the blood flow will be good for us."

"What do you mean, us?" she said, showing just a tad of suspicion.

"An energetic walk is recommended for mental and physical health," I said and wished I hadn't as soon as it came out of my mouth.

"Oh, no," she said. "You don't involve me in any of that mental health rigamarole."

"Come on," I said as I pushed the chair back and stood. I placed the beret on my head with it tilted slightly down over the right eye, which makes all the difference in bolstering my confidence. "I'm going for a walk and you're coming with me," I said.

"Don't walk fast," she said.

"We're walking fast," I said.

"But...but,"

"But what?" I said picking up the pace.

"En...end..."

"Endorphins?" I said. "What about endorphins?"

She opened her mouth as if to answer but nothing came out. Instead, her eyes became slightly unfocused, her breathing became more regular, and she lay back in quiet repose.

And so Ms. Wonder saved the day again it seems. She wasn't there of course but that suggestion of hers that I keep the blood flowing at a smart clip to keep the mood above the mid-line worked like a charm. I'll have to incorporate it into Fierce Qigong.

Yes, Ms. Wonder is an amazing gal. I'm sure you agree. I do have to draw the line however when she gets on that too-much-coffee rag. Coffee habit indeed! Just because my largest monthly expense is Port City java, doesn't mean there's a problem. Just means that I like coffee. I can quit anytime I want to.