Perception.
I’ve had reason to think about this a bit, of late, never mind why.
A lot of us go through life, assessing ourselves based on how we perceive others.
We know we shouldn’t, but….
Person A always has their shit together, Person B’s always so upbeat and positive, I do /do not stack up in comparison.
Why can’t I be like ______? They’ve a nicer car, always look well turned out, are obviously more successful and more refined and more together and having more sex and….. You get the idea.
I try to avoid this pitfall, comparing my life to others, and finding my life… wanting.
It’s MY life, the only one I got, the only one I have any control of, and I’m plugging away at it.
And, honestly, the lives that others may or may not actually be living's got nothing to do with me.
Easy enough philosophy in theory, a bit harder to stick with in the day to day.
Other people’s lives…. You’ve no idea, really, about them, do you?
You don’t get to see the little man behind the curtain, usually. You get to see the great and powerful Oz.
Hold on… with proper emphasis: The GREAT and POWERFUL OOOOOOOOZZZZZ!
And how do you expect you’ll stack up against HIM?
I mean, geezus, he’s great AND powerful!
And you, at any given time, might feel like the lion, the tin man, or the scarecrow.
You’re kinda screwed, when making that comparison.
So try not to.
Because the great and powerful Oz is really just a regular joe huddled behind a curtain, frantically spinning dials and knobs.
No knock on anybody for doing this.
We’re all frantically spinning dials and knobs.
We're all the tin man, the lion and the scarecrow.
(I was Dorothy once, but it was a costume party, and I had lost a bet, and there was tequila involved, and... nah. made that last part up.)
Y'see, here's the scoop:
The person who’s always got themselves together is on three different medications.
The one with the sweet car and the nice hair lives in a house smaller than yours, and is sad most of the time, when they allow themselves to be.
The person whom you met and want to be-friend, but they seem on a different level than you? They’re almost embarrassingly excited when you finally suggest you meet for coffee. Turns out, they're really shy, and lacking in self-confidence.
The person to whom you aspire to be, might even… Listen to country music and… own cats.
More than one!!!!
(shudders)
And I find that this to be comforting, and like them more for it.
Except maybe the "listens to country music" part…
Friday, August 19, 2011
Friday, August 12, 2011
A man and his dog entertain the masses
Dusk, Wednesday night.
The man and his dog were finishing up their walking route.
They need only to safely cross the street at the dreaded four way stop, and they'd be seconds away from their front door.
They started to cross, going south, when the Lincoln in the east bound lane, slows, but does not stop, and eases into the intersection, a foot or so in front of the man and his dog.
The man is ill-pleased.
"That's a stop sign!" he hollers to the older man and his two friends who are in the Lincoln.
"And I have the right of way!"
The man knows that this action is futile. But he gets crabby, and occasionally- yelling helps.
He's almost finished crossing, when he hears it.
Applause.
He looks up, and notices a jeep with four high-school aged boys in it. It had pulled up behind the Lincoln at the intersection and was currently waiting for the man to finish crossing. The boys were.....clapping.
"F*ck yeah!" one of the jeep's passengers yells out.
"You tell him, dude!" another one adds.
The man is embarassed by the attention, and feels like a dork. He grins shamefacedly at the youths in the jeep, and shrugs his shoulders.
"Have a nice evening." Comes from the Jeep, as it pulls into the intersection and continues down the road.
Thanks boys, you too.
The man and his dog were finishing up their walking route.
They need only to safely cross the street at the dreaded four way stop, and they'd be seconds away from their front door.
They started to cross, going south, when the Lincoln in the east bound lane, slows, but does not stop, and eases into the intersection, a foot or so in front of the man and his dog.
The man is ill-pleased.
"That's a stop sign!" he hollers to the older man and his two friends who are in the Lincoln.
"And I have the right of way!"
The man knows that this action is futile. But he gets crabby, and occasionally- yelling helps.
He's almost finished crossing, when he hears it.
Applause.
He looks up, and notices a jeep with four high-school aged boys in it. It had pulled up behind the Lincoln at the intersection and was currently waiting for the man to finish crossing. The boys were.....clapping.
"F*ck yeah!" one of the jeep's passengers yells out.
"You tell him, dude!" another one adds.
The man is embarassed by the attention, and feels like a dork. He grins shamefacedly at the youths in the jeep, and shrugs his shoulders.
"Have a nice evening." Comes from the Jeep, as it pulls into the intersection and continues down the road.
Thanks boys, you too.
Monday, August 8, 2011
Thoughts on being Fiona's dad, on her 4th birthday
So, my daughter turns 4 years old today.
Holy crap.
Time, as they say, flies.
She is, to get right to it, everything we could have asked for, and everything we dreamed of, in a child.
At every stage, we were given bad odds or doom and gloom.
Odds are 3-1 against us getting pregnant and carrying to term.
Many months in, we were told there was 10% chance of her having special needs. Then it was all about how kids who were conceived as she was had higher percentage of slow development in sitting up by themselves, etc etc etc.
We spent so much time… Worried.
Geezus we worried.
And when we’d start to relax, just a bit, we’d get hit with the next scary statistic, unreliable test result, asshole doctor… We HATED the asshole doctor...
But then, all the sudden… there she was. And was on the small side and maybe not 100% “done” before she came out, and she didn’t sleep, and wouldn’t let us put her down (as if either of us wanted to…), and cried a lot, and she was… perfect.
And as she grew, and we continued to not screw up too bad; we watched her like a hawk for slow development and she always seemed to develop at the slow end of range and she was… perfect.
She tripled her birth weight in the first year, exceeding expectation; her doctor was thrilled for the 4 minutes he spent with us, $20 please, and we rejoiced.
And we were constantly tired, and anxious, and worried, and excited and happy and felt like the luckiest people in the world. The really tired luckiest people in the world, but still...
And then she started talking, a lot, while steadfastly refusing to walk, and we had pictures of her CRAWLING off to university at age 14. That ought to keep her from dating, at least...
And we started to realize what a great sense of humor she had, how she asked very wise questions for a two year old, and that we should really be writing down a lot of what she said. So we started to do so, and she was perfect.
And we realized that while she was really smart, she was also a complete dreamer, and tended to be off in her own world a bit, and we worried about it, and asked her teachers about it, and they chuckled and patted us on the head, basically, and told us we really needn’t worry.
And now she’s four, and utterly charming, and sweet, and pretty darn even-keeled, and a good sport and a great traveler, and is now singing along to the music I used to sing along with, to put her to sleep, when she was a baby.
And she makes me laugh, all the time.
Except when she very earnestly tells me that I’m being crabby, and she doesn’t like it when I’m crabby, and maybe I should stop being crabby. Then she makes me cry, a little, though she doesn’t know it.
But I stop being crabby, at least for a little while.
My daughter’s four years old today, and she is sure she grew taller overnight.
She might be right.
And she was excited to go to camp/ preschool today because there would be yoga, and because she got to take stuff to give to her classmates, and this is HUGE, obviously.
Tonite there will be cake and presents and family, and I’ll likely not sleep well because I STILL have an ear tuned to hear her in the night. Tomorrow there will be ½ dozen four year olds at my door for a “Girl Pirate” party, and it’s going to be loud, and chaotic, and perhaps head-ache inducing and… Perfect.
And I still feel like the luckiest man in the whole world, when I think about it.
Happy birthday, darlin’
Holy crap.
Time, as they say, flies.
She is, to get right to it, everything we could have asked for, and everything we dreamed of, in a child.
At every stage, we were given bad odds or doom and gloom.
Odds are 3-1 against us getting pregnant and carrying to term.
Many months in, we were told there was 10% chance of her having special needs. Then it was all about how kids who were conceived as she was had higher percentage of slow development in sitting up by themselves, etc etc etc.
We spent so much time… Worried.
Geezus we worried.
And when we’d start to relax, just a bit, we’d get hit with the next scary statistic, unreliable test result, asshole doctor… We HATED the asshole doctor...
But then, all the sudden… there she was. And was on the small side and maybe not 100% “done” before she came out, and she didn’t sleep, and wouldn’t let us put her down (as if either of us wanted to…), and cried a lot, and she was… perfect.
And as she grew, and we continued to not screw up too bad; we watched her like a hawk for slow development and she always seemed to develop at the slow end of range and she was… perfect.
She tripled her birth weight in the first year, exceeding expectation; her doctor was thrilled for the 4 minutes he spent with us, $20 please, and we rejoiced.
And we were constantly tired, and anxious, and worried, and excited and happy and felt like the luckiest people in the world. The really tired luckiest people in the world, but still...
And then she started talking, a lot, while steadfastly refusing to walk, and we had pictures of her CRAWLING off to university at age 14. That ought to keep her from dating, at least...
And we started to realize what a great sense of humor she had, how she asked very wise questions for a two year old, and that we should really be writing down a lot of what she said. So we started to do so, and she was perfect.
And we realized that while she was really smart, she was also a complete dreamer, and tended to be off in her own world a bit, and we worried about it, and asked her teachers about it, and they chuckled and patted us on the head, basically, and told us we really needn’t worry.
And now she’s four, and utterly charming, and sweet, and pretty darn even-keeled, and a good sport and a great traveler, and is now singing along to the music I used to sing along with, to put her to sleep, when she was a baby.
And she makes me laugh, all the time.
Except when she very earnestly tells me that I’m being crabby, and she doesn’t like it when I’m crabby, and maybe I should stop being crabby. Then she makes me cry, a little, though she doesn’t know it.
But I stop being crabby, at least for a little while.
My daughter’s four years old today, and she is sure she grew taller overnight.
She might be right.
And she was excited to go to camp/ preschool today because there would be yoga, and because she got to take stuff to give to her classmates, and this is HUGE, obviously.
Tonite there will be cake and presents and family, and I’ll likely not sleep well because I STILL have an ear tuned to hear her in the night. Tomorrow there will be ½ dozen four year olds at my door for a “Girl Pirate” party, and it’s going to be loud, and chaotic, and perhaps head-ache inducing and… Perfect.
And I still feel like the luckiest man in the whole world, when I think about it.
Happy birthday, darlin’
Wednesday, August 3, 2011
Thoughts on Driving in OH, childhood stories, and “I’m pretty sure that used to be more fun…”
Spent the last couple of days in Sandusky, OH.
Met some friends at Castaway Bay resort and water park.
Spent a day at Cedar Point, and the rest of the time at the water park.
It was great fun, and I ended up feeling like one of those guys in the commercials; the ones where the dad comes away feeling more connected with his family than he was before they went.
And I already felt connected, before leaving. My daughter's a trooper and a half, and my wife's a great traveling companion.
Anyhow...
I think the last time I was at Cedar Point was…. 1987. I might have gone with my buddy, Dave Burke. Not even sure about that.
I just remember getting chastised by my bandmates, because I was going to miss one whole rehearsal, the week before our first (we only ended up playing two) gigs.
In a band that was, by design, only going to last until school started up for everyone in the fall.
I was young in 1987. Standing in long lines to get on rides that simulated car accidents was an awesome time. And did I worry about stuff like dehydration and sunscreen when I was 19 years old?
Puh-leaze!
So 43 year old me got to go with my wife and nearly 4 year old daughter. And hydration and sunscreen were much bigger deal. And standing in line was a much bigger deal.
And we had a fantastic time together, mostly hanging in the three different kiddy areas, with occasional forays to rides we could all go on together. We were all riding in a Model A Ford, when the sky opened up and poured rain down upon us, for instance, and all three of us thought that was pretty darn fun.
I hit three roller coasters in quick succession upon entering the park, with the other husband/dad. I described the third one we were on, The Maverick, as akin to ”Riding a bull, whilst getting punched in the face”.
Repeatedly.
Later in the evening, we went back to the park and got on a couple more. I found that, unlike when I was 19, I spent most of the time just holding on real tight and hoping for the best.
While I will continue to go on them, I’m pretty sure that roller coasters used to be more fun.
My daughter’s obsessed on hearing stories from our childhood. I’m not sure she’s actually listening, nor filing them away, but she has an unlimited desire to hear more and more.
I made some up.
Told her about how grandma and grandpa used to keep me in a cage when I was little.
Told her I was joking afterwards.
Last night we took my mom to dinner on the way home from Sandusky, and she told grandma she didn’t think I was joking, when I told her about the cage.
Uh…. Check please.
All the way home, she kept asking for more. I realized, fairly early on, that I didn’t have a lot of stories that I remembered from my own childhood, that she would find interesting.
I’d tell her a story, she’d want to know what toys I had during that story, if there was a pet involved, etc. I'd tell her about riding my bike to the park to fish in the creek with my buddy Rick, and she'd add people to my story, to the point where there were.. 5 of us fishing in the creek, including my brother, and also my brother-in-law, who I would not meet until I was in my 20's.
Or I’d finish a story, and she’d ask “Is that story over?”
Yep, it’s over.
Hey, if I’m boring you, we could listen to music for awhile, or drive in companionable silence…. “Tell me another story!”
Alrighty.
I forget, since I don’t do it very often, that driving on the OH turnpike…sucks. A lot.
Driving anywhere in OH can be interesting, as many of the folks there did not ever embrace the change of speed limit from 55 to 65 or 70 on the interstates. It’s like they still think it’s a trick, to hand out more speeding tickets. And given the reputation of the OH state police, they have every right to be cautious about it…
But the OH turnpike… extra primo bad.
The service plazas are, largely, dumps.
“Hey, this one says they have a Uno’s, an Einstein Bagel and a hot dog joint!”
And you pull in, get out of the car, and find that it has a convenience store, with a microwave, and that microwave is the Uno’s, the Einstein Bagel and the hot dog joint.
On the plus side, over 50% the toilets are NOT either bagged up or clogged. I like those odds!
But at least the actual driving part is terrifying and frustrating as well.
One person’s doing 60 in the left lane, the next person’s weaving back and forth across the center line, and 5 minutes later an emergency vehicle passes us on the shoulder, and keeps on driving up the shoulder, because noone will get over for it.
A greyhound bus literally ignores the lights and sirens and keeps it from passing and getting to… what ends up being a really bad accident.
There’s a van that looks like it was dropped from the sky blocking a lane, which angers truckers, apparently, because one of THEM in turn ran me off the goddamn highway moments later, because… he wanted to change lanes RIGHT NOW, and the fact that I happened to be in it…. Not his problem.
It’s the same guy who had just leaned on his horn and sped forward at the accident site, making sure that noone could get over in front of him to go around the van and emergency vehicles.
Of course he ignored me as I leaned on my horn as he steered me off the road, doing 60 mph. I had to gun it to pass him on the shoulder to keep from going into a ditch, and got the bird for my troubles.
So to sum up: crappy facilities, bad driving, psychotic truck drivers… oh yeah and multiple construction zones.
And you pay for the privilege.
Last time I drove this stretch, I watched the car in front of me veer off the otherwise empty highway, smack against a guard rail, bounce back onto the highway and keep on going like nothing happened.
It takes a special kind of driving experience to make me look forward to crossing the border and entering Indiana.
Met some friends at Castaway Bay resort and water park.
Spent a day at Cedar Point, and the rest of the time at the water park.
It was great fun, and I ended up feeling like one of those guys in the commercials; the ones where the dad comes away feeling more connected with his family than he was before they went.
And I already felt connected, before leaving. My daughter's a trooper and a half, and my wife's a great traveling companion.
Anyhow...
I think the last time I was at Cedar Point was…. 1987. I might have gone with my buddy, Dave Burke. Not even sure about that.
I just remember getting chastised by my bandmates, because I was going to miss one whole rehearsal, the week before our first (we only ended up playing two) gigs.
In a band that was, by design, only going to last until school started up for everyone in the fall.
I was young in 1987. Standing in long lines to get on rides that simulated car accidents was an awesome time. And did I worry about stuff like dehydration and sunscreen when I was 19 years old?
Puh-leaze!
So 43 year old me got to go with my wife and nearly 4 year old daughter. And hydration and sunscreen were much bigger deal. And standing in line was a much bigger deal.
And we had a fantastic time together, mostly hanging in the three different kiddy areas, with occasional forays to rides we could all go on together. We were all riding in a Model A Ford, when the sky opened up and poured rain down upon us, for instance, and all three of us thought that was pretty darn fun.
I hit three roller coasters in quick succession upon entering the park, with the other husband/dad. I described the third one we were on, The Maverick, as akin to ”Riding a bull, whilst getting punched in the face”.
Repeatedly.
Later in the evening, we went back to the park and got on a couple more. I found that, unlike when I was 19, I spent most of the time just holding on real tight and hoping for the best.
While I will continue to go on them, I’m pretty sure that roller coasters used to be more fun.
My daughter’s obsessed on hearing stories from our childhood. I’m not sure she’s actually listening, nor filing them away, but she has an unlimited desire to hear more and more.
I made some up.
Told her about how grandma and grandpa used to keep me in a cage when I was little.
Told her I was joking afterwards.
Last night we took my mom to dinner on the way home from Sandusky, and she told grandma she didn’t think I was joking, when I told her about the cage.
Uh…. Check please.
All the way home, she kept asking for more. I realized, fairly early on, that I didn’t have a lot of stories that I remembered from my own childhood, that she would find interesting.
I’d tell her a story, she’d want to know what toys I had during that story, if there was a pet involved, etc. I'd tell her about riding my bike to the park to fish in the creek with my buddy Rick, and she'd add people to my story, to the point where there were.. 5 of us fishing in the creek, including my brother, and also my brother-in-law, who I would not meet until I was in my 20's.
Or I’d finish a story, and she’d ask “Is that story over?”
Yep, it’s over.
Hey, if I’m boring you, we could listen to music for awhile, or drive in companionable silence…. “Tell me another story!”
Alrighty.
I forget, since I don’t do it very often, that driving on the OH turnpike…sucks. A lot.
Driving anywhere in OH can be interesting, as many of the folks there did not ever embrace the change of speed limit from 55 to 65 or 70 on the interstates. It’s like they still think it’s a trick, to hand out more speeding tickets. And given the reputation of the OH state police, they have every right to be cautious about it…
But the OH turnpike… extra primo bad.
The service plazas are, largely, dumps.
“Hey, this one says they have a Uno’s, an Einstein Bagel and a hot dog joint!”
And you pull in, get out of the car, and find that it has a convenience store, with a microwave, and that microwave is the Uno’s, the Einstein Bagel and the hot dog joint.
On the plus side, over 50% the toilets are NOT either bagged up or clogged. I like those odds!
But at least the actual driving part is terrifying and frustrating as well.
One person’s doing 60 in the left lane, the next person’s weaving back and forth across the center line, and 5 minutes later an emergency vehicle passes us on the shoulder, and keeps on driving up the shoulder, because noone will get over for it.
A greyhound bus literally ignores the lights and sirens and keeps it from passing and getting to… what ends up being a really bad accident.
There’s a van that looks like it was dropped from the sky blocking a lane, which angers truckers, apparently, because one of THEM in turn ran me off the goddamn highway moments later, because… he wanted to change lanes RIGHT NOW, and the fact that I happened to be in it…. Not his problem.
It’s the same guy who had just leaned on his horn and sped forward at the accident site, making sure that noone could get over in front of him to go around the van and emergency vehicles.
Of course he ignored me as I leaned on my horn as he steered me off the road, doing 60 mph. I had to gun it to pass him on the shoulder to keep from going into a ditch, and got the bird for my troubles.
So to sum up: crappy facilities, bad driving, psychotic truck drivers… oh yeah and multiple construction zones.
And you pay for the privilege.
Last time I drove this stretch, I watched the car in front of me veer off the otherwise empty highway, smack against a guard rail, bounce back onto the highway and keep on going like nothing happened.
It takes a special kind of driving experience to make me look forward to crossing the border and entering Indiana.
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