Lessons I’ve learned through the school of hard knocks. This is my catch-all, miscellaneous category if you will, where I address topics that don’t quite fit into the other categories.
This morning, as I drove my son to work, I looked up at the clouds in the sky. They were unbelievably beautiful and comforting. Then, I realized that they looked exactly like the clouds from the opening credits to The Simpsons! Suddenly, the sky and the clouds looked so artificial. Well, I couldn’t return to my initial moment of awe and wonderment.
Sometimes I wonder if reality is real enough. Robin Williams had a comedy album titled, “Reality: What a concept!” I think he was onto something. I recalled a few other moments in my life when life just didn’t seem “real” enough.
I had a similar experience years ago in California. I was driving from 29 Palms to Los Angeles pondering the meaning of life, among other things. I was truly soul-searching. At the point where I began my descent from the Mojave Desert, I was at the same altitude as the clouds on the horizon. I could see the sun above the clouds and the sun’s rays as they flitered through the clouds underneath. The rays spread out diagonally below the clouds and onto the ground.
I’ve seen God appear this way in a few movies. Then, I realized as beautiful as this scene was, it was just too unrealistic! I doubted that I could possibly be seeing this scene unfolding before me. I can recall seeing it even now.
I’m not sure what this entire experience means. Perhaps it’s a phenomenon like déjà vu, but I just don’t know the name. Reality: what a concept!
I enjoy reading so much that I’m glad someone invented bumper stickers! Now I can also read while I drive. The other day, I saw this bumper sticker as I drove: “Bumper to Bumper / Butt to Butt / Get Off My Ass / You Crazy Nut.” Well, that was a very lame bumper sticker as far as bumper stickers go. I thought back to the glory days, the actual Renaissance of bumper stickers. I remember reading some excellent bumper stickers long ago, in the Golden Age of public expression.
Yes, like many American cultural icons, bumper stickers were born about the same time as t-shirts with messages, way back in the 1960s when everyone seemed to have something important to say. Once, long ago, t-shirts were underwear, something that men wore under their dress shirts with a collar. And there were no bumper stickers then; bumpers were still bare and naked. Their sole purpose was to protect the car and its occupants in case of a collision. In the 1950s, juvenile delinquents, JDs, began wearing white t-shirts as outerwear and car bumpers got bigger and brighter chrome, but alas, neither took advantage of all the possible attention that was showered upon them in the 1960s. Then, someone viewed the white t-shirt as a blank canvas intended for artistic expression. And, Voila! The message t-shirt was born, and riding on its shirttails, was the bumper sticker.
Some of the messages were exclusive to their medium, but most messages expressed themselves equally as well on a t-shirt or a bumper sticker: “If I told you that you had a beautiful body / would you hold it against me?” However, I prefer bumper stickers. T-shirts have long ago reached their saturation point and we’re now seeing the reemergence of plain white T-shirts. I prefer the bumper stickers because I love to read, and they allow me to read while I drive. I wax nostalgic as I recall some of my favorite bumper stickers! I can still see them, like my family and friends gathered round the holiday dinner table! Let me recall a few for you.
I remember there were political messages: “No Nukes,” “Save the Whales.” And there was a religious message: “Jesus Saves.” And then some genius, in a stroke of absolute brilliance, penned this magnificent treasure: “Nuke the Whales for Jesus”! I was amazed that this author didn’t win the Nobel Prize for literature.
When the Born-Again Christians bragged, “I Found It,” National Lampoon offered the rebuttal: “I Lost It!” For a while many station wagons and minivans boasted, “My child is an honor student at …” Suddenly, there were some bumper stickers that read, “Your Kid’s an Honor Student / But You’re a Moron” and “My Kid Beat Up Your Honor Student.” To “If You Can Read This / You’re Too Close,” someone replied, “If You Can Read This / Thank a Teacher.” And for the aggressive tailgater, “Sorry for driving too close in front of you.”
Then there those bumper stickers that expressed a variety of feelings: “Beauty Is In The Eye Of The Beer Holder.” “Insanity Is Hereditary / You Get It From Your Kids.” “Ex-Husband In Trunk.” “Don’t Hit Me / My Lawyer’s In Jail.” “How’s My Driving? / 1-800- EAT SHIT.” “Gas, Grass, Or Ass / No One Rides For Free.” “If This Van’s A Rocking / Don’t Come A Knocking.” I saw an old clunker sporting this bumper sticker: “My Other Car Is A Rolls Royce.” Then I once saw a Roll Royce with this one: “My Other Car Is A Lear Jet.”
As much as I love reading bumper stickers, I have only ever had one bumper sticker on all my cars: “USMC.”
I have always been different from everyone else around me. Even as a boy, when my friends were gaga over the bikini-clad girls, I was always attracted to the librarian-type, glasses- wearing, bookworm type of girl. I don’t know why, but I have always fallen for the intelligent girl.
In grade school, I had a crush on the smartest girl in the class, who, incidentally, was also the smartest student in the class. In high school, during study hall, we had the option to go to the library instead. I spent every study period in the library reading books of all sorts, instead of doing my homework or studying for my classes. The school librarian took a liking to me and invited me to Springfield, Illinois, for the Future Librarians of America Club field trip. I only went because I knew that I could then spend more time talking to the student librarian who was also in my Physics class. I had a really big crush on her, so I went on this librarian field trip.
Anyway, my latest crush is on Marilyn vos Savant who is listed in the Guinness Book of World Records Hall of Fame for “Highest IQ.” I read her Ask Marilyn column religiously and I’m always amazed by how well she answers her mail with a wry sense of humor. I’ve been meaning to e-mail Marilyn, but I’ve been so busy that I haven’t gotten around to it. Nevertheless, when I finish up my to-do list, I have a few questions that I would like to Ask Marilyn.
Did Microsoft make Solitaire more difficult to win so that employees become more productive?
When you turn on a light, does the light bulb gain weight?
When my toast falls, why does it always land buttered-side down?
Nonetheless, these are easy questions for Marilyn since she is so intelligent anyway. Therefore, I’m sure she could answer some of my more deeply profound and philosophical questions. I have quite a few of those questions. Below are a few examples of some of my more ontological question and is not intended as a comprehensive list.
Why do my sons stop listening to their favorite rock band when they realize that I like their music, too?
If the Chicago White Sox board the Red Line from the Southside at the same time that the Chicago Cubs board it on the north side, who arrives at the World Series first?
Why do I only receive important phone calls when I am sitting on the toilet suffering from the runs?
If Marilyn answers these questions, I will never doubt her intelligence (not that I ever did in the first place). I have always meant to e-mail these questions to her, but I’m sure she’s too busy to answer me personally. So here they are for my loyal readers to ponder.
Since my retirement, I’ve been trying to re-create a lot of things from my previous lives. That is, things I had prior to my marriage and children, things that I had to sacrifice for the sake of being a good husband and father.
Now, I can regress a little and so I am trying to recreate my writer’s garret. Back in 1981 BC (Before Children), I had a nice little apartment all to myself that served me well for all my writing purposes. I wrote a lot back then, but nothing incredibly significant like the Great American Novel or the Declaration of Independence. However, I did get published in some local publications. Even though these bylines impressed only me, I was proud of my writing and myself for achieving another one of my personal goals. Furthermore, I also earned enough money to say I was a paid, published writer, even if it wasn’t enough to earn a living. But I was in my glory as an aspiring writer!
So now, in my retirement, I’m trying to write again. To finish the play that I started 25 years ago and have been finishing for the last nine; to start the novel I’ve been meaning to write since I was in grade school but never actually started writing; and just to write everyday just to be able to say that I am a proficient writer. (Only real writers know how to use semicolons!)
To that end, I realized that I need my very own writer’s garret where I can feel comfortable expressing my most inner thoughts as a writer. I decided that I must create this writer’s space where I can agonize over the mot just and play the long-suffering writer who lives under squalid conditions that will induce great literature. I need a place where I may rendezvous with my muse, but she better bring some help because she’s really going to need a lot of reinforcements with me.
And so, I have been constructing my writer’s garret. Only, I’m not too much for playing up the suffering part. I’d rather focus on the creature comforts now, especially now during these warm summer months. Therefore, my “writer’s garret” is air-conditioned and has a ceiling fan. How am I supposed to author the Great American Novel if I’m hot and sweaty? Would you like to read a hot, sweaty novel? Plus, I need music to inspire me. Ergo, I have a high-fidelity sound system in my garret, along with a cordless phone, a fax machine, Internet radio, and a television.
Don’t laugh! So far, it’s working. What you just read is a product of my writer’s garret!
When I do something, I go all out, or I don’t do it all. That’s the story of my life. When I decide to do something, anything, I go all out and dedicate all my energy to doing it, whatever “it” is. I do everything to excess. And I only do nothing in moderation.
Wait, now that I think of it, I do nothing in excess, too. I can fully indulge in doing nothing for hours, days, nay, months at a time. Moderation is only an entry in the dictionary to me. If I do something, I must do it to excess. When I trained to run one marathon, I ended up running thirteen. If something is worth doing in moderation, it’s even more fun to do it in excess. I think Nietzsche was on to something when he said, “What does not destroy me, makes me stronger.”
