"I Go Out Walkin' ... Before and After Midnight ..."

March 26, 2012: Well, another week has passed and I'm no closer to anything on my "bucket list," except perhaps my death. One difference, however, is that I've stopped putting undue blame on myself and have started placing it squarely where it truly belongs -- on everyone else.

It's been an interesting week, you see, in part because I've started walking everywhere. And if you want to learn anything about the people around you, try walking everywhere and see how many of them pass you by on the street. "I saw you walking this morning," has become an annoyingly familiar greeting at work, and one to which I have to perpetually keep NOT replying, "So then, why didn't you offer me a ride?" Instead, I find it a great opportunity to brood and embrace that certain otherness that makes me the kind of person who can't just sit on his laurels collecting an exorbitant salary like so many disturbed people, but must also continually express his disturbed notions in a Blah-ugh! (or a Blah-ugh!-like venue, such as an e-novel, such as SPACE CASE, which is really nothing like my Blah-ugh! except it was written by the same person, who was me, or IS me ... or Esme ... so anyway ...)

I've always been vastly disappointed by the collective non-response of my Blah-ugh! readers to my infrequent offerings (excepting the few of you who DO respond, and in whom I'll forever forgive everything, including minor theft and periodic body odor ...). Here it is, I commit not only MY thoughts to paper (or could I call it virtual papyrus) on an almost daily basis, but YOUR thoughts as well -- (Come now, you KNOW I do, and that's the POINT!) -- and in responsive gratitude, you merely cast me aside without so much as a glance because I'm no longer driving that Mercedes that Matt lent me ... (and Matt is a lovely man, by the way, except for the fact that I'm starting to suspect he's really Italian.)

The point is, you should all be ashamed of yourselves for perpetuating the myth that Americans are surly and lazy and have to drive American cars and eat at Duchess. It's disheartening, yes, but also vaguely unnerving, because somewhere in the past -- and I think it was 1975, actually -- we took a wrong turn and have never got back on the high road. And yet we all sit around bemoaning how awful things have become and how too many people text message when they drive and do all this terrible stuff, and yet when I mention that I'm on foot, people look at me like I just shit in their oatmeal.

On a parallel note, I was disturbed to hear from my son that they now install front-seat DVD players, supposedly for the passengers. Now this just takes things to a very bizarre new level, for I still can't get my head around how they allow those television screen navigation systems in cars, let alone mini movie theaters. I mean, it's absolutely comical. Do we as a culture -- as a world -- now really believe that it's not ENTIRELY DISTRACTING for a driver to have a giant blue-light screen shining in their face while they drive?!! No, I'm serious!! I'm just mystified beyond all belief. I mean, am I from another planet and just don't realize it. Please, be honest with me. I really need to know at this point. Am I the result of thoughtless inbreeding and too much Lysergic Acid in my developing years?!

Anyway, I hear my wife coming, so I'd better end this before she catches me. This is no time in America to deviate from what we're all expecting to experience in each given moment, and it's especially way past the time where a good American can raise any sort of question that might rub someone the wrong way. Unfortunately in this country it's just no longer safe to rub anything anymore!

I think it was Gary Neuman who so eloquently sang, "Here in my car I feel safest of all. I can lock all my doors. It keeps me stable for days in cars."

(Who am I kidding?! I KNOW it was him, but I'm so scared to SAY I know because I don't know what you'll all think of me for knowing! ... See! THAT'S what it's come to!!)

Once Upon a Walk

April 11, 2011: Greetings! I'm glad you could join me again. I have so many things planned to share with you ... and yet I'll probably fail to get to most of them, so adjust your expectations accordingly.

To begin, I enjoyed a marvelous walk last afternoon -- and in fact covered 6.75 miles, which I hope impresses those of you who see me only as a brilliant intellect, and not the strapping physical specimen others of you know me to be. (You know who you are! Don't pretend!) The details I'll spare you, as they mostly involve trees and no one wants to hear about them unless they fall over. However, early on, I had an interesting (well, not really) experience at the bank machine that got me to thinking, as bank machine experiences are wont to do.

You see, as I set out from town, I needed to make a stop to deposit a check I was carrying for $4.96. (I get a lot of these little checks, actually, though most of them aren't for amounts even that large -- usually under a dollar. If you want to know the details, please write me and I'll tell you more, but I'd rather not have to right now, as I'm very busy.)

Anyway, as I walked up to the door, a guy came out and declared, "If you're gonna make a deposit, don't, 'cause it just ate my money." He was distraught, and briefly detailed that he'd just called his wife (although I'm still not clear why), and they were leaving on vacation to Florida in the morning and he'd needed to put the $600 in the account, but the machine (as machines will do, left to their own devices) had simply eaten the money and then denied any involvement, and he was bumming.

I offered my sympathies and suggested it would all work out, as they'd have to see there was an unaccounted $600 in the coiffers the next morning (hopefully, unless the machine had somehow funneled it to the Contras or the Tea Party representatives or something). He was amenable to the thought, and almost good-humoredly declared it a mere annoyance after all. He somehow alluded to his wife again, which was starting to get on my nerves. Then, at the same time, interestingly, we both said that he should best simply "breathe" and it would all work out swimmingly.

The point of this whole story, which really unfolded after I walked away (certainly not willing to chance losing my $4.96 check) is one of Racial Awareness (or R.A., as I've coined it merely for the purposes of this entry, and will subsequently forget coining by the time I get to the next paragraph). Regular Blah-ugh! readers will recall several insightful essays I've shared involving how, despite my far-liberal social leanings, I sometimes can't help being the product of a race-conscious upbringing (or a race-conscious something. Maybe it wasn't my upbringing. Perhaps it was my downfalling. Who really knows?)

The point is, I began to speculate on whether his being black was going to impact his chances at getting his money back. (See, I hadn't mentioned that he was black. And how many of you Whiteys out there thoughtlessly drew a picture of a white man at the ATM, and were -- even for an instant -- surprised by this disappointed customer's blackness? ... Come now. Be honest. (You racist scum! You're even worse than I am!))

Yes, I was thinking his credibility could be called into serious jeopardy by the sight of his skintone at the ATM camera. ("Hmmm," I could hear the corporation heads concurring. "He could be a liar. He is, after all, pretty black.")

This, in turn, got me to wonder whether a white man was necessarily a better risk where such an event was concerned. Certainly not an Italian (like myself, and I'm not even one of your swarthier ones!), although the Irish may not fair any better, especially the ones with red hair ... It seems an Asian might be a good bet, as they're a notoriously hard-working and honest people (although they can be very loud when you're riding on the subway) ... Better still to be Jewish (also like myself), for they're just fat with money (although I'm one of the rare exceptions) and they're reputedly honest (although very loud, in many cases).

This led me to decide that it might be a good idea to start wearing a yarmulke every time I use the ATM, just in case the machine backfires. I can keep one in my car, and while they never seem to fit me right, I don't think the quality of those cameras is that fine.

It's wonderful the range of fulfillment one discovers on a typical late-afternoon walk!

NEXT WEEK: More sophistry and perhaps less punctuation.