For us older dogs
This is something I've been wanting to do for a while. Not that story of my life bulloney... where I try to pass myself off as someone so incredibly different that nobody would ever understand. Someone so old, that I was above petty human stuff and just couldn't grasp how people could treat each other that way.
Fact is, I'm pretty much like everybody else. I've done good, I've done bad, I've done mediocre. I've lived a lot of life and can bs with the best of them, but the vocal me is very much different than the Storyteller me. Here I will be Storyteller, telling a real story about a man named Chester, Chet, friend or chum, depending on who you are to me.
I have a few difference, maybe. I'm shorter than average. I'm more bald (I think). Uh... That's about it. I still know that I'm immortal, and will live until I choose to die, if ever. But then, I believe that about all of us. The difference, I suspect is knowing. Not believing, but knowing, which is so much stronger than belief, so much more sure than faith.
So, I plan to write, every day, even if it's just a little bit, about thoughts, feelings, what I've come to know or maybe understand or even have a slight grasp of.
I plan to air some dirty laundry. Mine, by the way. If I talk about living folks, I'll use fake names and obscure the details so only those who really know will recognize the situation. There are some exceptions to this.
There are those few people who do not like me, and I have come to not like. Their names may come up, their names may not. I can tell you that if I have, within the last year or two, made a post to you on the facebook, or replied to you in some fashion you are not one of these exceptions. In other words, your name is not Kit or the Evil Jenny or Bob Chester (yep, real name... hopefully real dead) or Edra... the list could go on.
I am not a saint. I am not a sinner. To be a sinner, you must believe in sin, that stupid morality concept created by the worlds largest money maker to drive people by fear to do what they want, which is to contribute money or time. Time, by the way, being much more valuable than money.
I am not a nice guy. Nice guys go out of their way to be stepped on so that other folks don't have to trod in the mud of the world. I know one or two of these. I am a good guy. I am a loyal friend, having only failed once at this. I will have your back, even if you are one of the Exceptional people in my life, if you need me to have your back. Exceptional people have to ask. Well.. everybody does, I guess... so Exceptional people have to ask really hard.
Not a great guy, not even a great friend, definitely not a great husband, definitely not a great anything, I don't think. And anyone who says differently is a friend of mine and a gentle liar.
I'm 60. Okay, 59, but at this point, as I told my best chum Tim, what does it matter? When I'm 67, I might as well be 70. So, if someone asks, I'll say I'm 60 because I don't really care.
And at 60, which still surprises me. I was 48 just the other day. Anyway, at 60, I've lived enough that I think I want to put down some of my observations of the world at large.
Not so much because I believe anyone will read them, though I hope someone does and even finds a chuckle here and there, but because I have a lot of pissed off inside of me, and I think this will be good therapy.
And so I call this "For us older dogs", because I am one. And there are some of us out there. I fully expect some to go "Hell yeah! I've done that!" I fully expect some to argue with me and tell me it's not that way and I fully expect them to understand that this is how *I* view the world and they can take their hand-basket and retire to the nearest corner. You thought I was going to say hell, didn't you?
Now, I have just this week, gone and done some really bone headed thing. Shannon, my wife, got us memberships to a gym. A big one, really nice. Steam room and every thing.
I used the Nautilus equipment to do some lifts... I don't even know what the machines are called or even what the muscles are and I don't want to look them up right now. Maybe later. But I used the Nautilus equipment to do some lifts, sitting on a bench, lifting these handles over my head. There's two handles. One set that faces horizontal to you, and one set that faces perpendicular.
Sounds simple, right? That's what I thought! 50 pounds lifted from shoulder height to over my head. Easy-peasy. However, I found that if you have been a lazy bastard (that's me) and haven't done a whole lot of exercise for the last decade and a half, it is NOT a smart thing to do 50 reps of this one followed by 25 reps of the other one.
Why you ask? Actually, I don't you have to ask. I'm pretty sure you know what happens to non stretched tendons and out of shape muscle that are suddenly put in to service. It seemed like a good idea at the time...
And the stupid thing is, I'm going to do it again. And again. And again. Because, just like hitting yourself in the head with a hammer, eventually, it stops hurting.
See you tomorrow!
Fact is, I'm pretty much like everybody else. I've done good, I've done bad, I've done mediocre. I've lived a lot of life and can bs with the best of them, but the vocal me is very much different than the Storyteller me. Here I will be Storyteller, telling a real story about a man named Chester, Chet, friend or chum, depending on who you are to me.
I have a few difference, maybe. I'm shorter than average. I'm more bald (I think). Uh... That's about it. I still know that I'm immortal, and will live until I choose to die, if ever. But then, I believe that about all of us. The difference, I suspect is knowing. Not believing, but knowing, which is so much stronger than belief, so much more sure than faith.
So, I plan to write, every day, even if it's just a little bit, about thoughts, feelings, what I've come to know or maybe understand or even have a slight grasp of.
I plan to air some dirty laundry. Mine, by the way. If I talk about living folks, I'll use fake names and obscure the details so only those who really know will recognize the situation. There are some exceptions to this.
There are those few people who do not like me, and I have come to not like. Their names may come up, their names may not. I can tell you that if I have, within the last year or two, made a post to you on the facebook, or replied to you in some fashion you are not one of these exceptions. In other words, your name is not Kit or the Evil Jenny or Bob Chester (yep, real name... hopefully real dead) or Edra... the list could go on.
I am not a saint. I am not a sinner. To be a sinner, you must believe in sin, that stupid morality concept created by the worlds largest money maker to drive people by fear to do what they want, which is to contribute money or time. Time, by the way, being much more valuable than money.
I am not a nice guy. Nice guys go out of their way to be stepped on so that other folks don't have to trod in the mud of the world. I know one or two of these. I am a good guy. I am a loyal friend, having only failed once at this. I will have your back, even if you are one of the Exceptional people in my life, if you need me to have your back. Exceptional people have to ask. Well.. everybody does, I guess... so Exceptional people have to ask really hard.
Not a great guy, not even a great friend, definitely not a great husband, definitely not a great anything, I don't think. And anyone who says differently is a friend of mine and a gentle liar.
I'm 60. Okay, 59, but at this point, as I told my best chum Tim, what does it matter? When I'm 67, I might as well be 70. So, if someone asks, I'll say I'm 60 because I don't really care.
And at 60, which still surprises me. I was 48 just the other day. Anyway, at 60, I've lived enough that I think I want to put down some of my observations of the world at large.
Not so much because I believe anyone will read them, though I hope someone does and even finds a chuckle here and there, but because I have a lot of pissed off inside of me, and I think this will be good therapy.
And so I call this "For us older dogs", because I am one. And there are some of us out there. I fully expect some to go "Hell yeah! I've done that!" I fully expect some to argue with me and tell me it's not that way and I fully expect them to understand that this is how *I* view the world and they can take their hand-basket and retire to the nearest corner. You thought I was going to say hell, didn't you?
Now, I have just this week, gone and done some really bone headed thing. Shannon, my wife, got us memberships to a gym. A big one, really nice. Steam room and every thing.
I used the Nautilus equipment to do some lifts... I don't even know what the machines are called or even what the muscles are and I don't want to look them up right now. Maybe later. But I used the Nautilus equipment to do some lifts, sitting on a bench, lifting these handles over my head. There's two handles. One set that faces horizontal to you, and one set that faces perpendicular.
Sounds simple, right? That's what I thought! 50 pounds lifted from shoulder height to over my head. Easy-peasy. However, I found that if you have been a lazy bastard (that's me) and haven't done a whole lot of exercise for the last decade and a half, it is NOT a smart thing to do 50 reps of this one followed by 25 reps of the other one.
Why you ask? Actually, I don't you have to ask. I'm pretty sure you know what happens to non stretched tendons and out of shape muscle that are suddenly put in to service. It seemed like a good idea at the time...
And the stupid thing is, I'm going to do it again. And again. And again. Because, just like hitting yourself in the head with a hammer, eventually, it stops hurting.
See you tomorrow!