Why I don't discuss politics on social media:

Short answer...because I am an elitist.

I can explain, but you probably won't like it.

Buckle up, Buttercup.

I have no problem discussing politics under certain circumstances, like, if you're smart and open-minded. If you're not, you are either a waste of my time, or a waste of yours. From my perspective, there are certain logistical considerations, also. Allow me to walk through them with you.

Who reads my posts? My friends. Collectively, my friends are well above average in intelligence, so, if I were to write my political opinion about a topic, the readers are likely to be above average. Unfortunately, my friends also tend to be kind; kind to others, including stupid people. Without my draconian elitism, my friends might inadvertently share my opinion with stupid people. That is exactly where the problem comes in: when, precisely, do we add the first idiot to the discussion? If you can pinpoint that very moment, exactly, and magically delete my post 5 seconds earlier, oh what a joy social media would be!

(I pause for a chuckle at the almost-smart person catching a glimpse of my text disappearing before their very eyes! Bwahahaha!).

You may ask: why are stupid people a problem? Don't they deserve to be heard and educated? In short, no and no. Deserve to be heard? No, smart people endeavor to engage their brains BEFORE they engage their mouths, (or keyboards). I want intelligent conversation with people that have something to offer. I want to learn, I want to welcome new perspectives and consider things I have not considered before. The same old nattering from CNN or Fox News interests me not at all. I know the party line, an idiot's reinforcement is not appreciated. Deserve to be educated? Perhaps, but not by me. My pay comes in terms of your unique perspective. Without that, if you learn from me, you owe me $5. One never improves his chess game by constantly battling halfwits.

I guess I really didn't answer the question. More to the point, stupid people cheapen the conversation, dragging it down to their level. Yuck. If you waste my time with remedial discussion, we'll never get to truly challenging topics--the kind of thing that would actually keep me from slipping into an intellectual torpor (that leads to decline and Alzheimer's, [personal opinion]). There is an old adage: "Children should be seen, not heard." Have you ever wondered why that was? Buttercup, I'll tell you: it's because kids are stupid. When adults are talking, kids, like stupid people have nothing to offer and their lot in life would be greatly improved by them closing their mouths and opening their ears.

You know, one of the most insidious aspects of social media: it makes you think you are smarter than you are. The proof is everywhere. You know this to be true, and I will readily admit, I am not impervious to it. (I hate myself for it; I must remain vigilant!). I think that is why social media is so addictive--there's this huge dopamine rush that comes from people proving their intellectual inferiority to you. Sadly, I think this effect is more pronounced in stupid people. Have you ever noticed how quickly the comments section deteriorates? At most, you will see one or two useful comments before that first idiot cracks his knuckles and unleashes the demon, Stoopid, all over the screen. Me, reading my FB feed: "That's interesting! Oh wait, comments got stupid." "Hey...oh, nevermind." "Awww..." There are times I wish computers costed $20K each--it might cut down on the riffraff.

The bottom line: I would greatly prefer to see pictures of the fabulous meal you just prepared, or that hysterical selfie of you with your sweet, little Mittens, or even that Garfield rerun about coffee on Mondays or lasagna on the weekend. Just anything except the Red Plate Special or the Blue Plate Special...leave those to the dolts.

batch lore tips

I’ve often thought it would be fun to write down some tips for the freshly bachelorized. My wife and I split up several years ago; then I pushed the fledglings out of the nest, leaving me living alone with a marvelous long distance girlfriend. In the following few years, I’ve learned a lot about myself and a lot about living alone. I do not have a list of bachelor tips, but I’ll spout out some nonsense, willy-nilly, as it occurs to me.

The first tip, however, is easy: buy a shop vac. It is far and away the best investment a guy living alone can make. Over the years, I’ve watched women pushing around crumbs on kitchen countertops. They push them around and around. Most find their way to floor, where the housewife’s broom finds them and delivers them to the dustbin. With a shop vac, however, those crumbs are sucked right up into a black hole in a jiff. A broom? Brooms are for witches and the occasional quidditch match; a real man uses power tools.

A shop vac is also a handy thing to rid yourself of unwanted houseguests. An invasion of ants is really just a real-life video game where the aliens descend on the helpless peasants and collect them in the mothership for nefarious purposes, off-planet. In this game, you are the alien. Ants go bye-bye and the place doesn’t smell like Monsantoville. Spiders and webs? TTFN, baby!

When you’re picking out this indispensable device, remember: you don’t have a big family any more. A small, lightweight model is better, as long as it really sucks. Keep an eye on the horsepower ratings.  

Chapters

Our lives are a story, with a beginning, a middle and an end. The beginning of a chapter in our lives feels like a beginning, and the ending of a chapter feels like an ending; but chapters are really just a convenient place to break up our story into manageable chunks. I like beginning a new chapter, precisely because it is new, but why? Well, largely because the old chapter has become stale—it ran its course. It had its ending, and it is time for a renewal, the fresh start to a new chapter. 

I am reminded of a quote from a movie, roughly, “the real trick is in knowing there is no spoon.” Like that scene, chapters are illusory—they are just a comfortable way to break up the story. If chapters were real, I would argue that every day begins a new chapter. Every time I wake, there are fresh and new possibilities. Do we, the characters in our own stories decide on the chapters?

it was a sunny, breezy day

Today, as I sat beneath a stand of palm trees blowing in the strong sea breeze, I saw beauty. First, a completely bald woman walked past me. She was bald like an egg…completely. Her head was tanned and her face was aged, but she had a very nice demeanor; she seemed fit, which had me wondering why she was bald. If she had stopped to talk to me, I would have told her it was a good look for her, although I’m thinking that might be sort of condescending or something. I was very pleased for her that she did not look sickly, like I would expect of a completely bald woman. I was glad she did not have a wig; maybe she realized this was a good look for her.

I was thinking about the bald woman as I looked out on the sea, and an ugly couple walked by. They were like two trolls. She was a lumpy, sallow woman, squeezed in a dress that was too small. The man was short, squat, wearing a buttoned-down checkered shirt and shiny nylon basketball shorts, with dark shoes. It’s a good thing there really aren’t fashion police—I shudder at their fines. The couple walked slowly, chatting to themselves as they took in the gorgeous scene. Believe me, it was just an amazing day by the water today. Their mutual regard for each other was evident from the touching and eye contact. These were no newlyweds, but I like to think they were much in love, as they walked along the docks. It struck me—these two ugly people were the most beautiful couple I’d seen all day.

I smiled as I realized this. Then I started to think other thoughts: Truth, Beauty, Love…these things that people have contemplated so much. Are they eternal? Are they constants? Are they objective? I have recently read that beauty can be objectively measured and scientists have catalogued the various facial ratios, and can measure the symmetry in a person’s face and score them for beauty. How would these two trolls in love score? I’m betting they would be on the Ewww-end of the scale, and yet I thought they were beautiful. I must be wrong.

Truth, ah Truth with a capital “T”. Is it objective? Writ small, of course, Truth is easier to handle. When the chicken crosses the road, there is a road, a chicken and a crossing…voila! But more complex things have their own Truth, and one must examine various perspectives. Truth, then, becomes a slippery thing—something that needs some thought before a declaration is made. Is Truth objective? Can there be more than one Truth? Can they conflict with one another? I don’t think I am smart enough to know the answers.

Love. Love has always given me trouble. Ask someone to define love and there is confusion and consternation, yet most people can point out love when they see it. Hmmmm, something ill-defined, but readily identifiable? That just reeks of ambiguity to me, and ambiguity bugs me mightily, like sand in my swim trunks. There’s a passage from the Bible, of all places, that starts with “Love is…” Sure there are probably many like that, but I’m thinking of the passage that is read at many, many weddings, “…love is patient, love is kind…” blah, blah, blah. It tells me many of the ingredients for love, but the recipe seems a little scant on detail. If you baked that recipe, you might get a cake, or a muffin, or an iguana sandwich. Is love constant? Almost certainly not; I don’t even think I need to go into it. Is love eternal? Oh, hell no. Is love objective? I’m going to go out on a limb and say no. I have no fantastic argument, but anything that is so slippery to define almost has to be subjective.

So, in a world where Truth and Beauty and Love are inconstant, and fleeting and subjective, what is there to hold onto? Well, the beautiful moments, the flashes of truth and the magical nuggets of love. Sure, they may have a beginning and an end, but they do exist. Perhaps like life, I shouldn’t fret about the end of them, but revel in the here and now. To seek them out like sunsets, marking them, and be thankful.

Ramble

Preface: Sometimes I start to write something and it turns out differently than I expect. A lot of the time, I just delete the whole mess, but I think I'll share today's mess...

There’s a saying I find amusing and often true: 

A woman marries a man, hoping he’ll change; 

a man marries a woman hoping she’ll never change. 

I’ve never really thought through some of the implications of this. A friend is looking for Mr. Right, and I was curious about something, does she want a “project” or a guy that is already independent and happy? I realize that is loaded question, and a bit of a bifurcation, but I’m genuinely curious about how she and other women would respond. 

Another friend advises me that she finds a man’s independence and confidence an attractive quality. But is too much independence a bad thing? Many a woman will tell you, Mr. Right is perfect—he just needs the love of a good woman. A woman to complete him. Let’s all take a moment to reflect on the image of a teary-eyed Tom Cruise admitting, “You..complete…me…” Go ahead, I’ll be over here trying to keep my lunch down. 

Perhaps my disdain, in evidence above, will tip you off? I think the best (\) relationship is between two fully-formed, independent adults. It’s been a long time since I wandered around, feeling like half of something, desperate for my missing half. Don’t get me wrong, I have needs; but this two-halves-making-a-whole bit is just not for me. I admit, I may be atypical. Very likely, this is a continuum, with needy incompletes on one end, and happy hermits on the other. Where do I fall? Where do my friends fall? And if they are more needy than me, are they looking for someone that is equally needy? More so? Less so? 

When shopping for a perfect tie, you might ask the sales clerk for advice. Their first question is likely to be: tell me about the rest of the outfit? What color is the shirt, pants and jacket? I think that is likely true of relationships. If you seek the perfect mate, perhaps it is best to know about the rest of the ensemble…and that is you. 

I was chatting with a friend of mine recently. She is a lovely creature, and she asked me for input about her recent relationships which had been a little rocky. I told her honestly, “you are just not a 24/7 type of gal.” She looked a little hurt, but she is very independent and her last boyfriend was very needy. She tends to immerse herself in her relationships, jumping straight into the deep end. But in that end of the pool, you can’t touch bottom. (Meaning there’s not a lot of me-time left). She likes to think a couple that truly love each other could spend all their time together, waking and asleep, and the bliss would be majestic. In contrast, it should be a surprise to on one that I think people need a balance between me-time and our-time. You can call me Mr. Compartmentalize, if you like.

Where is all this going? Well…

•   It is important to know what you need before you go shopping.
• What you want and what you need may be different things.

Chucking

I often joke about retiring and opening a beach bar in the Caribbean, Dongo’s by the Sea. (Check out dongosbythesea.com). In fact one of my best ideas is to open a floating bar in the middle of the Grand Bahama Bank. Talk about remote! I can’t figure out how to make that one possible, but what fun it would be!

I really like my job, but sometimes the idea of just chucking it all and embracing each day having fun really appeals. Hey, I liked the movie, “Running Scared,” and “Don’t Worry, Be Happy” plays on many of my playlists. Could I do it? Probably not…yet.

I was chatting with my neighbor just this morning. We joked about how happy the bums are, standing in the sunshine on beautiful Southern California days, while the schmucks are toiling away in offices staring at computer screens and getting stomach cancer. Yes, I am one of the schmucks.

Back in the day, I would have pointed to my possessions; my many toys and cool electronic gizmos, and said: the bums don’t have all these nifty things! Nowadays, however, two things have changed. First, I don’t seem to care about possessions as much, and second, the bums are doing a good job of keeping up with the gizmos.

Where will I be in 10 years? Under an overpass in LA? Asleep in the sun on St. Lucia? In the ground, feeding the worms? Or still chained to this desk…?

Cold Feet

I am such a simple creature. I take delight in many simple pleasures. Just this morning, I was warm and toasty under the covers, but my bedroom was a little chilly. I slipped out of bed and went into the bathroom, where the new stone floor was quite cold beneath my feet. This floor used to be carpet, but now a lovely travertine and occasionally as cold as a well digger’s lunch bucket. Hmm, I thought to myself, perhaps I should have kept the carpet? I went through my usual morning ablutions as the water in the shower warmed and my feet cooled even further. I opened the steamy shower door and stepped into the hot water. What a delicious sensation! My feet warmed, the water splashed most satisfactorily, and I inhaled the heavy steam. I wonder, would I have even noticed the joys of hot water this morning, if the stone hadn’t chilled my feet?

I do a lot of thinking about contrasts and about simple pleasures. Nothing makes me appreciate summer more than these long nights of winter. Getting up before the sun and leaving work after full dark is depressing business for me. It makes me wistful for those halcyon days of summer, when the sun woke me in the morning and I could garden for hours after work. I wonder, how much of the hectic nature of the holidays is owed to the shortened days, leaving us so little time? In the summer, I miss the need for a fire in the fireplace. A full moon party in the summer always runs later, as we wait for dark and the beautiful light of the moon. I was in the backyard last night and the plumeria have dropped their leaves. It is well and truly winter in Southern California, despite the temperature in the mid 70s. Although far from desolate, winters here are just enough to make me fully appreciate the daffodils, which herald spring for me. They make me laugh—they pop up, glorious, then often get scorched by a sudden nice day, here. How frustrated they must be.  

They say, “absence makes the heart grow fonder.” It’s the contrast of being apart and being together that makes this so.

Simple pleasures…has it always been so for me? It is hard to recall. I think I have always taken delight in the small things, but I would certainly sacrifice my simple pleasures for something I considered more important. Maybe that’s the change? Maybe what I consider important has changed, and these simple pleasures have risen accordingly?

Perhaps I am simply justifying my burgeoning alcoholism? You see, as a young man, I would never embrace the demon rum when working the next day. Now that just makes me laugh.

funny

1: "Sometimes, I like to be cold."

2: "Why in the world would you like to be cold?"

1: "Because getting warm feels very nice."

2: "Why not just stay warm in the first place?"

1: "You don't know me at all."

1 = me.

Do you get it?