Harkening back to a previous post where I discussed getting an invitation to my 20-year high school class reunion (to be held this upcoming March), where I openly wondered whether we (the royal we) were really that old. Jury's still out, but what I can confirm is that the generations subsequent to the X (millennials, Gen-Z, the Alphas(?)), really are that young.
Crazy thing is I remember being one of those scurrying youths, going from game to game like a juvenile who snuck into some Turkish bazaar with its unending tables of foreign treats, once upon a time; however, injury, rehabilitation, subsequent educational matriculation, have overwritten those memories, or at least made them hazy as Chronos is wont to do.
I presume that much of that jolt is resultant of the fact that I was isolated for so long; in the hospital everyone, Drs, nurses, et al. were much older than me; when I went back to school, my peer group was roughly the same age as me (sure, I was ~2 years older); college some older, some equivalently aged, most younger, then I took only a one-year internship-hiatus, when I resumed my curricular pursuits in business school, my peerage group was indubitably more mature, much older and curricularly-minded. I had been sheltered in an aging cohort, not ever realizing the aging process, when all the faces that I would see were aging with me day-by-arduous day.
Alas that bolt out of the blue acted as a much needed bracer, or more aptly, a slap across the face of the hysteric, telling me to wake the hell up, sally forth, and get back to my mission. Similar I think to a Raymond James, brokerage house, comercial which cautions: Don't run out of money, before you run out of time. I could be getting the company wrong, but the point is nevertheless still valid: I don't wish to run out of chances (get too old as choices naturally dwindle [spread out across the event horizon] the further from the origin a branching cladogram branches) before I run out of energy.. Imagine March Madness bracketology only in reverse, I think this may not be an apt analogy (I never really was a sports nut). But as I age, the field of available women narrows/spreads (fewer and farther between). I'm not quite sure that I want to be that gray haired old guy chasing significantly younger women (I think they're called either silver foxes or panthers). As previously stated, jury's still out, but they're leaning toward a negative verdict on the question.
I do believe that I still have fight left in me. Now all's left is to fall back on my core competency, Creativity and helpful friends to assist me in the capture of that ever-elusive brass ring. I believe I forgot to reflect on the fact that the ancestral Dutch Stubbornness of my youth has matured concomitantly with the rest of the X-cohort, into a doggedly determined, now undaunted, American Dutchman. This is not the time to be like some Randian Atlas and simply shrug off my desires, duties and goals for some ignoble quiessence. I do not ask, 'Who is John Galt?' As the Bard wrote, 'Once more unto the breach dear friends...' Id est, now is not the time to concede the fight. No rest for the weary. Like the Christmas song 'Baby it's Cold Outside' proclaims, 'At least I'm gonna say that I tried.' And try, I will.
To me, life is like a sinusoidal, or cosinusoidal, graph. I guess it all depends on from where you start the function. That, while not completely analogous, reminds me of that old quip about happy endings; id est, if you want a happy ending, it merely matters where you choose to stop the story. Choices include, the acme of action, where the possible paths are endless, or the nadir of the action, where the options are still open although darkened by the umber of doubt resultant of defeat and malaize.
So in that spirit; I'd like to wish everyone a happy New Year and a propitious 2018.
I took an I.Q. test a while back, it found that I am very competent on verbal and general knowledge-type things. That's life; language and wit. Everything else can be faked to a large part. In the words of Robert van Winkle (Vanilla Ice): If you got a problem, yo I'll solve it.
Eventually, the bleeding was mostly contained.
When the paramedics took her away, she was as cogent as she ever is, which is quite good portends.
I will blog the outcome of today's events as they unfold.
We're going to go pick her up from the hospital later.
The night guy picked her up on his way in, although a little shook up, she seems to be doing well
I tapped a church buddy to go with me. Sure, he's 5 years younger, but he gets all the references and is more of the X-generation than any other. Hearkening back to a reference from a little earlier in the X, I thought ala Joey Ramone, 'hey, ho, let's go.'
I missed my 10-year, my mom had just learned of a cancer diagnosis and I was nose deep in business school and my own brain injury issues as a backdrop. I'm determined not to let any more life simply slip by down the river like today's Tom Sawyer or some Huck Finn fishing by Rush's infamous river. I must then, in Thomas's words, 'Rage, rage against the dying of the light.'
Anyways, now that I got the time, it would be almost criminal not to put it to good use. What's the old adage, 'leave no stone unturned?' 'Carpe diem,' or in Setzer's words 'You only go 'round once on this big swinging planet of love,' or in millennial speak 'YOLO?'
Time to make hay while the sun shines, I will Carpe some diem. I fully intend to purchase the tickets forthwith, tomorrow, if not sooner.
Most walked, myself and one roommate drove our power chairs. There was nary a problem, it was really quite natural; easy peasy.
I will update all y'all as to the progress of my struggle to regain my liberty (P. Henry, H.W. Beecher), and hopeful resurrection (again inapt phraseology, but in the scent of the flavor).
Coordination of a pow-wow is ongoing; id est, fait accompli, assured, all done except the details. I know that the devil's in the details, but I'm more of the deferential, delegatory, big picture guy. My wont is that I set the stage, let others run with it, then deal with and edit the end product for final consumption. I just don't have the stamina I once had; I get very bored with drudgery. Per my namesake and author of the oldest written of the canonical Gospels, John Mark, I usually like to get stuff in early, even if its rough and sketchy. That's what's called in the business community, first mover advantage. That's my bag, baby.
In the rest of the world, the old way still holds; e.g. France (continental Europe) is blue; Britain is red. China and USSR were red, signifying the Communist revolution; European Union, the paragon of tradition, the latest iteration of the European Commission, is blue.
Essentially the American Revolution acted as a (-1) coefficient to this side of the Atlantic equation. Id est, up is down, black is white, cats mating with dogs (gratuitous Ghostbusters reference.) Even the Mounties wear red.
Noted exceptions: Cuba, but that can be explained by Cold War-era Communist Revolution, Soviet proxy-state status. Also there was the British wearing red on the American Revolution battlefield to camouflage blood from musket shots.
Disclaimer: this list is not exhaustive, as always, just whatever was top of mind prior to the composition of my postings.
Well I did the old unplug/re-plug Microsoft cold reboot trick. That not working, I just let it alone. I did, however, try it once more, the morning before it was to be examined, it seemed to work just fine as before.
I seem to remember a notice on the notices screen it was going through an update/maintenance cycle.
Well the computer I use to blog, monitor my finances, and email, et cetera, just went kaput, that may be overstating it a bit, it's just all kinds of glitchy, but my neighbor called a guy to look at it. Isn't that how this gig economy works; got a problem, call a guy?
I seem to remember hearing tales of that's how it used to be. So in essence, we've come full circle.
However, my computer is just a Wi-Fi onramp to the internet. Since I've migrated all of the processes I use into the cloud, I can access and edit everything with my smartphone. I guess I'm now the epitome of what they call social mobile.
The 1980's upswing can be accounted for by noting that Carter managed a malaise, which created pent up demand in the economy, which the Reagan revolution released like a coiled spring or those comedic snakes that pop out after a gag can is opened. And the late nineties can by explained by too much money supply (low interest rates), causing a massive spending spree.
Being uninterested in either making lanyards or basket weaving (maybe it'd be fun, were it underwater), a contingent of us goes to the local Adult Center (retirement center) to use the weight machies, a rotating cohort accompany me, but since I initiated the protocol and am member in good standing, my attendance is a given, as it were, a fait accompli.
I like it. Resulting in a subdued euphoria, it gets the lactic acid out of my muscles. It also pumps much oxygen-rich blood to those same muscles. A definite win, win, win.
Those words were true during the Revolutionary times, as they are during any struggle for freedom, because without freedom our soul suffocates. As popularized in Good Will Hunting, Henry Ward Beecher opined '[L]iberty is the soul's right to breathe and, when it cannot take a long breath, laws are girded too tight. Without liberty, man is a syncope.' A syncope is someone given to fainting spells, or as I read it a zombie.
To synthesize the two previous statements, without liberty, man is reduced to a zombie, the walking dead. So it would seem that Henry is spot on, for without liberty, man is dead already.
I wholeheartedly agree, vehicular homicide is nevertheless homicide, and its aimless, haphazard nature would seem to instill terror much like rogue airliners.
Update (11/2/2017) I'm completely dumbfounded to discover that the driver hailed from Uzbekistan, my Word, he was a follower of Muhammad. he conformed to the Religion of Peace. Being human, a pattern recognition machine, I sense a recurring phenomenological theme. One occurrence might be a freak one off, September 11, 2001. A second point defines a line, Ft. Hood. "Allahu Akbar," anyone, anyone, Bueller, Bueller.
This is the third point, that confirms a pattern; the Religion of Peace strikes again. Note: I was utilizing the rhetorical device of irony, I was not dumbfounded, I suspected he was an Islamofascist all along. ISIS is even taking credit, As my German Grandma would say, "Achtung liber," which roughly translated is "Warning in a familiar way," and an expression of caution, like, "look out."
I spent a bulk of time in primary and middle school, not ever really knowing what I was, I just knew I did not believe all of what my teachers were trying to shovel my way.
In high school is where my ideology finally coalesced. Sophomore year I decided that a sea change for my life was in order. I joined the speech & debate and mock trial teams, all of my teammates were older than me by a couple of years. They were folks whom were known throughout the neighborhood as upstanding people. I thought they were all pretty cool; they were all progressives, all nerds; I was the latter not the former, however, that's not really an issue when you're 15, and they didn't flout it.
One night when we were returning home from across town at a showing of award-winning foreign commercials, my friend's car wherein I was passenger was struck, T-boned where I was sitting. This left me comatose for 10 days. Upon regaining consciousness, I couldn't eat, speak, hold up my head, do much of anything. I had severe brain damage. Major bleeds in the right basal ganglia, leaving me with uncomfortable muscle spasms on my left side; and my right hypothalamus, leaving me perennially thirsty and cold That's where the long slog begins, the journey to get back to good. After a couple years of outpatient rehab, I returned to high school; sure, only a couple of hours a day that first year, but I expanded my course load each year, thereafter; during the summer times taking entry level courses at the local community college to try to make up for lost time, until I graduated in the spring of 2000. Better late than never.
That fall, I began matriculating at the local Southern Baptist University, which I chose for its proximity, smaller class sizes, spiritual focus, and the fact that neighbors had gone there didn't hurt either.
After changing majors once, pursuing that path for a while, I ultimately returned to my initial curricular direction general biology, I incorporated those scholastic meanderings into my social sciences minor. Graduating in May of 2005, cum laude, I'd sooner rather than later develop that minor into a link to a master's study in graduate school.
Upon stumbling on to a brochure, lying on the kitchen table, which was addressed to my mom for the local campus of the main state college, I figured 'why not,' took initiative and contacted the enrollment adviser at the business school, Nancy Gonzalez I believe was her name but don't take that as Gospel ('twas long ago), as to what steps I'd need to take to ameliorate the enrollment process.
She informed me of an open house that would be held soon on the campus. My mom and I went, got the information I needed to get, and I then proceeded to get my records transferred from my college to my future graduate school. The websites were workable, even if not entirely easy to use. I just recalled all of the computer information systems classes that I took as an undergraduate, used my innate computer savvy and muddled my way through the process. The brochure was to advertise that the campus was about to transition into an undergraduate campus to feed the main university, which would soon be strictly graduate programs; but this was my chance to get a business degree (which ever since seeing Risky Business, I've always considered to be the brass ring), close to home, and relatively inexpensively. Can't beat that.
I thought it would behoove me to strike while the iron was hot. With the full support of my internship director on and off breaks, I studied the material for the entrance exam, and when I thought I was ready, I scheduled and took the exam. I did well on it, I don't remember the exact number, but it was good enough to get me in and matriculating with the SGML (ASU's School of Global Management and Leadership) class of '09. Since I started in 2006, I was assured that my cohort was to take the bulk of our classes at the west campus. Indeed that was the case.
While in business school, my politics shifted from being a cautious Conservative Republican to a more of an easy come, easy go, life on a string, conservative Libertarian Republican, mindful that some times the worst action is inaction, to take full advantage of life's little opportunities, and there
is usually more than one way to do something.
I pursued my M.B.A. with an eye toward being a better investor; I'm using knowledge gleaned in business school to chart a better investment course going forward. While having a plan is important, I am ever cognizant to be nimbly opportunistic. And above all, to not let the perfect be the enemy of the good.
By getting a more holistic inculcation in the various aspects of the business endeavor, I feel I can be a better, more informed investor. Lessons learned during my business pursuits have mightily informed my political outlook. E.g., a penny saved is often better than a penny earned (no transaction, no taxation), be conservative yet also opportunistic (don't waste what is given to you, chiefly time), asking 'everybody else is doing it, so why can't I' is usually the wrong question, it's more aptly phrased (everybody else is doing it, so why SHOULD I), play to your core competencies. If something's not your baileywick, by all means outsource it to someone who can do it cheaper, faster, or to a higher quality standard. I feel that may just be the crux of what it means to be a Lazy Middle Class Intellectual, id est: play to your strengths, outsource the rest, where applicable.
If you remember Nirvana, Pearl Jam and Jane's Addiction as rock bands and not Buddhist ultimate peace and transcendence, something hippies might put on their toast and a malady you might use a twelve-step program to try and resolve, you might be a Gen-X'er.