A place to indulge my narcissism... and write stuff...

Succession Depression

I don’t know what it is about September, but it seems to throw me into a funk. Last night after watching S2 E6 of “Succession,” I said to Beth, “I think I’ve had it with this show. I don’t like what it’s doing to me.” As John Paul Jones and Jimmy Page co-wrote, “Lyin’ Cheatin’ Hurtin’ That’s All You Seem To Do.” That’s how I feel about the awful characters on the show. It’s a night-time soap opera about rich entitled assholes modeled on the Fox News-owning Murdoch family. That makes me wonder why I began watching it in the first place, but hey – some people love it.

The shitty feeling I had after consuming a couple of episodes last night made me think about why. As is my wont, I searched and found a few articles/blog posts on the concept, “You Become the Content You Consume.” Bingo. I don’t want to become like those people, so why consume their rotten ways? I don’t want to get soul poisoning.

In that vein, I’m also cutting back on ingesting political content, especially Orange Soul Crush. Of the 54 days and 12 hours of podcasts I’ve listened to since October 22, 2017, political casts have dwindled. My current top listens are:

As for the September slump, the only thing I can recall clearly is not working out much during them. Maybe it’s recovery time from busy summers or just the doldrums of facing another winter. Not this year. I’m working on consistency with my new bike, so hopefully I can keep that going right into the Fall until New England weather forces the cycling indoors. For now, it’s a beautiful day, so I need to get on my bike and ride!

Hip Check

No, not this kind. That would probably hurt more than I’d like right now. Anyway, today I’m 18 days post-op on hip replacement #2 and as Larry David would say, I’m feeling “pretty pretty pretty pretty good.” It’s funny (strange) because my surgeon told me this (right) one “was tough to get out” and was in worse shape than the left hinge he replaced in late September. The first week was rough as the surgical trauma was more intense this time, so more of all the bad stuff like pain and swelling, but the combo of ice and Tylenol Extra-Strength while lampin’ like Larry and Leon got me to the point where I needed neither pretty quickly. Oh, and I didn’t take any of the Oxy, either. Yeah, I think that was part fear, and part trying to be a tough guy, but I won’t overthink that past.

On Monday during an in-house Physical Therapy session with Kristie, I asked, “when will I be able to get on my stationary bike?” She shuffled through some notes and replied, “I don’t see any restrictions.” What? I thought it would be 4-6 weeks for that, but no, and minutes later I was pedaling away, largely pain-free. I was sooooo happy! Since then, I’ve done a couple of five-minute sessions each day plus my PT exercises and aside from some achiness, the flesh and bone surrounding my new bionics are healing, stretching, and strengthening. Outpatient PT starts next week, and while I know Joyanna will hurt me, I won’t hold it against her because she’ll be pushing and pulling me toward the day I get on my road bike. Just thinking of that has me a bit verklempt.

Speaking of looking forward… Well, wait. One thing meditation has taught me is to pay attention and enjoy the moment. Like now. Well, I’m sitting in my home office laptop pecking and listening to the Pernice Brothers, “Overcome By Happiness,” a pop masterpiece released in 1998. Oh, man. What a record that hold up 25 years later. You should go buy it right now. So, back to the future. Dave of “Dave and Jeff” fame will be making an area appearance for a May 18th show with the aforementioned band where they will play “Overcome” in its entirety! Big D also has never been to Fenway Pahk, so we’ll try to catch a ballgame. Yep. Overcome by happiness.

Nestin’ and Lampin’

Today I:

  • Worked on some day job stuff
  • Paid bills and filed forms due for my son
  • Completed and submitted Federal and State taxes for 2022
  • Prepped Pasta Fagioli and Bolognese sauce for the week

It seems I’m in a pre-surgery “nesting” phase, but I did not:

  • Wash and fold all your clothes, towels, and sheets – Nope. Beth loves to do that!
  • Deep clean all areas in your bathroom – I pay Fran for that
  • Purge unwanted items that do not spark joy – See “bills” above
  • Finish any incomplete home projects – That’s not happening either…

You see, my right hip is in what professionals call a “bone on bone” state, and while it’s painful and debilitating, based on what I read online, my symptoms aren’t nearly as bad as some suffer, though since… Well, I often like to quote lyrics in my posts, so:

The foot bone’s connected to the leg bone.
The leg bone’s connected to the knee bone.
The knee bone’s connected to the thigh bone.
The thigh bone’s connected to the hip bone.
The hip bone’s connected to the backbone.
The backbone’s connected to the neck bone.
Doin’ the skeleton dance.

See, with all those connections, having a bum hip really rules out any kind of dancin’ and many other activities we humans enjoy, including home projects. However, for the record, I did snowblow and shovel the 21 wet and heavy inches we got dumped on us last Tuesday, so there.

Anyway, my surgeon did a great job replacing the left joint back in September and I’m hoping for a repeat performance on Tuesday. Incredibly, anterior hip replacement surgery is an outpatient procedure for yours truly, so by Tuesday night I’ll be lampin’ like Larry and Leon here and ridin’ my bike a couple of months later. See you on the other side, Slick.

Rust Never Sleeps

The last communication I had with my future brother-in-law was on January 20th, closing a text discussion on the passing of David Crosby. Shawn wrote, “One more and we can get on with our day…one of my favorites” and included a link to a video of Neil Young’s “Powderfinger” from the album, “Rust Never Sleeps.” Looking at the lyrics now reveals a foreshadowing.

Just think of me as one you’d never figured
Would fade away so young
With so much left undone
Remember me to my love
I know I’ll miss her

Powderfinger – Neil Young

With the glow of the Rust Never Sleeps cover fronting the video, I became curious about the term. In “Thrasher’s Wheat – A Neil Young Fan’s Chronicles,” I found this interpretation: 

‘The meaning of the phrase “Rust Never Sleeps” is quite ambiguous. Some consider the term to be a metaphor for artistic vitality. In other words, by staying the same, one is vulnerable to the corrosive effects of aging and obsolescence. By moving forward and innovating, one can try and stay ahead of the relentless onslaught of time, remain vital and “rust free”.’

Another reference to rust on Young’s classic record is from the haunting song, “My My, Hey Hey (Out of the Blue).”

It’s better to burn out than it is to rust.

Shawn was a creator. In a heartfelt tribute, his boss Steven Green, editor and publisher of the Maryland Coast Dispatch wrote that “during his 23 years with the newspaper he wrote more than 20,000 articles.” Shawn was such a force a local competitor also honored him. If that 20,000 number is boggling your mind as it did mine, I’ll do that math for you. It’s over 17 articles per weekif he took two weeks of vacation a year, and I don’t think he did. Beth says Shawn’s work ethic was like that of their Dad, Owen who in her words, “never missed a day of work in his life.” The Soper’s I know all share that trait, but for Shawn, the 20,000 article thing was just one vocation. He also loved his work in the restaurant business and as a bartender. The combination resulted in many long days and nights.

Fifty-nine. When we lose a loved one, sometimes we consider it, “before their time.” I’m sure the family’s 91-year-old matriarch feels this way. Beth and I were talking about that the other night. The duration of a human life is just one dimension and as Einstein taught us, time is relative. The creative process can be extremely stressful and draining. Think of the many creative human beings – artists, writers, actors, musicians – who passed “before their time.” Still, they left us so much and did it all in the amount of time life allotted them. Maybe Shawn lived his 90+ years in just 59. One thing is for sure. He didn’t rust.

My Left Hip

Welcome to my annual… Well, post since I haven’t written one for exactly a year and I’m not sure where to go with this New Year’s Eve edition. Peer ahead? Look behind? Just be in the moment? That last one is the place to be since it’s the only place we really are. Man, this writing thing is a struggle now. Maybe I’ll just tell a story.

Six years ago tonight was the big fall. Ice and gravity conspired to crash my evening to the pavement in a microsecond slam of glass, ribs, and cartilage. No blood, though. The only red liquid running down my street that night was the contents of a Hitching Post Pinot Noir crushed between my ribcage and the street. With the shiv of pain in my side from every breath, I didn’t have the focus to realize my left hip also slammed into the uncompromising icy asphalt.

The ribs slowly healed and the hip degenerated. I saw an Orthopedist a couple of times whose advice was, “when it affects your quality of life then you can have it replaced.” Years passed and gradually normal life stuff became difficult if not impossible. I’m talking about things like putting socks on and getting on my bike. Now, whether I’m buying a $6.99 Fitbit Sense replacement charger or contemplating hip replacement surgery, I research it. I quickly found a podcast called New Approaches to Hip and Knee Replacements, learned about anterior (access through the front) hip replacement surgery, further researched Dr. Matthew Sloan, and made an appointment to see him. Although I’d been experiencing pain in both hips and knees, x-rays showed healthy cartilage and no issues in either knee. The opposite was true for the hips, especially the left one which was “bone on bone” with bone spurs. Real ones. Not the fake kind to avoid military service, but I digress. Anyway, we scheduled surgery for September 27th.

I’ll add some gory details coming up, but the entire Emerson Hospital staff was fantastic. Now for the gory stuff. After receiving a “spinal,” I laid on the operating table mildly freaking out over not being able to move my toes (that’s kind of the point of the procedure), but I was soon mostly unconscious from the accompanying “twilight” anesthesia. Part of the procedure included “robotic assist” to ensure precise measurement of cuts and placement of the new hip joint. Anyway, at one point in the procedure, an attendant said, “Uh, he’s starting to move.” I was told going in that the spinal could wear off and that they’d give me general anesthesia if it happened. It must have been during this time when I heard or dreamed what sounded like Wiley Coyote hitting a steel anvil with a sledgehammer.

left hip implantIt was an in by 6 AM, out by 6 PM day, and I was able to get by on a steady diet of ice packs and acetaminophen. I used a walker for a couple of weeks and then crutches for two more. Recovery was excellent, but physical therapy can be rough. I’m still in it and what I’ve found is that when you’re babying a painful joint, you tend to avoid moving it much so the range of motion and everything that makes that range possible (muscles, tendons, nerves) kind of goes dormant. Reanimating all of that through stretching and resistance exercises is painful, but so worth it. Oh, and if you ever go through this, don’t jump right back to work – like the very next day. Although I was just sitting in my home office, healing from a serious wound requires both physical and mental rest so that all of your being can be focused on healing.

I’m still in PT twice a week and exercise at home, including cardio on a stationary bike. My “resolution” for 2023 will be to make those home workouts a consistent 3x per week thing, but while the left hip has NO PAIN, the right one is yipping for attention. I’m hoping to get through the snow-clearing season and “have some work done” on my right hip in mid-March with a goal of being outside riding my bike by May.

Oh, and the broken ribs thing? I was on my way to neighbor Beth’s house across the street when the carnage ensued. My neighbor since became my fiancée, but she recently sold her house and moved.

Across the street.

The Time of Our Lives

It’s funny this tweet crossed my feed the morning after contemplating my insignificance during two sleepless (2-4 AM for those keeping score) hours early Thursday morning. For some reason I began thinking of my ancestry and that I really had no knowledge of family beyond my paternal grandparents, just two generations back. My mom’s parents were both deceased by the time she was seven, so she barely knew them, but I knew Mike and Lillian (Coleman) Daley. Lil’ the Thrill had a big impact on my life and actually saved it one night when then 16-year-old me came home past curfew deathly ill. While my grandmother accurately diagnosed my plight as “just a bug,” my mom was being a stickler for details and speculated while lunging at me that it was, “a beer and cigarette bug.” Anyway, Lil threw herself in front of me like she was Kevin Costner in “The Bodyguard” and I’m here writing this post.

Where was I? Oh, yeah. The generational thing. Having gone back in time, I then reversed the analysis to determine what future generation won’t know anything about me besides, “Oh, Nana Mackenzie told me he was a character.” Hey, I could do worse. In some ways, and besides actual genetics, the impact we have on subsequent family generations is fleeting, but in others it’s immortal. It’s like what Doc said to Marty in “Back to the Future,” “Figure it out, kid. Your old man was supposed to get hit by your Grandpa’s car, not you — therefore, you interfered in your parents’ first meeting. If they don’t meet, they don’t fall in love; if they don’t fall in love, they don’t get married; if they don’t get married they don*t have kids…” There are incalculable cosmic tumblers that have to fall into place to determine someone’s fate, so any actions we take or don’t can impact the fate of future generations, so let’s try to make them positive. A smile, a kind word, a gentle touch.

Which brings me to this day. This is the end before the beginning of a new year. What are you going to do with this time? Not just today, but with whatever days you have left. I’m working right now instead of being at a Van Gogh exhibit with my family in Boston – which has me questioning my life choices right there, although the upside is limiting my exposure to the COVID-19 Omicron variant, a decent life choice, imo.

In his book, Four Thousand Weeks: Time Management for Mortals, Oliver Burkeman explains that’s roughly how many you’ll experience if you live to be 80. I’m reading it now and recommend it, but in case you choose other things to do with your remaining time, check out, I Read It So You Don’t Have To: Four Thousand Weeks. In Matthew McFarlane’s summary, he writes about “finitude,” which I interpret as the understanding that you only have roughly (80 – your age) X 52 weeks left. (Mom, don’t worry. I think you’re getting closer to 4,700 weeks…)

Our choices of what to do with those weeks define our lives and can have a lasting impact on others. So, what are you going to do with your weeks?

Shine A Light

I made it through 2021’s Fat Thursday, “Black Friday,” and “Small Business Saturday.” What the hell day is it today? Or is this just a day of rest before “Cyber Monday?” I vowed to not spend any money on Black Friday, but I did, just not on any “deals.” OK, fine. I saved $1.04 at Thriftbooks using a coupon code for “The Moral Animal: Why We Are The Way We Are: The New Science of Evolutionary Psychology” by Robert Wright. I also purchased two of Wright’s other books, “Nonzero: The Logic of Human Destiny,” and “The Evolution of God.” I’d previously read his “Why Buddhism is True” and it was excellent. I also subscribed to his Nonzero newsletter and am a big supporter of his Apocalypse Aversion project. Maybe we can save ourselves. As an example, every Friday Wright reaches “across the aisle” on his “The Wright Show” podcast to his long-time frenemy, Mickey Kaus, an unapologetic Trump supporter for civil discourse on events of the week. It’s funny and informative.

On to technology toys. In order to read those books at night from a horizontal position, the bedside illumination needs to improve, so I researched and purchased an OttLite® Infuse LED Desk Lamp with Wireless Charging. It just arrived and the wireless charging part works. We’ll see about the reading part later.

Will I cry when I retire?

Last night, Beth, Kyle, and I were binging, “Grace and Frankie,” our latest after a run out of COVID lockdown of “Schitt’s Creek” (3X), “Downton Abbey,” and “The Komiskey Method,” among others. One thing I like about “G&F” and “Komiskey” is the perspective of older characters played by legends including Jane Fonda, Lily Tomlin, Alan Arkin, and Michael Douglas. I can relate. To the “older” part. In one scene last night, Sol, played by Sam Waterson is trying to convince an older administrative assistant that “the time has come” for her to retire. She ends up turning the conversation on him with a revelation that “the time had come” for him, too. When Sol got home, there was a symbolic ground-level shot of his worn leather brief-bag hitting the floor, and his husband, Robert (Martin Sheen) asking what’s wrong. Weeping, Sol told Robert he had retired.

Beth and I glanced at each other as we often do when a scene or even a line in these shows strike a chord. “I wonder if we’ll cry,” I asked. “I don’t know.” I suppose the circumstances will participate in that outcome. Will our retirement be voluntary or involuntary? Being shown the door might produce the 5 stages of grief along with an opening of the tear ducts, yet even a willing departure will likely carry old brief-bags of emotion, starting with wrestling the question, “Who am I now?”

Well, that begs the question, “Who am I now, now?” Well, I’m a father, mother, grand-father (but not, “Grandpa”), friend, lover, future husband, brother, son, cousin, uncle, chef, writer, comedian, mentor, counselor, thinker, observer, inquisitor, star-gazer, meditator, empath. Certainly, I’m otherwise positive and negative characteristics depending on who you ask. It’s odd, though. Nowhere in there did I mention, “Director, Learning & Community Technology,” my current job title, even though I’ve spent 50-60 hours a week being that guy or some variation of him for the last near-forty years.

OK, so maybe I won’t cry about not attending meetings, answering emails, writing user stories, or designing a web experience, but I may cry about a big part of my existence now being behind me and not nearly as much time ahead. But not today. Not right now. Right now, I’m going to be a few of those things in the list above and be them while grateful for the privilege of experiencing this wonderful life.

Passage of Time

Slim Pickins shouting, “Somebody’s gotta go back and get a shitload of dimes” at a tollbooth in the middle of the open desert may be my favorite line and scene from Mel Brooks’ 1974 slapstick comedy, “Blazing Saddles.” Two things I didn’t remember from the film are the liberal use of the n-word and that some of the Western scenes were filmed at Old Tucson in, uh, Tucson. The latter fact hit me just before the credits began rolling. I thought the scene looked familiar so I looked it up and my recollection was correct. In fact, I’d been on that perch (1) many times in college (when I absolutely should not have been) and last in 2016 when I snapped this pic from atop it looking down at the old film location. I will say it was much easier navigating that hill as a drunk 20 year-old even if it was in the dark.

This morning, as I looked at the picture I took last night, the markers of time in it intrigued me. Time is a trip.

  1. The peak overlooking Old Tucson and just above Gates Pass behind it is part of the Tucson Mountains, formed from volcanic eruptions during the Triassic-Jurassic period -190-200 million years ago. Most of my time spent there was more recently.
  2. The leaded glass cabinet and fireplace in my home were built with it in 1930.
  3. The Yamaha HTR-5640 home theater receiver was purchased in 2003 and before I kept track of all spending in Quicken. I’m guessing it was in the $299 range, but now I see it on Amazon for $19,999.00 so… Inflation. It still works and I’ve been able to add Roku to it, so yeah…
  4. After spending the first 17 years of my career with NEC, I displayed some brand loyalty by laying out $3,175.00 for a 42″ plasma HDTV on January 14, 2006. Today, one can pick up a similar-sized unit for under $200.
  5. I’m not sure when the low coffee table that holds the TV was made. I’m thinking the 60’s, but I picked it up at a Habitat for Humanity ReStore for $58,36 on December 26, 2012.
  6. 1 of 3 (Google) Nest wi-fi points purchased August 19, 2020 for $299. Highly recommended. One is in the basement where the Fios signal comes into the house. One is above the TV to aid my cable-free streaming, and one is in my home-office listening to me type right now…
  7. Monochrome photo with my daughter, Megan on her wedding day, August 24, 2020. I’m not going to mention what that cost, but having your daughter say, “it was the best day of my life?” Priceless.

“My mind is a raging torrent, flooded with rivulets of
thought cascading into a waterfall of creative alternatives.”
– Hedley Lamarr, played by Harvey Korman in “Blazing Saddles”

My Trump-supporting friends and family

We’re 30 days from the Presidential Election and despite over 20,000 lies, raging narcissistic adolescent behavior, and proactive mismanagement of the COVID-19 pandemic that’s contributed to over 200,000 deaths, Donald Trump is still polling nationally above 40%. How can that be? To answer, “who the fuck are these people,” I’m going to build some anonymous profiles of the people I know who to this day support the worst President in American history.

The Evangelicals
They say they don’t like Trump and his antics, but they LOVE Mike Pence and think it’s god’s plan to have him ascend to the presidency. Oh, and the abortion thing. I would not want to go through life claiming to follow the teachings of Jesus but not actually following the teachings of Jesus. Oh, and Melania Trump said, “Who gives a fuck about Christmas?” Imagine if Michelle Obama had said that. Whoa.

The Boston Herald / Howie Carr fans
These blue-collar folks have been reading the Boston Herald for years and simply absorbed the conservative bent of the paper and some of its Trump-loving writers like Howie Carr. The foundation of their politics is that black people in Boston all are on Welfare and drive Cadillacs so they don’t want their taxes paying for that. They also were sounding the alarm bells like Paul Revere when “the Caravan” was hyped to be headed North from Central America. So yeah, they believe in all forms of racist fiction.

The Tradesman
Again, a blue-collar guy with a raging hate for Barack Obama and of course, Hillary Clinton. He’s also triggered at the letters “BLM,” so that may be a hint of where he’s coming from.

The Old Man
I recall a conversation about politics with him around 2010. He knows the issues and his big one is immigration.  He looks the other way on the Trump three ring shitshow because Trump is tough on his key issue. Before I departed Facebook, I recall the “kids in cages” controversy was raging. I do think the old man had some empathy for their plight, but added, “their parents shouldn’t have brought them.

The Mom
No, not my biological mom. My brother from another mother’s mother. I don’t think she’s really into politics, but she’s incredibly supportive of her boys, including me, and two of them are red hats.

The Boys
Again, I think it’s the immigration thing and maybe taxes with my brothers from another mama. Mostly they just enjoy talking shit.

I grew up with many of the people portrayed in the profiles here and I know racism was alive and well back in the 1970’s in the Melrose-Wakefield (MA) area. Sadly, I think some of that lingers though I’ve never heard any of the people profiled here utter anything racist. Not that I recall, anyway. It’s been a long time, but I can recall moments from those days in these Jason Isbell lyrics.

I’m a white man looking in a black man’s eyes
Wishing I’d never been one of the guys
Who pretended not to hear another white man’s joke
Oh, the times ain’t forgotten

White Man’s World

Aside from the god-fearin’ and my second mom, a couple of themes that thread through all these MAGA boys are the tough guy thing and ballbusting. They fucking LOVE when Trump disrespects his opponents and anyone who dares disagree with him and they totally buy his tough-guy act. One other thing they have in common with Trump… They’ll never admit to being wrong.

Holding steady at 42.5.

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