So there's been another relative low achieved. There's fleas on the place. They suck. It's shitty. Nala the cat seems to be handling it better than I.
I think often of Caddyshack. I know how Carl feels. It's a struggle. These fuckers are going at it when I'm sleeping.
There was a fumigation already. It obviously didn't do the trick. It almost killed me, but what the hell? It didn't seem to do a damn thing to stop the next round. That stuff said it would kill the eggs, or hatchlings, or something. It seems to have produced a more resilient strain of flea.
There will have to be another fumigation. A bad one. It's getting nice outside, so I guess the tent is always an option.
This is being recorded digitally, mostly as a reminder that this particular now can't be visited again.
On the bright side, since I flatly refuse to discuss immediate family or work with my folks, we're more or less restricted to talking about fleas and personal fitness. "I think it was Jermaine Jackson that brought the fleas. I did this," I mentioned to the folks tonight over basketball.
They each looked at me funny. I guess the looks I perceived were the looks a guy could expect when he's named the last litter of Patty's kittens after the Jackson Five.
On a side note entirely, I think one of the estranged/presumed dead Jacksons came around this morning. There was another tom in the group, and the goddamn thing looks EXACTLY like the recently-late Pattymom. I nearly hit him with a BB, but it flew high and wide left. Jermaine is the only Jackson budgeted for the current tour. If there's some sort of hostile takeover, that's cat business, and I'll stay out of that. Jermaine should try and take care of the possum and raccoon first, I reckon. Me too.
Anyway, back to the Jacksons. They're the outside crew, and Jermaine has been around five years or so. He was here for the last big winter. We have an understanding of sorts. But part of that understanding never should have been me being stupid enough to leave the window of the F-150 down for a couple of months.
Patty was the main sleeper in the truck, historically. This has happened before. I'm pretty sure the fleas came from the F-150. There were tarps in there. I think I brought them in for cleaning, and shook out the start of something very, very bad.
I hadn't treated Nala for years. There haven't been fleas, that I've noticed. I'm noticing the shit out of them now, and that's when it's almost too late, by surface appearance.
The place is going to have to become spotless in order for this to work, I think. I'm not liking my chances. This would require a fundamental personality change. I suppose it's possible, but I'll obviously have to be the fellow getting it done. The fleas have to go. It's depressing.
Many battles have been lost (and won), but I am going to win this fucking war. Fucking fleas.
It appears that around the beginning of Mark's Gospel, the entire Bible had been entirely consumed by piracy. I wonder if the New Pirates are anything like those of the Old Piracy? What an odd collection of volumes...
Mark 1:
Jesus talks to himself: Those Old Pirate dudes said some stuff in Isaiah and Malachi was gonna happen someday. I gotta do some of that stuff, man. It was written.
John the Baptist baptises NPJC (New Pirate JC) and becomes NPJC's temporary manager. The tour encompassed Judea, Jerusalem and beyond, but the opening concert at the River Jordan set the stage for a whirlwind tour, complete with a splitting of the heaven and a speaking appearance by Cap'n Jehovah himself: Me Boy! Melikes! Walk the Plank, we see what ye be made of! 'Tis an order! Arrrgh!
And NPJC was cast into the temptations of the Satanic wilderness, bereft of any piracy whatsoever, for 40 days. On his return, he said, "It's time. Repent. Believe. Do. It." and a bunch of people did. Destined for stardom, NPJC found James and John struggling with their nets in the water. NPJC said, "Come. Fish for souls. It's easier." James and John followed. On the sabbath in Capernaum, NPJC and his posse pirated the shit out of the synagogue. An upset Jew apparently needed an exorcism, and NPJC came through in the clutch. NPJC was the biggest act in Galilee by this point.
Right after the synagogue exorcism, NPJC and his posse (DJs-Double-J feat. John, known later as DJ-3J, then DJ3Js, before the NPJC posse broke loose with their transition name da Boys and finally merged with the remaining Boyz-2-Cum, to settle on their tour name, DaDirtyDoz.) found Simon and Andrew. Simon's wife and mom were sick, so NPJC healed them. NPJC nearly doubled his posse in this one private show. NPJC had taken over Meek SA's crib, and that whole quarter of Capernaum was pretty much NP territory by this point, synagogue included. NPJC wisely fortified his new turf by healing all means of demonic and other ailment, and said: Dudes, let's go to the desert. NPJC, DJs-3J and Meek SA went out on a Galilee-wide tour, with NPJC preaching piracy and casting out demons.
A leper found the posse and plead for a private show with NPJC. This happened, and NPJC told the guy: Just tell one guy you saw me. Go to the synagogue, tell them Moses sent you to clean things up.
The leper told everyone but synagogue guy, and NPJC and da Boyz (his posse had chosen this temporary name while in exile) had to reschedule the entire tour, as virtually every town bailed on the bookings. They set up shop in the desert, and still drew decent crowds.
Mark 2:
By the time "Repent to Capernaum" hit the shelves, NPJC was the top-grossing show in Galilee. To kick off the tour, he forgave a fellow for having palsy. Critics were split on this performance, some calling it an act of compassion, and others (mainly Philistines) raged of the blasphemous nature of the act, citing various OP law.
NPJC said: Would you rather I tell him to walk? Go forth, dude.
The previously palsied man raised himself and left, and even the Philistines were mesmerized by the show. NPJC had never been more on top of his game, and he was just getting warmed up. Love him or hate him, the show couldn't be missed. NPJC, always with a keen eye for talent, scouted Levi and said: Come on.
So Levi joined da Desert Boyz with the tour turning heads nationwide for its irreverent and highly provocative nature. Wherever NPJC and da Desert Boyz went during that portion of the tour, there was sinning, and there was trouble. When NPJC and da Boyz were caught looting and pillaging corn on the sabbath, NPJC gave a longwinded and confusing rationalization of something OP David did way back in the day, and finished by saying: Sabbath's for people, not the other way around, dig? Dead men don't tell tales, anyway, dude. Argh, man.
Yes, Leviticus again. So many reasons to take a five-year break to tackle Mosaic Law, all of them good ones. The first seven attempts weren't enough. Had to come back for a couple, three more whippings. I'm going to try to look at the bright side this go around. Busted out an old family bible. Someone might just pirate the shit out of some Mosaic summation. 'Tis for the best, mateys! A long journey beckons, webe listen to the call of dead men. Santa Biblia also beckons me back, mayhaps?
Leviticus 1:
Jehovah becalls he Moses, bespake the tale of the blemish-free calves o'slaughter. Burn it at the altar, ye oblations me mateys, the blood be spattered 'bout by Aaron's mateys. Flay it, burn it more! Let they bleeds a bit o' severed head o'beast. Clean the guts avast the fire. If yebrings a lamb, burn it north o'altar, Aaron's mateys 'twil hack to shreds, but bekeeps it clean the guts. Be they birds to burn, take east o'altar, don't yebe eats the beasties, spray the blood about in its special place, and make the savor for Jehovah. 'Tis an order!
Leviticus 2:
More orders from Cap'n Jehovah to Moses, be he a land pirate o' tent.: Arrrgh! When ye makes me meals, don't scrimp. Keep me favorite condoments at bay! Basically, ye be gives me the best of your all, including ye oils and breads. Burn the best of ye wood for me fires, too. Ye be use the leavened bread on someone else's sweet savor, not mine! Arrgh! If ye be gives me the first-fruits, make sure ye use the covenant salt for more savor. Arrgh!
Leviticus 3:
Continued orders from Cap'n Jehovah: Arrgh! Ye be brings me peace-offerings, make 'em top notch, sailors! No booger baskets on me ship! Flay it, Aaron's mateys know what to do. Make the beasty bleed. Hack and flay at the door of the temple. Me sweet savor: 'Tis an order! Ye only brings me lamb? 'Twil please me none less ye be flayed the beastie into tiny parts, only a few ye be burn. The rest, Aaron's mateys be take care the stink, I'll have no kidney nor backbone nor such in me sweet savor! Arrrgh! A goat? Ye brings me a goat, I'll have less quarter with the goat than the lamb, but ye boys know to burn what you can. Frankly, methinks ye be makes mistake to eat the goat. 'Tis a recommendation. Arrrgh!
Leviticus 4:
Cap'n Jehovah orders Israel via Moses: When ye be sinners, ye can always kill a bull. This mayhaps make your account with me. But ye have to fuck around with the slayed beastie just right, or ye be no-account sinners in me log! Arrrgh! Ye have a sinner among yer mateys, ye best be singled out. Smack the gossip 'bout, methinks. Make it a mighty fine rum romp, me party. Sin all ye wants, but keep this part for me, matey: Mewants one of Aaron's mateys to do me special dance with the bullblood. 'Tis important! Ye be told this four times for four different accounts of sins, but me wants me bullblood, and methinks if the sin be witless or a political type, then the lamb or goat besuit me timberstiff. Just make sure Aaron's mateys ass off with the innards much more with the lamb or the goat when me sweet savor is bestaked! Arrrgh!
Leviticus 5:
Cap'n Jehovah discusses hygiene: Arrgh! Much is unclean! Ye be sins assing around with unclean beasts. Don't touch. Don't touch who touches it. Don't even look at it. Mekeeps a good crew, not an evil one. We be good pirates! When ye be sin a bit, admit it, sailor! As long as ye has goats for Aaron's boys, methinks playing around in carcasses is okay. Me just needs ye goat when ye sin this way. But there be much bureaucracy when ye be sin, me orders for peace offerings and sin offerings are much the same, but me head needsbe this way. 'Tis different! Arrgh. Aaron's mateys know what to do with the two young turtle doves and pigeons. Burn them! Burn only the parts I want burned. Tell Aaron's mateys what I like. Now, ye be have property disputes, loot and plunder the trespasser, take the shekels, he be put ye shekel in the temple fund. 'Tis an order!
Leviticus 6:
Cap'n Jehovah continues: Ye befinds a crook among ye pirates, charge 20% interest. And a ram for me. Methinks weneeds a talk about Aaron's mateys. They needsbe have a flame each night, all night, for me, at the altar. With a burnt offering, mewants the mateys wearing clean garments before spreading me ashes from me fire all about. 'Tis important! The meal offering, memakes mention again of me frankensense and me oil and be fine flour. No cheap stuff! Arrgh! Methinks ye know about the leavened bread? Mewants me offerings in specific portions. Damn specific. Take a tenth of an ephah of fine flour perpetually, half in the morning and half at night. Don't eat it. 'Tis mine! Burn it! Burn it, change ye clothes and spread me ashes 'bout! These places where ye needsbe kill me beasties be holy to me, and mewants the altar and me altar deck swabbed. Keep me altar clean, 'tis important!
Leviticus 7:
More Cap'n's orders: We betalks more o' the trespass-offering, methinks. 'Tis most holy! Arrrgh! Burn the fat! Spare the kidney--methinks it unclean! Eat ye mateys, Aaron's boys at least, be they manly. Ye be use me condiments fur yer special fare! Me makes mention of unleavened bread. Ye knows what methinks of the leaven? Me thought so, but methinks we speak again o' the bread. Spray ye the blood o' heave-offering. Me feels like 'tis a fair time to flail blood at me altar. Has memade mention o' me freewill-offering? Ye has no choice in this matter! Arrrgh! Methinks Aaron's boys beneeds reminder o' handling unclean beasties: Take no quarter! Arrrgh! Remind me laddies o' Israeli dock no eaties from me list!: No fat of ox or sheep or goat. No dead beasties befound. No blood. Aaron's boys beneeds a part of me heaves and peaces. 'Tis important! So ye knows no o' th' burnt an' th' meal an' th' sin an' th' tresspass off'rins, an' ye know o' the consecration and sacrifice o' the peace, and ye be much clear on me matter here, mateys! Arrgh!
Leviticus 8:
The Cap'n continues on Sinai: Methinks something missing from me plan...aha! Gather ye Aaron and he boys, get ye plenty of oil, a bull, a couple rams, and the unleavened bread. Get ye garments, get ye to the hall and do me bidding. 'Tis an order! Arrrgh!
Moses descends and goes to the entrance of the tent. His people are gathered there, and he attempted to explain: "Me laddies, hear me! 'Twas not me concoction. Cap'n Jehovah calls he play 'Th' Consecration.' We be do it fair justice, 'tis a fine show o' th' Cap'n! Can't be helped, me mateys, perform!"
What follows is a bizarre amalgamation of the seven previous chapters, followed by a forced isolation of seven days in the tent alone, presumably to think long and hard about all that had just occurred.
Leviticus 9:
The eighth day arrives, and there is a lecture from Moses to Aaron and the other sons of Israel about the next several rounds of sacrifice. "Cap'n Jehovah wants he encore! We mayhaps mix it up a bit. Cap'n's orders! We be do the sin, then the burnt, then the peace and meal, and we beputs on the glory o' show. The Cap'n wants to see it! He be here if we be do the show just right! 'Tis true!"
So the people of Israel dressed for the occasion, and nailed the performance. Cap'n Jehovah consumed the altar in apparent approval, and Israel dropped their heads to the ground in awe.
Leviticus 10:
Cap'n Jehovah's reviews were mixed, however. Turns out Nadab and Abihu burnt something the Cap'n didn't like, and he made it known via Moses. "Well me boys ye fucked up. On me team, we win as Israel and ye lose as Israel, so me be single out Nadab and Abihu, but methinks ye mateys out best pick up the slack, mayhaps repeat me best parts the show, and Aaron's boys maychoose get something right for once." And an elaborate amount of offering was performed on behalf of Nadab and Abihu, much blood was scattered about, and livestock elaborately mutilated, but this time in the proper order and time. This would not be the last time one party would pay for the sins of another in these volumes.
Good question. Something to do? That's the answer in one case, at least. I have to go back in time (if it exists) to try to answer the question in my case. My answer is still the one stated above. Something to do. The first eighteen months after quitting the drink were miserable in most ways. The positive was that there were no hangovers or unexplained absences. The down side of all this was that I wasn't drunk. I still wanted to be drunk every single day. Didn't want to drink socially, no. I wanted to be drunk. Still do.
I say this with a caveat: I want to not drink just a little bit more than I want to drink. I suppose that's been the case since the summer of 2009. Or I'd be drunk right now. Or dead. I was drinking enough that the dead thing was looking as likely as the drunk thing.
Not all goals are created equal. We all know this. If I set a goal to shave a cat and set it on fire, it's pretty easy to concoct a moral, practical, and legal argument that far superior goals are out there for the taking.
The Burden of Time: System vs. Goal
What can Dustin Hoffman teach us about setting goals? Not much, it turns out. Life isn't like Hollywood. Or at least, it didn't used to be. I don't know where the whole digitization of every single person's entire fucking life is headed (hint: Uh, actually...yeah, maybe I do, or at least have a perception of that "do".) but the entire fabric of American society is built upon escape these days. Terrorists: Keep 'em out! We've escaped 'em! Crime: Build more jails! We've escaped 'em! It's a little hard to live in a place where the response to roads and bridges crumbling is to defund highway maintenance to help subsidize the effective theft from the people of public schooling.
But there are oh, so many escapes! Social media? Why, it's the most perfect escape ever! Used to be a fun place to jump around, get caught up with old friends and see how people are doing, generally speaking. I am so close to the point of wanting absolutely nothing to do with that process, but have become more than a little convinced that virtually nothing is real, anyway.
I think there is very likely one "real" setup. Everything branches off this setup. I don't know where the real setup is located. I don't think it is here. We're living in an odd-ass time, friends, and I figure the odds of me living at exactly this time in exactly this way are either 100% or zero. Which do you think it might be? This is a binary distribution, so I have passed over the realm of probability and into statistic above. No one knows what the hell that is anymore, so again, a waste of time.
If time exists. I have now. Well, I have my perception of now. I can cling to that, in times (ha!) like this where the essence of all meaning has broken down more than a little bit. Been noticing for a while that tomorrow never comes. Will anything be different tomorrow? Yeah, everything will be different, as much as everything will be exactly the same. We'll have our little pleasantries and interactions, our faiths will be tested and revealed, and at day's end there will have been some marginal and/or massive change in each of our own lives.
Goals: The National Parks
What does it say of a man when his primary goals are nearly completely accidental? The past couple large ones were by much better construction than the first two. I don't even recall at all what I was thinking when these were concocted, or if there was even a preconceived notion at all. All I knew was that that initial fog had passed, whatever the hell that was. It's all weather. I think there was just some day when I said to someone, or perhaps only to myself, "I think I'm going to see all the National Parks."
Petrified Forest Marathon View of the Painted Desert
I know this for goddamn sure, whenever I uttered that phrase in mind or voice, there wasn't a clear understanding of what the hell was going to have to happen for it to occur. What a scattershot mess. I wouldn't trade what I've seen to this point for any other experience so far in life. It's been going away the most rewarding concoction of mind, and it certainly wasn't an original thought.
There must have been more than a little credit for inspiration to Ken Burns. Back when I had television, I loved his documentary work. I'm sure I still do, but haven't had exposure to anything the man has done since it first aired on PBS. I don't remember him mentioning there were 58 (now 59, because, time.) but I would bet a large sum of money it was mentioned once, if not often. Wait, I don't have any money to bet. Sorry!
God damn. That's a big goal. All I really knew at the time of this decision, I can say with near certainty, is that I didn't appreciate what the hell a stunt like this would actually require. It would have been insane to state some sort of goal like this without knowing the ins and outs of the whole process. My answer to doing the necessary research was to set a time limit for the entire operation.
I often say I am uncertain I've made one good decision in my life, but with the passage of a little time, my conclusion is that this was an essential decision to make. The limit was set for the end of the decade, I'd declared at the beginning of the current one. I don't count 2010, because that was way back in the dark age, along with the tail end of 2009. That whole mess must now be considered a necessary extension of the actual time spent drinking, because it was a mirror image in those moments.
So, by my definition, I have until the conclusion of the year 2020 to finish this deal. SOB would I love to finish by 2019. I want to settle down a little. Wow. I just wrote that sentence.
To this date, I lack eight parks in Alaska, two in Hawaii, two in California, Maine, American Samoa, and the Virgin Islands. Is that right? It has to be right. I think. Fifteen more. That sounds right. Four years seems a whole lot more doable than three. I was doing a little mental math, way back in the day, apparently.
Goals: Road Racing Fifty States
Once the running was emphasized, I had a dumbshitted and briefer goal of running a marathon in every state. Within five years of stating such rubbish, it was obvious my body wouldn't go through such a stunt without substantial bad medical operations. Fuck that nonsense. A permanently modified goal was set to run a road race in every state. Notice how I didn't set a limit on the road race? I like what I did there. To this point, I've counted only the half-marathons (or equivalent distance therein) for my mileposts.
Jackson Hole Marathon, Mile 2
At March, 2017, I've run road races in sixteen states? This sounds absurd now, but I guess this is right. It's absurd on a number of levels. The one that jumps out first at me is that there are fifty states in the Union. This is the type of thing that would make me a secessionist, but too many of those goddamn races are peppered across the south and west. It would fuck up my whole campaign. I've given myself as long as I fucking live to knock this one out, because this sort of nonsense eats up a fuckton of time. The prep work is horrific, and the time commitments to ramming in three races a year or so are numbing. So I can and do take my time on this one. I've got fairly decent health, because I'm running all over Douglas County all the goddamn time.
This thing is an extension of a goal set in childhood to see all fifty states. Still working on that one, but I think it is down to three: Rhode Island, Alaska, and Hawaii. Good thing they aren't spread out or anything.
Goals: Major League Ballparks
Baseball's always been my first love. It's just been that way. The timing was right. If I was ten years older, my love would likely be the goddamned Chiefs, but they would have killed me by now. I'd be drinking heavily if this were the case.
Kicking the drink made me put a lot of this emotional commitment bullshit in the trash can. I barely follow sport at all these days. I'm still prone to it--everyone is. I don't want to go back to living like a robot (a necessity at one point) whereby every single decision I made I tried to remove the emotion. That didn't work any more than emotional guidance. The answer is almost always in the middle.
San Diego, still missing the brown and gold.
Again, major props to Ken Burns. His Baseball documentary is an American masterpiece of film. So, naturally, a guy like me that's committed to happy feet and running all over the goddamn country has to make the thing a little more stupid by concentrating some activity on the most densely packed urban areas in North America. At this point, I could do without most of the cities, but that's where the ballparks are located. It seems like decent progress is being made here, I think the count is now eleven left. I've jumped all over this one, I like this stunt. It's expensive too, but I've blended it into the fabric of these other dipshitted things to do almost as well as I could.
Goals: Presidential Libraries
What's it say about a guy who adds Presidential Libraries to this list? Well, it says I'd very much like to finish all the lists, but am awfully impatient. The sprint to finish the ballpark thing is crucial. The number would be only nine if not for the constant addition of new facilities. I've been trying to stay out of the way of places known to suck, or that might relocate. This has been a blast. I've loved the libraries. I don't have to "do" anything, but can "be" and learn.
Bush 41, College Station, TX, view from bookstore.
What do these all have in common? They all have been essential to keeping me out of the bottle to this point, so they need their props here. It's the idea that there's something out there to look forward to. We all need this. Some have it in their kids, pets, themselves, their loves. Wherever it is, everyone has some concoction of this. For many, it's video games, some are passionate about all sport, I certainly was for a great deal of time.
This year, I have nothing on the calendar. Yet. This has to change, because I'm running out of decade. I'd imposed time limits on the ballparks, at least. Figured some bastard could always start adding libraries, and then I'd need more time.
