Words to live by...
"How beautiful it is to do nothing, and to rest afterward."
[Spanish Proverb]
(The right to looseness has been officially given)
"Everyone carries a part of society on his shoulders," wrote Ludwig von Mises, "no one is relieved of his share of responsibility by others. And no one can find a safe way for himself if society is sweeping towards destruction. Therefore everyone, in his own interest, must thrust himself vigorously into the intellectual battle."
Apparently, the crossword puzzle that disappeared from the blog, came back.
When I started this blog, I had no idea what I was doing. Now, some almost 3 years later, that has not changed. Within a few months, I will close in on 1000 posts. I believe some of them have actually been read. I have revealed things about myself that my mother never knew (though I am sure she suspected). I tried not to commit libel. But, looking back, I find there has been much melancholy to my posting. Though there is much I laugh about in my past, most of it is viewed by me in a wistful manner. Do I rue the things I have done in the past? Possibly.
I should talk about Darlene. I met her through another girl whom I met through a woman my brother knew.
My brother had been roaming about while I had been going through boot camp and some schools in the Navy. After I got stationed on the Brinkley Bass and had returned from my first WesPac cruise, I got in touch with a woman he knew (whose name escapes me) who lived in the San Pedro area. She introduced me to Disneyland and to Elsie. Yes, Elsie. An unusual name and an unusual girl. Too young, though; only 16. But quite beautiful. This was not all that unusual in California, especially in and around Los Angeles.
We dated a couple of times but didn't hit it off well enough. I was a little apprehensive around her, she was (as they say) "jailbait" for a 20 year old. Instead, she introduced me to Darlene who lived across the street from her. Darlene was not as pretty and not all that unusual. Which made her stand out. But she was "legal" and that certainly helped me relax.
A mousey blonde (almost brown) who stood 5'1" and weighed maybe 98 lbs, she was not impressive. But she was smart and good and kind. She had passion, too. About life, about love, about music.
She was attending a community college when we met and eventually went on to Cal-Poly in San Luis Obispo. And, I hope, a happy and fruitful life.
I did my best to corrupt her, morally and otherwise, because that is what I was at that time in my life. She did her best to resist but probably didn't stand a chance. I don't think I had a lasting effect, though.
She was originally from Minnesota (not sure exactly where) and, I learned later, adopted. This had shaped her life, as I am sure it would have done to me.
We liked the same music, though she leaned more heavily on the light ballads of Simon and Garfunkel and Chad and Jeremy, while I leaned toward the Rolling Stones, Leonard Cohen, and Country Joe McDonald. And the Doors. The darker side of music in those days.
If I could sum up the relationship, it would be this song:
Simon and Garfunkel - The Dangling Conversation
It seemed an appropriate vision of our future.
I treated her badly. And I tried not to lead her on but it was almost impossible not to. I would say she led herself on. Her mother once told me she thought Darlene was in love. She didn't say with whom but it was pretty obvious.
We saw each other for about a year and a half. We shared dreams and passions, we groped and stumbled through the emotional entanglements of youthful relationships. I broke her heart one time too many one late afternoon in Long Beach when she showed up at my apartment after I had taken some LSD and was drinking (Ouzo... good stuff) with my roommate in preparation for a Led Zeppelin concert that evening and I never saw her again.
I suppose there is always someone in everyone's life that we wonder about, a past love we lose track of but always wonder about.
Darlene is mine.
I hope you look back on our time, Darlene, and think of me kindly. Or at least not so badly as I do.
Among my occasional obsessions is music... specifically, music from my younger, more avant-garde days. While I was in the Navy, and for a short period after it, I went to a lot of rock concerts. Usually stoned out of my mind. While at these concerts I would sometimes hear bands that I had never heard of before and be enthralled by their musical ability and innovation. I would then look for any albums they might have out when perusing the music section of my local "head shop", purchasing them whenever I found a familiar name.
Later, at my apartment, I would play the album and say to myself "What the heck was I thinking????" because it would be more noise than music. Not always, mind you, some of these obscure bands were pretty good but often enough to leave me with a bunch of albums of failed musicians. Many of which I still have... gathering dust in another room.
Recently, Faye (love of my life) has been scouring the internet for music to replace her old collection. She was heavily into Soul and R&B back in the day and had an extensive vinyl collection. Most of which ended up scratched and damaged from being played at parties where too many drunken hands were involved in choosing and playing the dance music. Of course, she mentioned what she was doing and it reminded me that I was going to digitize my album collection. Being a procrastinator I have successfully put that off for about 5 years now. Not a record but close, there are things that I have put off for decades
Rather than figure out how to get this turntable to work with Windows 7 (rather than Win98 which I had when I bought it) without having to install iTunes on my computer, I decided that I might be able to grab enough of the old songs to forestall ever attempting to rip (a technical term meaning "copy to computer from a CD or other source") that music from vinyl.
And, so, for the past few days (between golf games) I have been glued to my computer roaming the internet for various musicians and groups from mostly the 60's.
It's just another addiction. Each time I find an old group or song, it brings to mind other groups and other songs and then I have to (yes, "have to") find them and get copies. My collection of music now fleshes out to 15 Gig plus and is still growing. It ranges from the 1920's to current and from novelty music to Swing to Golden Oldies to Blues to Psychedelic Rock to Heavy Metal to classical (love that Bach) to country to jazz and some which seem to have no category.
There is no end to this madness.
Devo; (I Can't Get No) Satisfaction
So, Mr. Obama has rescheduled his very important speech on jobs that he announced was to be on Wednesday, September 7th. That announcement caused a bit of a kerfluffle because it would be on the same night as the Republican debate. An obvious political conflict. Not just for those who are political junkies (that 10% of the population) but for NBC which was to air the Republican debate. Speaker of the House John Boehner objected, as did a few others, and the White House announced that it is moving the president's speech to Thursday, the 8th.
A smart move. But one wonders. Was this all contrived? Was the announcement made without checking what else is scheduled for that evening? Could the White House be that uninterested that they weren't aware of the debate being scheduled for that night?It would boggle the mind if they weren't aware of it. Of course they knew it, the initial scheduling was intentional.
Normally, an informal request by the White House is made of the Senate and the House (meaning Reid and Boehner) for a joint session, it is accepted, and then the announcement is made. That obviously did not happen. And that would be on purpose.
There have been numerous commentaries about this with Democrats minimizing the conflict and the Republicans maximizing it. Where you stand (politically) greatly influences your level of interest and concern.
What I saw was presidential arrogance. Then I started to consider the strategy involved. Politicians are people and, therefore, do stupid things occasionally. That's why they hire consultants to run campaigns, speechwriters, and lawyers. It would be hard for me to imagine that no one on the president's staff, no trusted adviser, brought up the conflict with the date. If I was president (and pray I never am), I would fire all of them for missing that... and then berate myself for overlooking it.
I think the plan was to make the announcement, have some Republicans (preferably the candidates for the Republican nomination) complain bitterly and make stupid comments, and then "graciously" re-schedule in a couple of days, seemingly befuddled over the whole thing.
The target is 487 yards away but you stand there,
contemplating, worrying, thinking.
The mind focuses, the heart settles, the muscles fall into that space between taut and loose.
The first step; thinking smooth, smooth, smooth and graceful.
Contact is made and the ball flies true.
A sigh of relief and then the tenseness of anticipation returns for the next shot. It's the long layup. No hook, no slice, please be straight. And it is. And, now, just 110 to the hole, the end is in sight.
The negative thoughts creep throughout your brain, dripping poison, spreading the fog of fear in the deepest recesses of your mind.
You focus until there is only the ball, the white orb, driving all else from your mind. Pushing away all the things that can go horribly wrong. You lift the club, drawing it back, back, back... coiling, trying to tighten the body but stay relaxed, it's all a contradiction. You pause just a bit longer at the apex before the release, before the arms, hands, and club come swiftly down where all things meet at the little white ball there on the ground.
And then it's away, you have no more control over anything and you stand there waiting, trying to will the ball to go where you intended.
It flies and you see it going toward the flag. Your heart starts to beat faster, your thoughts race... will it reach? Will it stay on that wondrous, perfect, line?
And then it hits the turf of the green... a bounce, another bounce, still straight and true... it rolls toward the pin... and then past it and on and on until it rolls off the back and up the small mound, into the heavy rough.
Every time, no matter what.
It is the grand mystery of the 18th green.
I don't have anything today. Nothing is bothering me (very much anyway), nothing interesting has happened to me of late, and I haven't paid much attention to the world around me in the past several days.
It's the "Dog Days" of summer, those overly hot and humid (sweaty) days in August that just drain one's soul, that are to blame. The "Dog Days" are especially bad down here in Paradise because the humidity, which is high most of the year, reaches saturation point about this time. I do not wear hats much (in spite of my "thumbnail" photo over there to your right) except when doing yard work (a rare event these days) or playing golf (a not rare event at all). The hats I wear playing golf and yard work get soaking wet where they touch the head or hair.
That is how I learned just how much salt is shed through perspiration. Whatever color the hat is, there is a sweat stain and in the sweat stain is a white, almost powdery, substance; salt. I tried putting a strip of cloth in the inside hatband to sop it up but that didn't work. After awhile of worrying about it, I just gave up. I mean, who cares really? I am not dressing to impress on a golf course and certainly not in my own yard, so what does it matter that my hat is stained and has blotches of white?
The hats are cheap, since I am, and unimportant. I have only one special hat and I never wear it. I don't like hats much but you need something to keep the sun off your ears and face so I wear what are called "bucket hats" when I am going to be outdoors in the sun for any period of time. I didn't do that when I was young. Never wore a hat growing up. Didn't wear sunglasses much, either.
Must be age.
Oh, wait... I do have something... How would you like to take a quiz? It's about things in the news and politics.
[Click here]
