Wednesday, September 16, 2009

Thinking too much about too little

Are you growing tired, like me, of rich and famous people complaining about the burden of being adored by millions and the burden of having too much spare cash.

I don't get why UFC is so huge. Pumped up, psychotic, sanctioned whalin' on each other by knuckle-dragging mouth breathers. I'll never order a Pay Per View of that "sport." On the other hand, I'll probably never order NFL Sunday Ticket either. And I love the NFL. Maybe it's an acquired taste.

Your dog is not my problem. Just as my dog is not YOUR problem. Put up a fence or buy a chain for pissakes.

You can take folks out of the trailer park but you can't take the trailer park out of some folks.

Really great neighbors are rarely seen in the wild. If you have more than a few, congratulations. You've overachieved.

If you update all the time about the same three topics on facebook or twitter, then rest assured you're boring the hell out of me, and possibly your real friends too. I don't care about your stuff. Show me the stuff you're made of.

Why doesn't the middle class become a new base in the political landscape. Certainly there's a lot of disagreement in that approach: left - right; liberal - conservative; pro-choice - pro-life; war - peace; big government - small government. However, as the backbone of the country in almost every measurable respect, the middle class feels the most adversity most directly from the ideas being batted back and forth like beach balls in Washington D.C. It's a game or job to the politicians and we don't really get it anyway once all the spin is done. Let's agree and acknowledge that we can have our own fringes and hot button topics; but more importantly, since we'll always be picking up the check, let's always do what's best for US in the process.

My taxes are high enough, thanks.

If you say you're a social media guru, I'm assuming you just got laid off. And, that the corporate suits don't get it. And you can stop acting like the expert already.

It's your civic duty to discourage douchebaggery in its infancy. If you see baglings (pre-douchers) and/or questionable behavior in your sons that will only lead to inflame this public nuisance further, then you have my permission to intercede... and I've got your back.

I wonder what I'll be amazed at when I'm a pasty old codger.

Sometimes I think Generation X -- for whatever reason -- is ill-equipped for meaningful relationships. I have no stats or research to back that up.

Further on Generation X, as a generation we were never called on to save our country from impending doom. Not like our fathers in Cold War tension and Vietnam, our grandfathers in World War II, or our great grandfathers in World War I. What exactly have we lost on a generational scale? What will emerge as a cherished leftover from what was essentially never lost? When the bell is rung, for whatever the reason, will Generation X answer the call? Is our legacy, if not the birthplace, then the realization of technology as a way of life and pillar of culture, socialistic bents, and taking me-first-beliefs to soaring new heights?

God Bless our brave and wholly volunteer military. To all who have ever worn a uniform for freedom, thank you. To those who have died in that service, my thanks will never repay what you've given in blood.

Whatever you care about is just another hue in the rainbow to everyone else.

Sometime in the evening if you look at the star Alpha Centauri A (link), that shining spec of light took 4.3 years to reach your eyeball. Others 100s of years, and still others 1000s. You're in for a total mind freak if you keep going, because some of the stars you see with the naked eye aren't even stars at all but entire galaxies a mere bazillion light years away. And they might not even exist anymore. Feel small yet?

I hope my kids hate me for all the right reasons.

I wrestle daily with spirituality. A friend recently pointed out I'd experienced a lot of religion and not enough truth. Anymore, I go out of my way not to write about the infinite, as my mind and ability to grasp such thoughts is finite indeed. All the best church cliches and Sunday school rhymes eventually become faded words and fruit not worth picking any longer.

If I see you first, I'm hiding. In the words of the George Costanza: "It's me not you."

Why are thoughts always random? By the time it's written out, edited and made ready for prime time, it hardly seems so random anymore.

Maybe more some other time.