"...members of the Taurus tribe are about to be roused out of their plodding rhythm by a bolt of cosmic mojo. Get ready to rumble--and I mean that in the best sense of the word." Recent excerpt from "Free Will Astrology", by Rob Brezsny.
I usually don't even look at horoscopes. They're pretty much crap, right? Why, then, did I look at mine in the latest weekly city paper and get all hopeful? I think I wanted something to feel good about. Usually, it is fantasy that drives most of us or keeps us from totally packing it in. Sometimes fantasy is not seen as such and becomes part of our reality. Why do we do this? I think I do it because I want more from life--the things that I can't have right at this moment. Sometimes I want the things that are impossible to have or uncertain that they even exist. There are many things that we believe in that have no proof to back them up, but we still do believe in them. So, why get so excited? I guess I'm like a chimpanzee behind the glass at the zoo, thinking that one day my feces will magically pass through to the other side and hit my target. It's a thought that keeps me going.
So, you are not truly self made. But why make that look so attractive if it is a fallacy? What if I like being an island? My problem is that when I try being an island a cruise ship starts circling my shores. This cruise "ship of fools" wants to find out what I've been doing with my coconuts on my island. Do I despise the ship or the fools more? I guess there are fools anywhere you go. Whoever put the fools on the ship and sailed them to my beach is probably some kind of demented Captain Stubing, saying, "Go forth and show this man you 'love' him, but make sure you irritate him as much as possible by being untactful and condescending."
But my fingers need the exercise anyway. What can I talk about? Well, I can tell you about a gross experience I had. I was unloading a storage pod. I grabbed a chair to hand it over to my buddy and the chair didn't leave my hand. I pulled back and the chair followed my right hand, middle finger. An upholstery staple had embedded itself into the flesh of my finger. When I yanked back there was a sharp pain then I could feel the staple tear right through. The chair dropped and I shouted a bit. Strangely, there was little blood. It was more of a finger scalping than anything. So I have a rather tender middle finger right now, with a nice patch of skin gone from it. This is karma for all those motorists that I've flipped off over the years.
I finally found the missing bearing cage and ball bearings for the back wheel of a vintage fifties cruiser bike that I'd been tinkering around with some time ago. I haven't yet got to putting the rear axle back together, but I will soon. I am not restoring this bike, but getting it mechanically sound, straightened out, and rideable (spell check doesn't like that word). I like the fact that it will be a bit rusty and faded; plus, the chain guard is from another bike from an earlier era and is green (the bike is red and white). This will complete the "ugly" look that I desire. I can't afford to throw any money into my truck anymore, so this will suffice.
Speaking of my truck, Clyde, I was certain that I was going to have to put a bullet in him recently. I have been hearing strange noises from the engine. I thought it was a bad valve, lifter, or pushrod. If you know engines, these are serious signs that you are nearing a complete overhaul at worst, a head job at the least. The thing is, if you are going to pull the heads, you might as well pull the whole engine. And if you do that, you might as well rebuild the whole damn thing, replacing the clutch while you're at it. Even for an old truck, this isn't cheap. I could certainly do the assembly and installation of the engine, but the machine work I would leave to the pros.
I really should just buy a newer truck, but from what I do to trucks, it doesn't make sense to burn twenty to thirty grand. How many newer trucks could I do most of the work on with a basic set of tools? How many newer trucks would I want to get totally scratched up by pinions and sage brush, dented by rocks, and not have to worry about devaluing it? I would love a new truck; they are way more powerful, nicer, and fuel efficient than the old ones. But an old truck is just me: tough, beat up, and filled with character. Anyway, the cause of the noise turned out to be something minor and I took care of it.
It was about two years ago that I was with my mother and sister, heading up to Steamboat, Colorado, to help support my sister at her court hearing for the DUI. I had no idea at that time that within a year and a half that they'd both be taken from me. I remember how good it felt to embrace my sister and tell her how much I loved her and how happy I was that the legal ordeal was behind her. I remember seeing my mother cry while hugging her daughter. God in Heaven, I do not understand the wisdom of these things--the loss--especially of my dear sister Bonnie. Hell, I can even remember our crappy dinner at the JB's in Vernal and joking about it afterward. My heart aches for her still. When I dropped her off at rehab, I had about a five minute hug with her. I could feel her mixed with relief and fear. I talked to her and told her how much I loved her. She responded that I could never know how much she loved and appreciated me. I may never get to know how much she did love and appreciate me, but I just can't stand how much I miss her now and I hope that somehow she knows it, as an expression of my love. I can't write anymore, sorry.
So, anyway, I did have something to post about after all.
I haven't been feeling unlucky, but I have been feeling like I need more luck than what I've been getting rationed. There's things in my life that I need that little extra help with that only luck can seem to provide. I guess I should make my own luck, but if it is anything like the time I tried to make curry, the results ended up rejected in the toilet.
If you make your own "luck" it isn't called luck; it's just making things happen. Maybe I'm not good at that. Well, at least I'm good at thinking before I do stupid things, most of the time. The point I'm trying to make here is that you can't achieve luck, just as you can't achieve the lottery. You need to have the odds in your favor, sure, but more than that, you need luck.
I have no rituals or lucky objects/charms. Do they seem to work for you? I really think it is more of a way that one reduces anxiety--a way of feeling in control. If I was to do some kind of ritual to get more luck or favor in my life it would probably involve a goat. Before I could get the ritual underway, the goat would probably find some interesting electrical cord to chew on and die. As for a lucky object/charms, I'd probably have a lucky left sock. Yes, I would not be lucky, but my lucky left sock would end up winning the lottery, leaving me and Mr. Right Sock all alone. I need luck not lucky things.
It's pretty silly to ask God for better luck, because that gives off the message that you prefer luck over divine intervention. The problem is that nobody gets "lucky" when God is behind your fate's steering wheel. Luck grants you those things that you are afraid to ask God for. Luck is like your cool older brother that lets you have a beer and a nudie mag for a baby sitter. There's no way God is going to listen to those requests and let you get away with it. Luck covers more bases because luck doesn't judge. Having said that, you do not want to piss off God or turn down his help. It's just smart.
So, I want a bit more mojo this coming year. I think I'm due for some good luck. So if you have a bit more luck than you need, consider my plea: Brother, could you spare me some luck?
I want to form my own circus, kind of like Cirque du Soleil, but less gay. I would call mine Cirque du Jirques. Bring a tarp. I really wouldn't want such a thing but my mind finds the word play fun. Anyway, I'm sure that such a thing already exists in Tijuana or Japan.
Don't you hate it when you bite the side of your mouth or tongue? Well, maybe it doesn't hurt so much as you just have a poor attitude about the whole thing in the first place. Do what I do and call them "flavor bursts". You'll begin to enjoy life and the taste of your own blood all the more!
Jim Carrey sure has broke new comedic ground with his "Mr. Popper's Penguins". It's sure to win him some kind of Oscar, Golden Globe, night with a tranny hooker. But he can't ride on the coattails of those adorable penguins the rest of his prestigious career. Nope, he'll return to a bit of hard comedy, like "Cable Guy" or "I Love You Phillip Morris". See, the common belief is that you can't have the sweet without the sour, and Jim should give it both ways long time. My movie idea for Mr. Carrey is this: A bumbling, old store clerk by day who transforms as a male prostitute at night. Yes, Mr. Carrey will take on the roll of the famous toilet paper pitchman, Mr. Whipple, starring in "Mr. Whipple's Nipples". This movie, and Jim's performance, will answer the question why you were not allowed to squeeze the Charmin, really.
That's all the post ideas I can remember for now. I was in the sun too long today and I feel a slight case of thermal retardation coming on.
Christielli came and visited the wonderful land of OZ and explored all that it had to offer the world in just several days; two main things being, of course, mammoth ice cream portions, and lots of dry land. The other thing would be a strange group of people known as Mormons, or God's own "white and delightsome" sons and daughters (sort of like a Paul Newman salad dressing). I know this to be true because of a strange feeling I get when I'm around a white and delightsome woman. It is the spirit testifying to me that the chosen vessel is truly delicious to the taste--in Mormon scripture, Lehi's Dream tells one to hold to the "Iron Rod" in order to best taste of these fruits. Women have testified the same of men, but it is forbidden to have this confirmation of, say, men and men, and women and women, except in times of sexual famine (prison, mission, scout camp). Yeah, this has nothing to do with the post. Please, keep reading.
So, yeah, my job was to show Christielli and friend behind the Mormon Curtain. The oddities, warts and all, as well as the good things too. It was something that was hard to do, given walking distances and time constraints. And I'll be honest with you people: In real life I am not a small, red guy who swears all the time and cracks wise at the drop of a hat. I also do not speak or read Mandarin Chinese (please stop sending me emails, Yuqi). Thankfully, Christielli knew these things before hand and has a firm grip on reality, so meeting her was not awkward in the least. Her friend was very nice, too. So, I did show them around Temple Square and just a slice of downtown SLC. The whole time I was thinking in the back of my head that I really did not know what in the hell I was going to do next, where to go, or if they were getting bored.
If you need to know one thing about me is that I deal with my anxieties by not planning, versus over planning. So, the plan, as far as I was concerned, was to point at stuff and say things. It worked; I think--kind of like that kid from "Jerry Maguire" going on about the weight of a human head and how dogs and bees smell fear. Now if only I could earn a living that way, I'd be set.
So the tour went by and once that was done, the one thing you can do in this town to curb boredom is to eat. So my idea was to pick the noisiest restaurant (Blue Iguana), with the most people inside, that way you get to yell "what" and "huh" a lot. Yeah, the "Outdoor Retailers" convention was in town. When having to deal with loud crowds of people in a restaurant, all that matters to me is "food goes in here" *points into mouth*. The food was good. We left the place and then we said our good byes. I went back to Gruntonia and they have since gone to NYC and all that is "Mo"town is now a faint, disturbing memory to them (I kid).
What was Christielli like? Well, I make no commentary on my guests because they were awesome and there's no arguing about it. If you want to know what Christielli is like, go and read her blog and become a fan yourself!
The people that I have met from Blogland have been great. I am not always enthusiastic about meeting new people. So, if I agree to come out of my shell and hang out, it means that I think you are one of the good ones. This is not to say that if I haven't met you yet that I think you are lame. It just means that we haven't met yet.
The best part about this post is that it is more than just a plain mentioning of said event. This makes my post creepy! I aim to please. Toodles!