If you don’t mind it don’t madder

“But I don’t want to go among mad people,” Alice remarked.
“Oh, you can’t help that,” said the Cat: “we’re all mad here. I’m mad. You’re mad.”
“How do you know I’m mad?” said Alice.
“You must be,” said the Cat, “or you wouldn’t have come here.”
(Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland, Chapter 6)

I think my mind has a brain of its own or is it my brain has a mind of its own. Either way it’s some serious shit and it is creating way too much noise inside my head. Shit it’s already to crowded enough in there.

So where do you fall. Do you believe that without a brain, the mind cannot exist? The brain is easy…it’s a key organ in the human body, it’s composed of a bunch of nerves and blood vessels and it’s where all the shit takes place. You know the shit….the brain coordinates thoughts, movement, feelings and can be taken out and physically examined.

Meanwhile the mind can’t be taken out and poked, prodded and sliced up. The mind is more about thought processes…..I think. The mind helps govern how we think, feel and respond. Though the brain may coordinate the physical responses to the mind, the mind coordinates how we respond…I think

Can you have one without the other. What does mind over matter really mean? If you alter you brain does it alter your mind? If it’s not all one in the same then what is it?

The concept of dualism is rooted in the belief that the working brain and the mind are not the same; they find it hard to believe only brain function (all those firing neurons and neurotransmitters) is enough to explain and support consciousness. I think it was Descartes (oh Rene you drunken fart) who wrote that dualism identifies mind with the consciousness and self-awareness of itself, with an ability to distinguish itself from the brain, but he still called the brain the seat of intelligence.

Dr. Jacob Sage wrote, “a functioning brain is identical to a conscious mind.” What do you think?

I for one will have none of that
Said the man with the name the rhymes with that
That for which my name sounds very much like
Has a brother with a name that rhymes with like
Like i do, not because it’s my duty
Of course my sister has a name that rhymes with duty

There are only a few rules

They are simple rules that if we all followed them the world would be a better place. They are applicable to all regardless of race, religious affiliation, political ideology, sex, location, class status or even whether you’re left or right handed.

A. Treat other people as you would like to be treated
B. Do no harm to any living creature
C. Do not impose one’s will on others
D. Respect, cherish and celebrate this thing we call life
E. Be an endless source of positive energy and compassion

Just a will thought

Will: to impart or execute….relative or relatives…..right or wrong….dance or not

Moronic rumblings from a destination served well

I am standing in front of the bathroom mirror unable to focus my eyes when I start to think about what I drank last night. I run through my alcohol inventory and come up with only a couple glasses of wine, “what is wrong with me,” I think to myself. I feel like I am terribly hung over.

I take my glasses off and rub my eyes for a minute and then put my glasses back on. I look back at the mirror and I am immediately dizzy and my eyesight blurry. What the hell is wrong? I take my glasses off and put them on the vanity next to the sink. I then reach over and turn on the cold water and forming a cup with my hands I fill it with cold water and proceed to stick my face into the puddle of cold water I am holding in my hands.

I rinse my face for a good 30 seconds and then grab a towel and dry off.

I look back into the mirror and like magic my vision is perfect and I am not dizzy. “Weird,” I think.

Being good to go I grab my glasses and put them back on, take one more look in the mirror and once again my vision is blurry and I get dizzy. “What the hell,” I scream inside my head.

It’s at this point I experience that Sherlock Holmesian feeling that there must be something wrong with my glasses. Sure nuff, as I am looking at my glasses as I hold them in my right hand I take my left index finger and push it through the opening where the left lens should be. Yup, the lens had fallen out of my glasses, that is why my vision was blurry and I got dizzy….ugh I am a moron.

Moron too.

The other snow day I am working from home. I have my iPad thingee going and my work laptop. At some point I forget which is which and start touching the screen of my laptop thinking it would do something. Well, as I sat there and touched the screen on my laptop and nothing happened I got pissed and started looking at the control buttons trying to figure out why the screen wasn’t responding to my touch. This went on, seriously, for about 15 minutes until, in a moment of brilliance I remembered that my laptop wasn’t a touch screen device. I am a moron.

I don’t mean to be a moron, it just happens some times. It’s not a bad thing it’s just a thing.

A couple observations on this thing we call life. First, it’s fleeting so make sure you enjoy every moment. Second, it’s fleeting so make sure you enjoy every moment and third, it’s fleeting so enjoy every moment.

Can’t we all just be silly for a day?

I mean really silly. I mean Monty Python silly walk, penguin on the TV silly. Wave my private parts at your auntie silly.

You know what saying I am sick of? You’ve heard the saying, “it’s not about the destination it’s about the journey.” We’ll I was hiking the other day, a particularly tougher hike for my fat ass, and I thought to myself…..”self, fuck this shit, let’s just get to the destination and save myself all this time and energy.”

Sometimes lets just get to the fucking destination and take it from there. I mean, shit, if we get to the destination early maybe there’s something cool to do there…rather than wasting all that time on the journey, we could skip the journey, get to the destination and see if there’s shit to do to that’s worthwhile. All you journey lovers, and you know who you are, maybe it’s better to just go straight to the destination. Yes, pass go, don’t collect any money and go straight to destination land and then regroup and go from there. I think it’s a plan.

So next time someone says it’s not about the destination it’s about the journey tell them to fuck off and that you’ll meet them in destination land where you will be waiting for them.

Speaking of destinations…..set the controls for the center of the sun….let the games begin…

A simple conversation with my brain

A typical conversation with myself……

Me: Hello head.
Head: what do you want, I was busy
Me: Busy with what?
Head: really important stuff
me: no you weren’t
Head: yes I was
Me: no you weren’t. Don’t you think I’d know if my head was doing important stuff
Head: no, you weren’t paying attention so I went and was doing important stuff
Me: you’ve done nothing. You’ve thought of nothing. I should know, I am here and in the present
Head: that’s crap. You’ve been staring at the TV, that great brain dead activity.
Me: TV isn’t a brain dead activity
Head: yes it is
Me: no it’s not, you can learn a lot from some of the channels
Head: not the one’s your watching
Me: shut up stupid brain
Head: you shut up. As a matter of fact I can make you shut up. Hehehehe,
Me: you can shut me up by I can still think the words which is as good as talking as far as you are concerned
Head: you are such an ass
Me: ha, remember Jimmy Carter’s quote about lusting after people. Something about if you think it it’s just as bad as doing it. Guess Slick Willy took him at his word
Head: what the fuck are you talking about. Quit filling my head with useless info
Me: Me! You’re the stupid brain that thinks this shit up
Head: wasn’t me. It must have been your subconscious
Me: what are you talking about it was a conscious thought
Head: blah, blah, blah. You can’t even spell conscious
Me: how is that my fault, you’re my brain
Head: am not
Me: what do you mean, “am not?”
Head: I ain’t your brain
Me: we’ll if you’re not mine, who’s are you and why are you in my head
Head: ahhhh, I’m ah …..it’s top secret
Me: you are so full of crap
Head: okay, so I am your brain. But I am not happy about it, I’d rather be Paris Hilton’s brain
Me: what? That makes no sense
Head: it would definitely be more fun
Me: damn, you are such an idiot
Head: I am not an idiot, you’re the idiot
Me: you can’t call me an idiot without calling yourself an idiot, you idiot
Head: I can do anything I want you idiot, idiot, idiot
Me: you are impossible to argue with
Head: ha, it’s like arguing with yourself
Me: it is arguing with yourself you idiot
Head: fine, keep it up you asshole
Me: you are the one who keeps trying to get the last word in ass bag
Head: ass bag? What the hell is an ass bag?
Me: ha, your an ass bag
Head: keep it up and I’ll make you pee yourself tonight
Me: come on, that is so unfair
Head: go for it, close your eyes and try to sleep. I will fill your head with so many thoughts you’ll be awake till 4am.
Me: that’s just not right. You do that and I’ll wash down a couple Tylenol pm with some bourbon.
Head: try it and you are so waking up in a puddle. Don’t believe me?
Me: stop, that is so mean.
Head: hahahahaha, sleep well mr pissy pants
Me: ughhhhh

The Giant Yellow Street Octopus

Damn dolphins…they always seemed to have a higher porpoise. I wonder if they worship Bob Marley?

You know, for all in tents and porpoise. Or is it intensive purpose. Regardless, the porpoise are key in dealing with the GYSO. What is a GYSO you ask?

I haven’t seen the GYSO in a while. The last time I saw her it was fourth of July weekend and I was bisecting the great state of Vermont on route 100 in search of Americana. Route 100 is a well known habitat for the giant yellow street octopus (GYSO) and Americana – green mountain state flavor. Years ago I remember reading that the Cousteau family may have lost a family member battling the GYSO in central Vermont. Or maybe they simply lost them in Santa’s Land in Putney.

I have a long history with GYSO. Heck, we go back to the late 70′s. I think it was around 1979 when I had my first encounter with GYSO. I was enroute to Hanover NH from Milford CT. I was piloting a vintage Ford Granada but my mind was on dolphins with a porpoise. Not quite sure why dolphins with a porpoise but I remember it quite clearly. Colorful, playful dolphins who made every effort to distract me from the task at hand – piloting the Ford Granada up Rte 91 at the ungodly speed of about 50 miles an hour (it felt like light speed). Any faster and we could have started melting the exterior of the Granada. Shit, as it was I had already melted into watching the road through hood-o-vision and what a vision it was.

So this past fourth of july we were fortunate to have a van load of porpoise with pockets full of synaptic provocateurs. There was no other way to face the GYSO.

Sometime after the bottle of green tea flavored vodka had long expired and the Hill Farmstead tap had run dry, we found a wonderful field for disc throwing, dog running and sky viewing. At that point we had turned the keys over to Bob, yes that same Bob – the miniature, talking elephant who could turn himself invisible when he wanted and the same Bob who had a penchant for tequila, long-legged blondes and driving way to fast.

It was a spectacular summer day. Maybe the best one of the year. The sun was beginning to set and there was a slight chill was in the air. Bob had already thrown on his tie-dye hoodie and was preparing to hit the road.

As darkness fell over central Vermont we began our pilgrimage south. The journey was extraordinary. Town after town welcomed us into their community by splashing rockets red glare and exploding rainbow colored chrysanthemums across the sky like some crazed qualude Lite-Brite orgasm.

We continued south when Bob, deep into another journey inside his mind decided to step out of the role of driver and climb into the back seat as we sped down route 100 at warp factor 7. I reached over, grabbed the wheel and guided us into a rest area on the right side of the road.

The timing was good as it gave us all an opportunity to have a conversation with nature and for the porpoise to clear their blow holes and refill their pockets with synaptic provocateurs in expectation of our confrontation with the GYSO.

Climbing back into our ship I decided to take a turn at the wheel and since Bob was busy licking the window next to him I thought it was better that he didn’t take the helm. Note: I had tried the window earlier and it really didn’t taste great.

We were probably about 5 miles down the road when we came around the corner to find the mother of all GYSO. There she was with miles of long, yellow and orange tentacles trying to draw us into her clutches. Every once in a while we would catch a glimpse of her green eye. That dreaded green eye.

Corner after corner I fought to stay on the road. Mile after mile the GYSO tried to seduce me into navigating into rocks and trees. I slowed our ship down to slow, no real slow. It was then I heard this wild cry and next thing I knew the porpoise were jumping out of the ship. Bob was riding the lead porpoise and yelling out, “follow meeeee, follow meeeeee.” The porpoise took over – as they always do and in a short time Bob and the porpoise had restored order. The next hour or so is a blur. Lots of bright lights, lots of hootin and hollerin. I do remember being really thirsty. All I know is that we ended up at our destination, all hands safe and secure.

Thanks to Bob and the porpoise.

Fat equals Flavor

I am so psyched!  I am now officially overweight per the national BMI standard.  I have moved out of the obese stage and now I am considered simply overweight.  Yee fucking ha. The challenge is that to move out of the overweight stage, once again based on the national BMI standard, I need to weigh about 60 lbs less.  HA!  Yep for my height I should way between 155 and 160 pounds.  No, I am not 4 feet tall.  I am 5’10″.

So what’s the secret?  Duh, burn more calories than you take in.

I’ve started exercising 4 to 5 times a week, practicing portion control and the hardest part – limiting my alcohol intake.

I do have to admit that low fat food sucks.  Low fat equals little taste.  Just like low impact aerobics translates to little effect.

I was at a new bistro in the area the other day.  Did you know that the definition of bistro is small, unpretentious restaurant?  Now that’s a joke.  These days a bistro is the petri dish for pretention.  It’s where value goes to die.

So I sit down and order the burger for $12.  It’s made with meat that comes with one of those grass fed, free range, massaged by loving hands, killed in the most peaceful manner, blah, blah, blah descriptions.  The burger comes out on a cute little roll.  Oops, sorry that should be brioche (bistro speak for a fucking bun).

The burger is cooked perfectly medium-rare and it is topped (for a buck more) with a piece of cheddar cheese.

I bite into the burger and immediately notice that it is devoid of flavor.  Zippo, nadda, not an inkling of flavor.  That’s when I realize that we have it all wrong.

We have all these places who are trying to serve us healthy burgers.  Guess what?  We are ordering a freaking burger, we know that it’s not healthy.  If we wanted healthy we’d order the fucking salad with the bbq tofu wedges.

When we make that choice of a burger we want flavor.  Cooked meat fat flavor.  We want a bun not a brioche.  The bun needs to absorb the juices from the burger and favorite condiments and maybe some bacon and sauteed onion juice.  The bun is the first line of defense, sort of like an edible napkin.

If I want to make the burger healthy I’ll put tomato and lettuce on the damn thing.  I also want the meat to have a least 15% fat.

Folks, fat equals flavor.  Trust me, as I am busting my ass on the street. mountain trail or in the gym it’s not to be able to wear jeans with a 30 inch waist.  It’s so I can enjoy that succulent cheeseburger.

By the way, it should be against the law to label any mass of beans and soy etc….as a “vegetarian” burger.  It’s not a burger. If it is made of hamburger it’s a burger.  It’s a vegetarian sandwich or patty or group or congregation….it’s not a burger.

So if you ever happen to be in the happy valley of massatwoshitts I’ll give you a hint.   There’s a great little cafe that for under $5 you can get a cheeseburger special (lettuce, tomato, raw onion and mayo) cooked to order (has to be medium rare)  that is simply the best.  You bite into the burger which is hand-formed out of fresh meat that is so good and addictive it has to be laced with heroin (in a good way).  As you bite into the burger the juice from the meat starts to saturate the hamburger bun (true bun) soon the bun is reduced to four dry spots where your fingers clutch at the burger holding it together.   Note:  you never put the burger down for two reasons:

1.  It will fall apart under the pressure of the meat love juice

2.  For fear that someone at the table that is already finished with their burger will steal the rest of yours

Only when are you done do you pick up that pint of Sierra Nevada.  You break out into a wide grin as you set the half empty pint glass back on the table and you notice your hamburger grease finger prints on the side of the pint glass.  That’s when you lean back and think life is great.

Damn, now I am longing for a burger.  Damn, damn, damn….