My son has no frame of reference for the days when all service stations did was sell gas and fix cars... when they actually gave you little "bribes" like steak knives or Green Stamps to get you to buy their gas... the "click click click" of the gas pump as the numbers ticked off the dollars and gallons (and the "gallons" went faster than the "dollars").... when the different grades of gasoline had names, like Sky Chief, Fire Chief....
DING! DING! DING! DING! You know what that is? That's the sound the bell used to make when someone pulled into the gas station and ran over the rubber hose. (Ok, or - "some little bastard kids jumped up and down on it"). Those of you who are old enough to remember such things know exactly the sound I'm talking about - you can even hear it in your head.
That was the sound that brought out the guy (and it was always a guy) who not only pumped your gas, but checked your oil and cleaned your windshield.
I actually was that guy for a while when I was in high school.
I got a very vivid lesson in life during my brief tenure as a pump jockey: there are all kinds of people in the world; there are some real jerks, but there are also honest, decent folks.
I had a customer come in and ask for five dollars worth of gas (hey, back then, that was a half tank or so), which I dutifully dispensed. He handed me three dollars. I said:
"Uh, Sir, it was five dollars"
"No, I only said three..."
His word against mine - what was I going to do; take two bucks worth back out? Guess where the other two bucks would be coming from? My pay. He left me pretty disgusted and angry.
Only a few minutes later, another customer came in - out of state plates- and asked for a fill-up. I topped off his tank and it came to ten dollars. I rang his gas card through and he went on his way. A couple of minutes later, he stopped back in.
"Are you sure it was only ten dollars?", he asked.
"Yeah, look, see? The pump still says $10.00" (No one had been in since he left).
He pointed to the other side of the pump that read "$14.00".
"Are you sure it wasn't fourteen?"
"No, no, I'm sure I pumped your gas from this side..."
He scribbled on the gas card receipt, stuffed it in my shirt pocket and said:
"There's my name and address - if you come up short, let me know and I'll send you the four bucks".
Where is it written that humans must surround themselves with noise and babble? Why must we be constantly "entertained"? Why are people so afraid of silence? Why do we need to surround ourselves with TVs playing to no one, talk radio that no one's really listening to? Why would we want to surround ourselves with so many things vying for our attention and more often than not, trying to sell us something?
I know, I know, a guy with a surgically attached iPod should be the last one to throw stones at his own glass house, but the omnipresent, constant din of TVs and other mindless babble has started to push me over the edge. I sat in my camp in the woods one day and just listened to nothing. Yeah, it was a bit unnerving - at one point, I thought to myself: "This is what the inside of a tomb must sound like... for eternity"- but it was also soothing.
I went into a warehouse area at work the other day, and the quiet enveloped me like a warm blanket. The calm that came over me surprised me. Sometimes you get so inured to the cacophony that you don't realize the presence of the noise...until it's missing. Yeah, I work in a factory, it's noisy - DUH- but it's more than that. It's inane chatter among co-workers, it's other people's phone calls - mindless and otherwise and it's not one, but TWO TVs in the lunchroom - often on different stations. Some days even a microwave isn't fast enough to get me out of there.
All that's bad enough, but what made me borderline Postal was a trip to the dentist. I wasn't in the waiting room long enough to be driven mad by the drivel spewing from the TV in there, but when I got to the hygienist's chair, I was surprised to see TV's at each station, tuned in to a talk show.
Now, since I don't watch TV, I may be more sensitive than most, but is it just me, or are talk shows the absolute epitome of mindless crap? The host breezed through about four guests in a half hour, asking the most inane questions of absolutely no substance. As if that weren't enough, this was punctuated by obviously artificial applause and peppered with commercials, it seems like every 30 seconds. It was so disjointed and rapid fire, it was almost disorienting. It bordered on the "Ludovico Technique" used to punish Alex in "A Clockwork Orange". He had no choice but to watch, yet millions of people subject themselves to this willingly every day? Maybe it was aversion therapy for me, so that I'll take such good care of my teeth I'll spend the absolute minimum time in the chair? I think it worked! Most people dislike the dentist for other reasons...
There was but one antidote. The following day, I took the dogs and the snowshoes and headed for the woods. About a half mile in, I stopped and stood still. Off in the distance, I could still hear the sounds of the highway, but they were muted and barely audible. I could actually hear small clumps of snow falling off the tree branches with a soft "plop". I could hear a Downy woodpecker chipping away bark, way over my head in a dead maple; rap-rap-rap. The fresh snow even muffled the noises of nature and I felt something just meting away from me, like a heavy coating. I stood and listened for a few minutes and then continued on my way, smiling, for the first time in days.
....I go without a motorcycle? Every year, since 1983, I've ridden many, many miles on one of the four bikes I've owned. Twenty three different states, two provinces of Canada and over 150,000 miles have passed under my wheels. Now, for the first time, in some sort of reverse midlife crisis, I'm seriously considering selling, and not replacing, my bike.
When most guys hit my age, they run out, buy a V-Twin Compensator, start dressing like one of the Village People and hanging out in front of the rib joint thinking: "We bad....we bad....". Guess I'm not most guys. Does this mean I need a Corvette and a 20-something blonde named Bambi instead? Gold chains? A Rolex?
For over twenty years, my life pretty much revolved around my bikes. Vacations were planned around rallies, my friends were other bikers, my social life was deeply intertwined with the bike club. Weekends were spent on the road. The first ride of spring was almost a religious experience. It wasn't just something I did, it was a big part of who I was. (Indicative of my struggle with this was whether to use the word "was" or "am" in that sentence...).
So what the hell is my problem? What happened?
Is it because I've "been there, done that"?
After 20+ years riding, it's a valid question. I never, ever thought I'd get tired of riding. I saw people drift away from the sport and thought: "How sad - I'll never do that", but there are very few places within a day's ride that I haven't been at least once. So what's a bike without a place to ride it? (Unless of course it's just a "prop" for you to pose on, which leads us to....)
Is it because "it used to be about motorcycling, now it's a ^%@!# fashion show"?
I attended the Americade motorcycle rally in Lake George every year from 1984 right on up through 2005, when I finally gave up. It's become a textbook example of the turn toward "image" that the sport has taken. It used to be about the ride. It's gotten so bad that we were threatening to go there wearing shirts that said "Trailercade" in mockery of the fact that more and more people don't even ride there. Phony anything leaves a bad taste in my mouth, so yeah, that's probably got something to do with it.
Is it because of the one time I went pavement surfing?
I think this is probably the biggest reason - my mileage took a major nosedive after my minor accident. Still, that was ten years ago, and I've continued to ride - admittedly not with the confidence I once had, though. I no longer throw sparks off both sides of my GoldWing. Felt like someone sucked all the joy out of riding for me.
Is it because I no longer need that "escape pod"?
I think this is the second biggest factor. One of my favorite things to do was to get on the bike and just wander. ("I think I'll take the third left I come to..."). I would lose myself, both literally and figuratively. Hours and hours were passed that way. The further my marriage sank under it's own weight, the more miles I put on. I was running....just to run, I guess. These words from Steve Earle hit me right between the eyes when I first heard them:
You see it used to be I was really free
I didn't need no gasoline to run
Before you could say "Jack Kerouac" you'd turn your back and I'd be gone
Yeah nowadays I got me two good wheels and I seek refuge in aluminum and steel
Aw, it takes me out there for just a little while
And the years fall away with every mile
(The Other Kind - Steve Earle)
Mile after mile was devoured in an attempt to dislodge the clouds around me. Sometimes I succeeded, at least for a little while.
Those days are behind me now, so I no longer need that "refuge in aluminum and steel". I still enjoy riding far more than driving, but for the most part now, a motor vehicle has become just another appliance, another tool, to do a job with the least fuss possible.
On and off, I've toyed with selling it or selling it and buying something different. A sport bike? A sport touring bike? A new 'Wing? Last year, I half-heartedly tried to sell the bike - I told a couple of people I knew were interested what I wanted for it, but I never pursued it (and neither did they) - so I rode it. The slight boost in gas mileage was probably as much a reason as any.
Still, it's paid for....and I don't have to make my mind up until April or so when the insurance is due....
My earliest experiences with listening to music, were, of course, the stuff my parents listened to - mostly my dad. My earliest influences were apparently the most profound: 40+ years later their love of folk music, like Peter Paul and Mary still colors my musical taste. All I need to hear is an acoustic guitar, and it gets my immediate attention. Many of my current favorites are the musical descendants of those 60's folk groups. James McMurtry is a prime example, right down to the message:
Their love of Irish music - stuff like the Clancy Brothers- still resonates with me today, apparent in my love of bands like Flogging Molly and The Pogues: THEN:
"NOW":
I was fortunate in my earliest musical explorations to have an older sister. She helped save me from the clutches of the soulless crap that passed for the pop music of the day - Cheez Whiz like The Partridge Family, Bobby Sherman, The Osmonds and The Jackson Five. She led me astray with the stuff she was listening to - Grand Funk Railroad, Humble Pie, Black Sabbath and Savoy Brown. This led me to an epiphany in fifth grade... Our class was having a party, so I ran home to get some music. (I lived close enough to the school and this was before schools were locked down like Alcatraz). I brought in some of my sister's stuff and was very, very disappointed when it just sat there, and the OTHER crap got played. What was WRONG with people? This was great stuff! Why were they ignoring it? I realized that there was some great stuff out there that wasn't getting listened to- because people were just friggin' SHEEP! The stuff on the radio wasn't necessarily the best stuff out there. If I wanted "the good stuff" I was going to have to dig a little.
My mom, of course hated all of it, (Ok - The Moody Blues and Crosby Stills and Nash she could tolerate) so the only time we could really listen was when she wasn't home. Any time my parents went out or my mom was at work, we had the record player out and the music blasting. (Well, whatever it was that passed for "blasting", back when dinosaurs roamed the earth).
About the time I was 12 or 13 my sister began dating a guy who had -hold your breath- an 8 track player in his car! I used to sit in his car for hours on end listening to "Demons & Wizards" by Uriah Heep, "Diamond Dogs" by David Bowie and, most frequently and importantly, "Dark Side of the Moon" by Pink Floyd. I must have listened to those bass notes at the beginning of "Time" a billion times. (I'm sure "little brother" hanging around was a pain in the ass, but dammit, I was hooked...)
Eventually, my sister moved out and took her music collection with her - a blow, but not fatal, because I had my own embryonic collection by then. I also had a few of my own "sources" by then, inlcuding my friend Alvin from New York City. When he came up to visit, he brought fireworks, but also -more importantly- "fresh" music.
Some kids memorized sports teams and stats - me I pored over album liner notes and memorized who was in the bands, who wrote what, who played what.... Often, it paid off - when a band split up or someone was off on a solo project, I was all over it.
We had a "cool" music teacher in 7th grade. He strayed from his classical roots a little and listened to stuff like Emerson Lake and Palmer. One day, when he was finished with his lesson for the day, he showed us a bunch of new albums he'd just bought and asked us if there was anything anyone would like to hear. The rest of the class was mute but I said "THAT one..." and pointed to "Dark Side of the Moon". We listened to what we had time for, then went to our next class. (In my senior year of high school - six years later !-, a girl came up to me and said "Do you remember when you had Mr. Wright play that album back in Jr. High? You were right about that!" YYYEEES! )
I had a portable reel-to-reel tape player that I hooked onto the sissy bar on my bike so I could take my music with me. (I smile today when I think of that 12"x 8"x 2" behemoth versus my iPod....)
About this time, my dad bought a car that had FM RADIO! I had no idea what it was all about, but was surfing up and down the dial (there were about three FM stations back then) and all of a sudden, I heard it - "Snowblind" by Black Sabbath. HOLY CRAP! There are radio stations that PLAY THIS STUFF???? I was stunned. W.O.U.R, a fledgling station on the "new" FM band actually played "album rock" - not the same tripe the AM stations were playing, not the "edited down to three minute" versions of songs and not just the "singles". The DJ's actually got to pick their own stuff and were very, very good at it. They would play three songs and then tell you who they were. My catalog grew exponentially. (Sadly, W.O.U.R eventually became Clear Channel Corporate Whores).
My deep involvement with music became apparent in my appearance, as well. My standard "uniform" was jeans or cutoff jeans and t-shirts with rock bands on them. Now, I realize that doesn't sound all that radical, but at the time I was the only one in my small town who did such things. I had to mail order the shirts from some outfit I found in the back of Hit Parader. My hair got longer and longer. Headphones offered the means to listen at home without annoying my mother. Friends began asking me to recommend music to them, and DJ their parties.
Over the years, I went through my Heavy Metal phase, my Southern Rock phase, my blues phase, my "New Wave" phase, my "Progressive" phase, but music remained very much in the forefront of my life. I was always on the lookout for new music. When I started driving, a stereo was of prime importance. When the Walkman made it's debut, I was an early adopter. When I started motorcycling, a stereo was a much desired accessory. I started exchanging "mix" tapes with friends via the Postal service. (I didn't get into the music video scene very much, because "back in the day" they charged extra for MTV, and after watching the same three videos over and over when they let you have it for free sampling I decided it wasn't worth it).
To this day I'm always still on the hunt for new music. Despite the virtual smörgåsbord of music available on the Internet, it's still a challenge to separate the wheat from the chaff, especially since I've gotten a little jaded. It's out there, and when I find something really special, it moves me every bit as much as it did back in the days of 8-tracks.
...that I would never discuss religion, politics or red- headed women on here, but this rant over at Angela's Ashtray got me thinkin'... What I came up with, in response (at 4AM TYVM!) was too long winded to post as a reply, so I'm doing it here.
Religion is not evil. PEOPLE can be evil, and can use religion for less-than-virtuous purposes, but it is not inherently evil. One could say the same thing about science. Science has brought us evil, horrible weapons, but has also freed people from the pain and suffering of horrible diseases. Just as the same folks who brought us the Inquisition, the Crusades, centuries of violence in Northern Ireland and the Middle East and people like Jim Jones, religion has also provided a moral compass and brought hope and comfort to millions in times of need. As with any source of power, some people use that power for the wrong reasons. It can be used motivate people to give of themselves and help those less fortunate or motivate people to fly airplanes into buildings.
Like Angela, I've struggled with the concept of religion. At worst, I saw it as a means of control over people. At best I thought it unnecessary.
My upbringing was "Ambivalent Catholic". My parents felt that I needed some sort of religious foundation, so I was indoctrinated in the Catholic faith (because that's how they were brought up). After I'd made my Confirmation, it was pretty much left up to me what path I would follow.
Good thing, too. The Catholic faith and I were NOT a good fit. MCMAWG has an independent streak a mile wide and a mile deep. Nothing gets my Irish/Italian hackles up quicker than to be told to do something and not question it "because I/we say so". I also bristled at the inequality I saw inherent in the Catholic Church. According to them, God only talks to men.
The whole concept of an angry God who was waiting to smite your ass if you strayed just didn't sit well with me, either.
Years later, I ran across the painting "The Laughing Jesus" and it knocked me for a loop. (A quick Google couldn't find the right one, but for those who've never seen it, it's just a head-and-shoulders painting of Jesus letting out a big belly laugh). I was stunned. It called into question everything Sister Mary Discipline tried to beat into me. It seemed so.... blasphemous, yet there was something just so right about it. Part of me said "...dude, that's just so wrong..." but part of me said "YES"!
Over the years I drifted further from religion. "Man needs religion like a fish needs a bicycle" was a frequent quote. The hypocrisy of self-righteous TV preachers who turn out to be guilty of exactly what they were railing at other people about, didn't set well with me. (Hypocrisy being ANOTHER thing that gets MCMAWG's hackles up). At best I've been a "Mildly Curious Bhuddist".
Most of what I saw of religion was select groups of people saying "We're right. Our Way Is The Only Way. Our God Is The Only God". This led all too often to "Our God Can Beat Up Your God". Far, far too often, it seems like people's motivation for following the straight and narrow is either wanting to cash in on "the Big Reward" or fear of "The Lake of Fire". I've often said "Show me an atheist who lives a good life and I'll show you a truly righteous person - they're not doing it for the WIFM, they're doing it solely because it's the right thing to do".
Media reports of child molesters hiding behind the church, genocide in places like Bosnia, nutcases like Jim Jones, David Koresh leading trusting people to hell in a handbasket... didn't help either.
But, a couple of months ago, I ran across something in the catbox liner that passes for a local newspaper. I was blown away. An article about a man who's living his faith. Quietly, and without accolades. Here's a man who's giving himself to help others in need - others who are not even of his own "race", country or religion; many of whom are "sinners" in the eyes of the church. If that weren't enough, I noticed that, despite the fact that he's surrounded by death and unspeakable suffering, he's laughing or smiling in most of the pictures.
If you can read this without rethinking religion a bit, if you can read it without a tear or three, if you can read it without feeling selfish and like something you'd scrape off your shoe, then you have no soul.
My whole schtick here is me making fun of myself for being so.....ordinary but I realized the other day, that, no matter how white bread I am, I'm very different in some ways.
Cooking: I don't find cooking to be a chore - I actually enjoy it. The time and effort that it takes to make something to eat is NOT wasted, it's a chance to be creative and express yourself a little. Life is made up of little moments, and since eating is one of those things you kind of HAVE to do -until they perfect Soylent Green- why not enjoy it and enjoy the process? Most people I know tell me they "don't have time" to cook. Apparently they're in a hurry to go watch The Food Network. Guess I care too much about my family to say "Here, have some vaguely food-like substance from this shrink wrapped box. I slaved over it for at least a minute and a half..."
Pop culture: I had an epiphany in the grocery line the other day. As I stood there, I scanned the covers of the magazines and thought "Who the hell are these people and why do I CARE? The only one I knew was Angelina Jolie. Guess that makes me officially an Olde Pharte or a rube or uncultured or ... something... So they're movie/TV stars? So what? If *I* were to go out, get drunk, indulge in a smorgasbord of pharmaceuticals, wad my car up and get caught in a compromising position with a chicken, it wouldn't even make the back page of the local rag. So why do we care if Joe Oscarwinner does? Are people's lives so dull they have to live vicariously through celebrities? If they're heros, why do people take such an interest when they demonstrate that they are, in fact, mere mortals?
Sports: I'm sorry, I must have failed "Guy 101" because I couldn't care less about sports teams. I'm not taking anything away from their God (and Pfizer)- given talents, but I really have more important things to do with my time than watch someone else do something. I also never really understood getting all hot and bothered over a sports team just because, through an accident of geography, you happen to live near where they play.
Stuff: Yeah, I'm as guilty as the next guy about liking my toys - can't really throw too many stones when there's a $6000 bicycle in my basement - but so many people just have sooooo much... STUFF, just to have.... STUFF. Folks like them are the lifeblood of the economy I suppose, and God knows they're responsible for all those storage rental places that spring up like mushrooms after a rainstorm. Here's a sobering thought for all you pack rats who pride themselves on how much stuff they own: You don't really OWN anything. Don't believe me? Go to an estate sale. Aren't I just a ray of sunshine today?
Last but not least: TV: I admit it, I -brace yourself- don't watch TV........I'll give you a moment to collect yourself after that earth shattering revelation..... Why? you may ask. It's not that I'm a high-brow, snooty intellectual, it's just that 99.9% of what passes for entertainment is, well, CRAP. If I'm only given a finite number of hours on this planet, why would I want to spend any of them on something like American Idol ("The Favorite Show of Idle Americans"!) or "reality" TV. I have no argument with people who spend their time on that sort of thing - what I find sad is that they can't conceive of NOT watching TV. It amazes and saddens me, when I get looks of incredulity and "Well...what do you DO?.." in response to me saying I don't watch TV. My usual response is "All that stuff you say you'd LIKE to do, but don't have time for..." Apparently the human race existed in complete and utter darkness before about 1950.
Ok, Rant Off - back to white bread and mayonnaise posts for a while.
After burying myself in workout plan after workout plan, and becoming even MORE confused than I normally am, I decided to seek professional help. (Of the PERSONAL TRAINER type, not the psychiatric variety). Too many of the books and workout plans are aimed at freaks of nature, like Lance Armstrong, not fat, slow, old guys like me. I think the real catalyst was reading in Chris Carmichael's Ultmate Ride training book how I was supposed to be doing about 30 mph before going into a sprint. Dude, I can't do 30, downhill, with an anvil strapped to my ass! Gravity must be lighter on his home planet.
I spent quite a while talking to Jason, owner of Core Health And Fitness before deciding to take the plunge. (I don't know why I'm pimping his place - the dude TORTURED me!). His take on where I am currently, where I'd like to be (the Bahamas?) and how to get there, made sense to me. What he had in mind for me took into account the fact that I'm 47, not 27 and I could tell him that my left ankle isn't exactly OEM - kinda' tough to tell a book that...
I was supposed to keep track of my caloric intake through the week and bring the information with me. I created an Excel spreadsheet at work and faithfully logged everything I ate. (Ok, so I "forgot" to mention the side of beef and case of beer on Tuesday... A guy's got to have SOME secrets...) This file will henceforth be known as the Document From Hell. I finished it up, just before I left work on Friday, and emailed it to myself. When I came home and went to print it, it wasn't in my inbox. Crap. This means I have to go BACK to work. I did so, and there it was, sitting in my Outlook out box, waiting to go - I sent it on it's way AND copied it to my data key, just to be safe. "Safe" is a relative term. Somewhere in the course of stopping for dinner on the way home, I lost the damn data key. When I opened the file from my email in Apple Works, it blew the formatting all to hell and wanted to print only about a quarter of the document. OKFINE! Install Excel on the Mac... still raises hell with the formatting... after much cussing, we got a good copy printed, a copy that I promptly forgot to bring with me this morning.... GAAAAH!
First up was establishing my basal metabolism. This is measured in glacial epochs. What would have made this cooler was playing some sort of flight simulator, while I was doing my Air Force pilot impression. (I'm sure the next person who uses the mask will appreciate that I brushed my teeth before I left the house).
Sadistic bastige that he is, he asked me not to eat before I came. Apparently he was unaware that, if I am denied caloric input in the morning, I get even uglier than usual. I barely managed to refrain from eating any of his office furniture.
After the basal metabolism, I was allowed to eat my last meal before heading off to the treadmill. C'mon, even condemned prisoners don't eat CarbBoom gels before they get strapped in to ride Old Sparky! I was wishing I'd murdered someone - at least I'd get to eat better!
I stalled as long as I could, but it was time to measure my metabolism under load. I think the Inquisition would probably have made WAY more converts, had the treadmill been available to Tomás de Torquemada & Co. Not only are you subject to physical stress, but you get to endure excruciating boredom - there seems to be some sort of time.space continuum warpage that applies to timers on treadmills. GLACIERS move faster. Now, on top of that, throw in a mask who's primary functions seemed to be to trap sweat and make your head three times heavier than it normally is.
He claimed to get some useful information out of the TortureMatic 2000 (From Ronco!) that I was hooked up to, but I think he did it because he just enjoys it.
Since I forgot the aforementioned "food diary", we couldn't do the full workup, but I emailed him BOTH an Excel spreadsheet and a PDF of the file. Maybe I should have sent them in separate emails.... If this doesn't work, I'm going to hand carve the info in stone tablets and hand carry it over there. I don't give a damn if I look like Moses or not.
Like the name says - as white bread and average as it gets! Blue collar job, ranch house, 1 dog, ....politically midde of the road (leaning to the left) - you get the picture: If you compiled every demographic statistic and charted them - my picture would be smack dab in the middle of Boring Land
