So Then Why Am I Blocked???

Okay, the runner stumbled, again, and it’s terribly frustrating. My goal for 2008 was to be more disciplined and consistent in the development of my craft (i.e. this blog). So what’s my excuse? I don’t have one. It’s not like I don’t have an abundance of time; an hour on the train each morning and evening, a lunch hour at work, and between 8:00 p.m. and 4:30 a.m. every night. (Who needs sleep?) It’s not like I don’t have the talent. If you need examples, just read my past nebulous musings. It’s not like I don’t have the topics. I can’t keep up with them all. I could sit in an isolated cabin for a month with last Tuesday’s edition of the Los Angeles Times and be able to generate a new post everyday. And we’re not even talking about the observational stuff. Of course, in an isolated cabin the observations would be limited to the hum of the Jacuzzi or the expressions on the squirrels’ faces watching me write in the nude. (Hey, if I’m going to be isolated, I’m going to be comfortable.) There are topics everywhere. It’s amazing what’s going on all around us. This coming year, voters may elect the first woman or African-American president. If Oprah Winfrey would go ahead and step out from behind that curtain, we could have done both simultaneously. I’m not partial on who’s president. My only objection is having a liberal in the White House, but it looks like that will happen even if the winner is the Republican.

Five people got shot in Illinois by a person working on his masters in social work. A child shot a child in Oxnard, because one of them was a homosexual and the other one couldn’t handle it. 143 millions pounds of beef has just been recalled because workers were kicking and electrocuting sick cows into the slaughterhouse (Quite frankly, you’d have to kick me to get me into a slaughterhouse, too.) and my kids’ school lunch room received a “B” from the health department. The good news I reported in a previous blog literally doubled (a friend is having twins) and the bad news metastasized. Good friends are moving away and budget cuts at work and at home are moving my way. I’m working at being a loving husband, a grounded father, and a repentant Christian. Believe me, I have a lot to write about.
I’ve got to make a pact. I considered developing a detailed system or establish an all-controlling structure with strict rules and operate with consequences for non-compliance. So what if this plan didn’t work with religion. What do we really know about Martin Luther, anyway? Maybe he was a whiner? Maybe when he didn’t get his way, he nailed lists on doors throughout the city. For all we know on the way to the cathedral, he nailed a 95 Thesis on the butchers doorpost on “Why people deserve fresh beef.” (or I guess, maybe if we had a Martin Luther today, we wouldn't have people kicking sick cows.) For all we know, he was on his way to the local bistro to nail “95 reasons why it’s wrong to grease the maitre'd’s palm for a better table” on their door. All I know is that my writing won’t thrive if left to my own devices. (For that matter, neither will my spiritual life.) And while “grace alone” is sincerely appreciated with respect to the content of what I write (and with my spiritual life), I need some “works” or I won’t have any work.

You know, that period of time when your wife is just starting labor? She isn’t exactly in it, but the pains are starting . . . . birth pangs. I never cared for that time. I wanted it to be over already. The dad just stands there, feeling responsible, kinda useless, just wanting it to be over. (I could make another beef reference about #!#s on a bull, but I won't.) I wanted it over. I wanted to see my baby; hold my baby and give little bunny kisses on the baby’s forehead. We've got definate birth pangs, getting stronger and stronger. . . Man, I’ve got a lot to write about. (I’ve got to make a pact.)

Now That We're Evolved...

I’ve mentioned in previous posts that everyday I commute on the train to Union Station in downtown Los Angeles. For the past 11 years, I’ve slept every morning and eavesdropped every afternoon (my two favorite past times) on my ride to and from work. Recently, I woke up early from my train ride slumber to call my son and wish him a “Happy Birthday.” Since I couldn’t go back to sleep the last 15 minutes of the ride, I decided to practice my second favorite past time. Do you know what I heard? NOTHING. Not a peep of gossip; not a complaint session; not a tangled soap opera of deceit playing out for my personal enjoyment or righteous indignation. Now, mornings are normally slow because a lot of us try to grab a few extra winks. I can fall into a pretty deep coma on the train. I’ve missed my stop more than once and had to be picked up in San Bernardino. Occasionally, I’ve snorted so loud I woke myself up. A few times, I’ve tried to cuddle with the person next to me. Of course, once I wake up and wipe the drool off the corner of my mouth, I either blush and apologize if it’s a woman or blush and start talking about oil changes or sports scores if....(never mind).

Back on point. After saying, “Hello,” to darkness, my old friend, (Get it?) I started thinking about how my daily commute has changed over the years. Before there were little pockets of friends, quiet and chatting in the morning; laughing boisterously in the afternoon. Christmastime saw knitters, crotchetiers, and cross stitchers feverishly working on that last gift. (I tell you, these people were concentrating so intently and working so dedicately that if they were twenty year’s younger, I would have thought that Kathy Lee Gifford had a new Wal-Mart line coming out.) But still, through all of this they were chatting it up; freely giving advice or encouraging “You-can-do-it-” pep talks. This past holiday, they were still there but there was very little talking. Why, you ask? What has devastated this once social haven? Simple. The Ipod. That’s right Steve Jobs and his brand of techno-fruit are responsible for the decimation of front-porch society on the Metrolink train. (Is it not bad enough that he is responsible for eliminating the use of pencils and paint brushes in Walt Disney cartoons?) People don’t talk anymore; they all listen to music. All of a sudden, everyone has to get their groove on. And I’m wondering, “When did that happen?” I suspect it was about the same time we all decided to carry around little bottles of water, or drive around in huge ugly military vehicles painted bright yellow that get 8 miles to the gallon. Social communication is on it's death bed. Visiting with your neighbor or egads talking to the person next to you and making a new friend is history. For the most part, people don’t talk on their cell phones either; instead, they text each other acronyms. Verizon doesn’t charge us to talk to each other (as long as you’re “in”) but they keep close count on the number of text messages you send. BTW ISH LOL (By the way, insert sarcasm here. Laugh out loud.). And face it, the only time socializing is going on, we're not talking to each other; we're talking into the Star Trek-Bluetooth do-hicky in our ears. I’m half-expecting someone to all of a sudden say, “Scotty, beam me up,’ and then disappear. And if they did wouldn’t that just be AGBS?! (a great, big shame)

I can't help but question, "Is this why we evolved?" I see where aposable thumbs are a definate plus, especially since that's what everyone is typing with; albeit, incorrectly spelled and without puctuation but "im nt juging." Correct me if I'm not understanding the story. We started out as single cell critters; evolved into monkeys; lost our tails and started walking upright; built the pyramids; discovered nuclear fusion; made Pauly Shore movies, and now we are so caught up in what's fast, easy and convenient that we're not connecting to each other. Where do I begin? Oh, I know. OMG!