The Ol' Ballgame

(This ‘filler’ was written yesterday, while the author was otherwise contemplating more serious fare, many writing sessions deemed by him not quite feeling what he wanted to publish, and shelved)

The Ol' Ballgame

     On Memorial Day, even. 

Yeah, there's nothing like taking a trip to the ol' ballpark. Nothing says 'day off' like a day spent sitting in the stands. 

Forget about how long it took to drive there, or how far away you had to park. Once you're in your seat and looking around at the thousands of other layabouts, you immediately feel like kin. Today is our day to be entertained. 

“Vendor! I'll have one of those bags of 'poor man's lunch' (peanuts) up heah, and they'd better be salted" ('cuz tomorrow is when I'll be thinking about health matters). "Brew vendor! Up heah!" ('cuz I'm thirsty and I don't want to people watch (and game watch) sober). Today's my day. 

The Boys are givin' it their all on the field, doin' their job, and we're keeping half a mind on them and what's going on around us in the stands but that's baseball, right? It's a leisurely affair, unless we're in the playoffs. But that's months away, even if we manage to get there, so for now down on the field it's batter up, fly ball, strike out, 2-1 pitch, line drive to center field, people reaching for pop fly foul balls in the stands, or scramblin' for ones that weren't caught. 

Used to be you could light up at the games but that ain't no more. Commonplace was the sight of the flickering of hundreds of Zippo lighters around the stadium along with constant wafts of smoke but unless you're a senior you have no idea that games were like that, unless you study old footage. Nowadays they have strict rules against partaking and just might usher you out, past the security checkpoints that weren't there either but hey, there's still enough going on to keep you entertained- like eating. 

The upper deck perspective.

Robert Bye- Unsplash.com

Have a brat, then, a corndog, footlong, or Philly, whatever the local favorite is and for you health conscious ones (even on your day off!) there's healthier choices available. I think 'wraps' are a common enough option. 

The food areas are located just off 'the tunnel' and sure enough "Yay it's a home run!" or "Damn it's a pop fly with bases loaded!" roars the crowd and I missed seein' it 'cuz I had to go and was in the john just for a minute but I heard the fan reaction, even in there. 

One of these days I'm going to pony up the money for a behind the plate seat, or for one of those equally pricey ones, the ones at field level along the first or third base line, but I always seem to put that off and get the nosebleed seats on the upper decks or the bleacher bum ones in the 'rockpile', out in the far corners of the outfield where the rowdy people hang out. It's on my bucket list. 

And I like to watch the kids, the young boys thinking that they might get a shot one day, and the young girls hangin' with their daddies (thinkin' now that they got a shot too) and it's a good thing. Baseball is the kind of sport that brings people together as all the usual politics, office disputes, and coworker and neighbor issues are shelved. Forgotten for awhile. 

One of my fantasies is numerous times facing a series of those major league pitchers when the heat is on, the crowd is watching, and I'm in the batter's box. I kinda know what that's like, I played Minor League and Little League and was considered good but didn't get past some guy in Pony League throwing some serious heat, a lanky guy named LaPorte or something. I thought if that ape woulda beaned me I woulda ended up with a concussion or dead, there was so much on his fastball, but maybe I coulda got used to it. Maybe I coulda adjusted and got a hit, or knocked it outta the park. 

Anyway, I didn't get my shot but like everybody else in the stands, I can live vicariously through the players on the field. I got my favorites. I'm sure you got yours. 

So here's to baseball season. "One of the best damn ways to spend a summer's evening!" 

A Different Day At Work

I must admit, I wasn't ready for what transpired this Monday. It took me totally by surprise.

The first thing that occurred was that I was waved into a parking place right in the front by two smiling attendants who welcomed me and then said that they would be detailing my car while I was on the job. To this I was amazed, I must say, but there came more. Much more. 

Entering the gate that leads to the building that leads to the punch clock, I was ushered down a flower strewn path, past managers standing at full attention, sort of like an honor guard. What UP?
  No less than the head of the division- The Man- met me at the front door, where he shook my hand vigorously. He called me by my first name, as if he knew me. I had seen him from afar many times, where he had been sort of surrounded by a fawning entourage of managers so to be recognized by The Man was disquieting, let me assure you. He led me inside the building, away from the managers, who I could see immediately scattered to reman their positions, and asked me if my pay was enough. I mentioned that I had seen that Bryce Harper of the Philadelphia Phillies had signed a 13 year, 330 million dollar contract just yesterday. My division head said he couldn't pay me that much, but he would see to it that I was taken care of. 

Now what that meant I could only surmise, for my idea of 'being taken care of' has always seemed to clash with management's idea of fair compensation. I'm tellin' ya, I was waitin' for the Candid Camera guy to come out at any moment at this point but the division head right on the spot wrote me out a check that got my eyes to poppin'. He said it was for all the past due 'favors' that I had done for the company, where this or that Manager On Duty (MOD) had promised me they would ‘see to it’ that this favor or that wouldn’t be overlooked but they never did pay me back 'cuz they forgot about my beyond the call of duty contribution like a minute or two afterwards. 

Man, I'll tell you I was quite pleased and wished I wasn't at work right then 'cuz I wanted to hustle down to the bank and cash that check before it bounced or somethin' but I had to get on the job and mechanically searched for my time card in the rack. It was getting to be time when my coworkers were going off duty and the passengers were going to be waiting. They pile up quick, you know, but the division head gently put his hand on my shoulder and guided me away from that area while saying "Don't worry about that. It's been taken care of. Come with me"

Well, ok, I hope he's got things covered 'cuz ya know these upper level muckity-mucks don't have a clue about what's going on at street level and I was concerned that my coworkers coming on duty were going to be overwhelmed but next I know I'm sitting in a very comfortable office and The Man is sitting across from me.

“Hal-e-lu-jah!”

Nghia Le- Unsplash.com

"We've had our eye on you for some time" he began, and damn if I didn't get that drop-in-the-pit-of-my-stomach feeling that all employees get hearin' something like that. Was I gonna be fired?

The Man must've read my mind 'cuz he chuckled some before continuing. "No, no, it's nothing like that. You're not in trouble! Quite the contrary. We'd like to offer you a position higher up". 

Not bein' the kind to take a shine to takin' on responsibility, I hardened up some, as if to brace myself for what was coming. But it wasn't like that at all. Company car, nationwide travel on the company's dime, and a hefty per diem. Why, they were offerin' me- me- the kind of a job that, from the standpoint of what I'd been through, wasn't even work at all. I can't go into the details about it, it's not something that an outsider would understand, not bein' in the company and all, so I won't go there. Suffice it to say that I couldn't believe what I was hearin'. But there was really nothing to think about and so lest this opportunity go to another, I accepted the position on the spot. 

"We'll set you up nicely, you'll see" The Man said, while rising from his chair and shaking my hand in conclusion. "There's nothing to worry about. We're confident that you are the right man for the job"

"Thank you, sir" said I, exuding gratitude. 

"No, thank you” The Man insisted. "I was worried that our offer wasn't going to be generous enough. I'm highly relieved that you have accepted our terms"

I guess a uncomfortable moment or two then passed. Seemed our meeting was over. I didn't know what to do next, and my mind drifted back to the punch clock and the taking on of my duties. 

"Take the rest of the week off" The Man then said, addressing my unspoken concerns. He then reached into his suit pocket and pulled out a credit card, which he handed to me. "Here's the corporate card. Take your significant other out to dinner. See some shows. Whatever you want. The corporate jet will fly you to headquarters (“The corporate jet?!”) next Monday".

"Okay" I stammered, not knowing what else to say. My kness were shaking. Felt like I was gonna pass out.

The Man laughed. "It's a little much, I know. But you'll get used to it. All of those who have been elevated go through a period of acclimatization. I have to get on that jet myself so, um... ...see you Monday next?"

"I'll be there!"

"Good!”

The Man then left, and after he did, I caught many of my coworkers eyeing me as I strode out the door on the flower strewn path, back towards my freshly detailed car. I knew they were curious as hell as to what transpired but I also knew that speculation about the details of my meeting with The Man were already circulating 'round the departmental gossip network. My only hope was to get to my car and get the heck out of there STAT. A few of my coworkers hearts were gonna be broken by the news, many of them wouldn't even notice, and some were going to be gnashing their teeth in envy, wishing it woulda been them, but I had just been being me. There could be no fault in that, could there? Thus I was unperturbed about the ramifications that were going to transpire, well, as of now. As of my leaving. 

And most likely never to return. 

That is, unless my new gig within the company calls me to. But I doubt that's gonna happen. 

You know, maybe when I'm flyin' across the country some day, then landing in some big city, my freshly prepped company car at the ready there, and later find myself driving to a nice hotel I might think about the strange world I once inhabited where (chuckling here) I was like them, in the trenches. At the front. Down below. Yeah, I'll reminisce. Those were the days….

…..days best forgotten! 

But you never really can forget, can you? The only thing I know is this- my conscience is clear. I didn't step on any toes on my way to the top. I truly have been blessed and don't even know how it happened! 

Life, huh? It's weird like that.

TOTD Is One Year Old Today

   Happy Birthday, TOTD! You are one year old today. 

A year ago, when I began this project, I didn't know if I'd be able to write about different things every day for a year but I have nearly pulled off that feat. There were days that I missed posting something but I can honestly say that I gave it a go every day, I gave posting something a thought. Life intervened, however. 

Writing each day's piece at times is ridiculously easy and fun, most times it's a process of having a general idea and honing that over and over, sometimes it's extremely difficult for some reason, and there have been times where I wrote something and decided not to post it due to it being not to my liking, unclear, incendiary, or the energy is just not there. 

So where from here? Right now TOTD will continue as usual. I know that for a fact because during the last year I tried a few times to drop it and couldn't do it. Tried to set it aside and then wouldn't ya know it I had a thought that I thought I oughta write about. That's when TOTD is at its best. 

Ideas of things to write about come to me and I might not write about whatever that idea or topic is until days later but I'll think about it from time to time. At the time I actually write the piece I guess it couldn't really be considered TOTD because I've been thinking about it for many days but when it comes time to sit and write it never comes out like I think it will so that is TOTD right there. Fresh. Present. That day is just the right day to write about it, is my feeling. 

Technical-wise, at the beginning I thought I'd insert all kinds of cool videos and provide all these interesting links to this or that page but Facebook is full of that kind of attention grabbing content. That's not really satisfying, most of it, so I go for the real and valid and try not to stand too high on any soapboxes like I’m some carnival barker trying to get people into my tent. 

No. That's not how I roll around here. I hope to present thoughtfully written pieces that entertain and compel and build a following that is more than about flash. My content is substance-based.

There were times during the year when I struggled with putting pieces out. Ideas just didn't flow and I hate to use the word 'filler' or to move in that direction to simply post something- anything- on those days and maybe I did but the intent was that even that would be of interest to someone, frivolous as it was. 

Some pieces I wrote were whimsical and in other ones I figure people definitely sensed that I was possessed by some sort of mood and I probably was. 

Also I must say that I am old school, not of the social media generation, so it was a bit of a stretch to even put myself out there, not naturally being that way, but the tools were there to do so and I used them and now I can't retrieve from the internet all of what I have written, even if I tried. I imagine it will be circulating through a network of servers forever, like a space probe in the far reaches of the solar system that continues to travel, who knows where or why.

I tried during the year to make my prose relatable. Not florid or pretentious or overly casual or hillbilly or ALL CAPS or heavy in the use of italics and a slew of other writing tricks and styles but if I did I did so for a purpose, to illustrate a point. But sometimes doing that stuff is just plain fun.

Format's not going to change, I don't see that happening soon. The text and picture or two I put in each piece seems to work best. I have recently added more space between the paragraphs for easier reading. Place concepts too tightly together, in too dense a fashion, and they can swirl and get lost in a sea of related topics and lose their ability to be comprehended. Too many ideas clumped together, too many associations and things to ponder packed too tightly together does not a happy reader make. 

Yippie! Cupcake!

rawpixel- Unsplash.com

As you can see, I have a lot to write about even when I don't think I do because when I sat down to write this all of these 'items to mention' just flowed. But I think it's enough..... 

I'm pleased myself to have presented the public with this body of work, these vignettes of daily life. I look back and marvel at it sometimes and then I move on, not resting on any laurels. 

Some things I wrote and posted are probably crap, in some minds, while others are too woo-woo but unless you swing the bat you're not in the game, eh? I thought I'd be writing about more metaphysical stuff but that comes when it comes. I fully intend to stretch boundaries there, what we're about, where we're going, so expect more of that. That's the stuff I really enjoy. 
I like the fun stuff too. The humorous postings. Love writing those. They're totally spontaneous, most times I write them. 

Statistics-wise, I tried for 365 but actually posted 297 times. That's a lot of work. Did I get paid for it, monetize it? I didn't make a dime. Did I enjoy it? Thoroughly. Writing is, for me, one of the things I'm passionate about. 

Ideas? Where do I get them from?  Ol' Johnny Carson got plenty of material from just commenting on the news of the day. I do the same but also mix in longer term musings and things that come right outta the blue. Expect mo' of the same, and hopefully they'll be mo' betta. 

Oh, blow out the candle already and get back to ‘work’!

Brewpub Name Generator

     Thinking of opening a brewery? If so, perhaps this handy Brewpub Name Generator might help. Just pick one or two names from each column!

    Bigfoot's                                Bombastic                      Alehouse
    Chop Factory                          Grub                                 'N Brews
    Kickbush Avenue                  Collusion                        Alewerks
    Cousins                                  Red Dog                          Saloon
    Overweening                         Spirited                        Meeting House
    Scalded Pig                            Gourmet                         Brewery
    Asinine                                    Skullduggery                Tavern
    Petulant                                  Partners                          Bar
    Old Millyard                           #5                                     Brewpub
    Cock & Lion                            Bleary                               Haus
    Grumpy Uncle's                    Ancient                            Kraft Manufactory
    Incipient                    Sunset                              Lounge
    Stoopid                                  Brothers                          Roadhouse
    Hold Up                                Crew                                 Beer Joint
    Moe's                                      Train Wreck                      Tap
    Hazy                                      Steampunk                      Place
    Bottom Of The Barrel        Boulevard                         ‘Q ‘n Brew
    Crusty                                    Alley                                   Keg Repository
   Shady Lady’s                        District                              Speakeasy
   Enchanting                            Buzz                                   Dive Bar

Critical Mass Drunken Lager Works

Alien Ingredients Inn

Kaiser’s Private Stock Bottle Club

Area 51 Select Pool Hall  

Back in the day up in old Wisconsin there was a local truism that went like this: "There ain't noplace in the state where you can pull up to a four way stop and there ain’t a tavern on one of the corners".

This is true of the whole country now. 

Rise up, proud Wisconsinites! We have successfully exported our culture!

"What'r You Gonna Do?"

My current employ is going to end this year and this is also true for the little gang I work with and so we're all being peppered with questions a lot about what we're going to do next. (But enough about them! We're fellow job seekers now, in competition with each other) 
Ideally, I should like to retire to a life where this kind of question troubles and vexes me not but the situation is such that this is not yet possible. Close, but no cigar, as they say. 
And it's not like I haven't done this sort of thing before, many, many times, this 're-inventing myself'. However, the older I get, the less career matters to me and the more job satisfaction does. Money is not so big an issue anymore, though money still is welcome, but more important to a seasoned worker like me is that my work environment be suited to my temperament. Like an old dog I am not one to suffer fools gladly, with puppy-esque forbearance, nay, I be snappy with the uncouth and uncultured and perhaps may even growl if I merely sense their approaching energetic signature(s) but are not yet 'blessed' with their physical presence(s). 
So, that being stated, here are a few of the answers I give to those presenting the posit "What'r you gonna do?"

"I hear the Chinese are hiring for their new Martian colony. Three year contract. The shifts in the palladium processing factory are long but the pay is fantastic. However, what truly ices the cake is that us workers will enjoy plenty of top end A.I. company, if you know what I mean. I'm thinkin' on that one. Haven't signed anything yet"

"McMurdo Station in Antartica is another possibility. I've been wanting to get away from it all for a long time but the aforementioned Chinese have taken away my A-list destination, a very ancient and remote cave high in the Tibetan Himalayas, which I had hoped to occupy in profound mediation. Antarctica offers me a similar opportunity, a paid one no less, but there I have to share my cave with others. I'm on the fence with that one"

"Moving away from hermitage offerings, I am considering a gig as a New York art dealer. I saw an article in The Times a few days ago where some of the upper crust dealers were partyin' it up as part of the job, you know, that sort of thing being expected. You must roll with the ridiculously moneyed so that you can correctly appraise works they might be inclined to purchase. I would also, in order to fit in, have to spend hundreds of thousands of dollars a month to adorn myself with the latest fashions. While I haven’t laid out that kind of dough before, I have shopped at Savers and clothed myself with high end name brands for years! Waiting on a call there"

"Several news outlets have approached me about being a guest on their shows. They like the fact that I'm highly opinionated and think that I could act as a galvanizing force with their audiences, possibly bringing ratings up into the stratosphere. I have the correct amount of repressed anger and can weave some pretty convincing spin. I've already gone through numerous screen tests and they're liking what they're seeing. The stopper here is that they're thoroughly vetting me beforehand. A couple of people have been assigned to research my past and comb through everything I've ever written in order to see if they can find anything that enemies- contrarians- might use to bring me down. I feel sorry for those researcher guys 'cuz I wrote a lot of stuff. Might take them a year or more"

Been working on this bridge forever.

Peter Usher- Unsplash.com

"Two highly placed people in Hollywood have proposed doing a reality show where I am exposed on a constant basis to five star luxury. They want to set me up in cribs and situations all over the world and film my reactions as I experience things beyond my wildest dreams. They think that this concept show would resonate with a vast blue collar base, I, in effect, becoming the patron saint of worker bees. They could live their lives vicariously through me! I told the Hollywood guys that I considered such a thing absolutely morally reprehensible and would have none of it! They took this as me playing hard to get- and my agent just loves that play! He's reporting back to me daily on how negotiations are progressing on a reconfigured contract"

"Can U believe it?! The Weather Channel wants me to be on their team! They're looking for a long term Storm Guy, you know, the guy that gets placed in the wildest weather situations. Lightning! Hail! Tornados! Cracks of thunder, right overhead! In the path of flying debris! Wading through floodwaters, taking that last breath of clear air before being overcome by a dust storm, slippin' and slidin' for the camera at ice storm ground zeros, and up to his neck in freshly fallen snow- with more coming- that's the job for me. I practiced this one a lot as a kid so I know the ropes"

Now I know all these sound good, and would fit me to a T, but the job I've always wanted still eludes me. The folks in charge of this one haven't responded to my resume yet but I'm gonna hold out for a bit longer and see if they reply. 
Warren Beatty said that the best part of being famous was that you got a thing called access, and that's what I want most of all. ACCESS! I want the ropes to part for me and the doors to open everywhere I go. How you qualify for this one I don't exactly know but I do know that when you're in, you're in. Somebody way up declares that you are access-worthy and then it just snowballs from there. I've lit my manifestation candles, am doing woo-woo ceremonies at my altar big time, and am chanting affirmations continuously over this one.

If it takes me a while to get there it'll be worth it 'cuz I want it all. In the meantime I'll most likely be found working at one of those other jobs I listed, or doing something similar. Ya gotta make a livin', right?

I'm okay with suffering until I get my access gig, you know, until I get my real job.

Rhythm And Rhyme And Harmony

     Spent the last three days listening to the radio and yeah, I got my wish of listening to mostly new music and/or covers I hadn’t heard before but it was a bittersweet affair 'cuz a lot of it didn't ring my bell ifyouknowwhadImean. 
     The DJ's playing these tunes didn't share that same opinion, they thought they were spinnin' the good stuff because during breaks in the entertainment they sometimes waxed long upon the artist, about how this or that song had personal meaning for them, or that they knew something about a particular song's history, how it was created, and they wanted to share that. 

Old Skool analog, no data plan required.

Eric Nopanen- Unsplash.com

Which led me to the thing I want to write about, which is the song creation process (and the creative process in general). 
Songs are mainly written by bands, which is plural, so there is involvement to varying degrees by mates within the band when it comes to accessing the creative magic from which the song springs which they then describe to curious magazine (nowadays podcast) interviewers in this way: "Me an' me blokes crafted a tune over some whiskey and beers that’s about a girl Johnny had a breakup with. It took us an hour to write it on a sotted Sunday afternoon when we were hungover from the LA gig", which gets you to think that that is how all rock songs are created. Easy! Just like that!
Somebody comes up with the lyrics, somebody else comes up with the rhythm, melody, or beat, and then somebody else goes "Hey mates- why don't we cut out that last lil' bit 'n put this in there" upon which he does a slight riff on his guitar and the other band mates go "Oye, mate! That is bloody perfect!" and the next thing you know 'Satisfaction' or whatever is gaining serious airplay and then interviewers swarm ‘round the band and hound them for further insights on their creative process (and extraordinarily un-ordinary lifestyles).

One astute guy I listened to casually talked about his life in the music business and related that he was part of a gypsy community that traveled the world doing gigs as part of this or that band. When he had a break from touring he would touch base at a certain studio where he had an opportunity to record all the songs he'd been working on as a solo project on the side, one of many such solo projects he'd done over the years. He’d collaborate with all kinds of other gypsy musicians that he knew and were in town at the time and I couldn’t help but think “is that the coolest life or what?" as he was relaying it. 
    He had gotten onto 'The Circuit' and once within it, contacts, connections, leads, resources, equipment, collaborators, and like-minded people seemed to abound. The people within The Circuit got along very well with each other because they all liked what they did for a living and were making good enough money to be able to forgo working at a regular job, or any kind of ‘job’ at all. 
Then, as if that wasn’t good enough, they also gained Satisfaction from having an impact upon the world that they could readily measure because they said that they could walk into a mall, a bar, an airport lounge, or whatever and hear one of their songs playing, a song that they had imagined into existence. How is that for having an effect? It's like creating a gift that keeps on giving to the world because, if it's a good song, it could be played one day short of forever. 
     Writing (wordsmithing, I call it) bares little similarity with songwriting. Not nearly as public, the words that are written in pages are only selectively read. They are not widely broadcast like the lyrics in songs are but then again, if you rethink it, are not all movies written and then broadcast to the public at large? All TV series too? Even the intensely private thoughts of a standup comedian can make it to the airwaves. 
So what am I getting at here? Other than in singer/songwriter solo acts, stand-up comedy, and book writing (there may be some others), there exists collaboration. This means that the person that holds the initial vision accepts a loss of control over a project and allows input and change that in the end may or may not match his/her initial vision. This tradeoff is necessary because in collaboration most of the big projects get done. You have to have the visionary, but you also have to have those ones who are good at what they do to take the project to the next level. In doing so, you are taking risk that the project will lose its way, yes, but in that collaborative risk taking there is the huge possibility that something can be created that can surpass anything an individual could ever bring about on their own. 
Maybe you and your mates collaborate and put an album together in the studio like four blokes in England did fifty years ago called The White Album or you have a cast of thousands and a budget of millions and end up crafting a masterpiece like Raiders Of The Lost Ark.

Who knows? There’s magic in individuals not knowing everything.

Lightness Of Being

    One of the joys of my job is that I get to be around kids every now and again, kids of all ages. I don't have any kids of my own and didn't want any 'cuz I figured the world was doing a good enough job of populatin' and also because I had 'been there, done that' lifetimes ago and this time around I was going to place my focus elsewhere, which I did. 
This has made me ageless in a way (something I wrote about once before) because I don't have a measuring stick like (God forbid!) my son is this old and my two daughters are this old (which I hear adults my age say a lot). I say 'God forbid' in the sense that "God forbid I should have three kids 'cuz I can't imagine it!" because whoa- isn’t raising kids a hellacious, daunting, fearsome, and most times (crazier still) voluntary taking on of work? But you oughta see what I see every day. 
There are plenty of volunteers for raising babies! They populate the airport in much higher concentrations than anywhere else (save schoolyards) so if you have any doubts that the number of people willing to have kids is less, that can be a real eye opener. 
Anyway, since I didn't have kids of my own I haven't really been around them much for decades. But in my present job, there they are- newborns, toddlers, precocious three to five year olds, regular kids from six on up to about twelve, awkward early teens, and then older pre-adult teens with that attitude of disdain that they tend to have. 

Exhausted after a full afternoon of doing absolutely nothing important

Blake Meyer- Unsplash.com

I see a lot of kids and I see a lot of parents and I can tell what kind of people the parents are by the way their kids act. It's a joy to me to see well-adjusted, happy kids but it hurts some to see kids who are withdrawn and guarded because that tells me that they haven't been treated very well. I do what I can to make those ones' day better but I can't help 'em anymore than that. 
My fav kids are the three-to-five year olds. Lord Jesus they are amazing. Their parents might not always think so, they look kind of tired, bored, and weary sometimes. "Enough with the cuteness already!" the parents are thinking, 'cuz they have to deal with the little darlings when they're not being adorable and are being 'difficult', but damn do those little guys brighten up the mood nearly every time they're around.
For example: If I get a group of just adults together they can vary between being clipped and hardly talkative to each other to positively buzzing (which is rare) but the kind of stuff they talk about is adult stuff because you know they have to represent. 
But get just one of those three-to-five year old angels onboard and little sparkles, I swear, fill the air. They approach whatever they're experiencing with a sense of absolute wonder as if they are experiencing it for the very first time, which they probably are, and all of a sudden the world is a magical place. Many adults have totally forgotten how to see things like that but I never really did so I can relate to kids. We're kin, though we aren't. We're kin in that we share a secret which enables us to laugh and play at the drop of a hat because we know the world really isn’t a serious place. Sure, there are grown up things that have to be done and super important rules about physical safety and survival that have to be followed but a lot of that 'other' grown up stuff is meant to dampen, control, subdue, and condition people. Fortunately with the little ones none of that 'other' stuff has taken yet. They're still free, wild, enthusiastic, trusting, open, and naturally kind, like the adults used to be, until they learned how not to be, or hid those parts of themselves away.

Now understand, I wouldn't want to be around kids all the time. I just like to take 'em in small doses because yeah, I gotta admit it, I'm not really into that much frivolity and silliness. I like being an adult. But if I ever get lost in adulthood, or have become jaded from dealing with dour, businesslike adults at work, kids serve as instant reminders of just how lost I've become.

The best possible antidote for lostness is me doing my job, a three-to-five year old kid, that kid's parents, and a grandparent. Let the young parents take care of business, which they, with firm parental resolve and grim determination, adamantly insist on doing themselves. Mom will muscle with her personal stuff and the multiple bags that Moms always lug around, while Dad tries to figure out where to grab the damn carseat while he’s at the same time struggling with two big, heavy suitcases.

That gives the rest of us a little time to play!

Mudder

About seven years ago I had a job where I drove several times a day past a dirt Motocross track built into the side of a hill. There were the usual Moto track rutted turns, low spots, steep banks, and abrupt mounds where the riders could catch air, and this track was built alongside a freeway. Every weekend in the summer riders would converge on this rural location and compete, which was entertainment for the bored freeway drivers, you bet. 
But then early on one summer weekend day I saw something else. A horde of dirt-covered people were running along the motocross track! WTF? So I checked it out, later, on the internet. They were doing a thing called a 'Mudder'. 
What a Mudder is is basically like signing up for a day of hardcore boot camp. With a bunch of other contestants you run an obstacle course and yes, some of the obstacles are the sort of thing you have to get through that will get you very muddy in the process. This is apparently great fun, becoming physically and mentally tormented for a day.
Right off I could see that this was only something that people that worked in offices would do, because believe me, the average Joe what holds a day job ain't no way gonna exert himself in no mud pit on the weekend. He'll be on the sofa watching the game(s) with a bowl of high calorie, high fat feed close by. In his hand will be a bottle of suds, and many more of those will be in the coolerator. 
Gotta rest up for the week ahead! 
But no, such is not the case for those that hold office jobs. These are the ones that you see getting in their early morning jogs, bicycling to work, hitting the gym after work, and competing in Mudders and marathons on weekends. 
I've never ever held an office job, my constitution is totally incompatible with being confined in a building throughout the week, but there are plenty of people that gravitate to such environs so there is a huge market for these Mudder-type events. 

“What are these people doing on my track?!”

Koen Van Ginkel- Unsplash.com

"Rah!" goes the Mudder cry, and they're off! Bounding up the muddy track, climbing up and over the rope/wall, dunking themselves in the ice pond, dodging their way through the maze of hanging wires that give them electric shocks, traversing the monkey bar obstacle, the bars slicked with butter and grease, trying to get up and over the similarly greased half pipe obstacle, etc., etc., all of this an improvement on boot camp!
Competing in a Mudder is also a teamwork event. The participants are encouraged to help each other along the way and so yes, doing that sort of thing is always boss-approved and so doing a Mudder may even be a company sponsored activity. A perk! (Just alla you come back to work on Monday in one piece, okay?)

  Well, seems this Mudder idea has taken off and of course with that has emerged sponsorship, prize money, TV, and the inevitable stars of the 'sport', strapping lads and sinewy lasses making money by working the circuit. 

Surviving a Mudder course is touted as being invigorating in the extreme. You really haven't lived until you've crossed this off your 'must do' list. 
Okay. All right. Say what you will you ain't getting this hombre far away from the sofa on a Saturday (or on a Sunday). That's what weekends used to be about, before two guys, one a former counter-terrorism expert, the other a former corporate lawyer (think 'office job') came up with this crazy 'Let's sell agony (boot camp) as fun’ idea. 
But I can't say it doesn’t look like extreme fun, I can't deny that. Running wild in the woods like a ten year old kind of fun. Were I in my twenties with energy to burn, and there were some hot babes around as fellow competitors, I might give participating in a Mudder a go one weekend- maybe. 

What I do know for sure is this- if I had to sit at a desk all day and take my breaks near some coffee setup/water cooler, I'd be praying for Saturday's Mudder to come so I could burn off the calories I'd been accruing from eating all those doughnuts in the breakroom. 

It'd also give me something to talk about around the water cooler come Monday.

Grimstone Manor

  A knock came upon the door. Reginald, the butler, opening it, peered out at a figure he had difficulty recognizing for a moment in the darkness. Ah, he knew this man.
     "Good evening sir. What brings you to Grimstone at this late hour?"
"A matter of great importance, to which I am unable to divulge details. Is Sir Crickston about?"
"He is asleep sir" "
"He must be wakened. The matter is of extreme urgency"
Reginald strode away as fast as a dignified butler could and soon Sir Crickston appeared, not quite awake, but conscious enough to appraise the matter he would soon be presented with. 
    "Whatley? What is the matter? For what reason am I I aroused from fitful sleep?"
   "A carriage containing your son has overturned on the brewery road. He was injured, as were others"
   "How is he affected?"
   "A broken leg, to which he has received a cast, and a blow to his head, to which he has received stitches. He is in hospital"
   "Reginald! Gather my cloak and cane. We're off to St. Elias at once!"

    A mere two hours later they were in the local village and entering the door of St. Elias hospital. "Sir Crickston!" gasped the nurse on duty at the sight of the esteemed personage. "Right this way!"
    Led down a nearly silent corridor, they came soon upon Sir Crickston's son's room. He was propped up in bed, and, as the nurse had relayed during their walk down the hallway, still under the effects of the sedative the doctor had administered. 

Take me to the ER!

Patrick Schneider- Unsplash.com

"Hiya pops! Guess I f___ed up again" Sir Crickston's son emitted.
  "He never speaks in such a vulgar manner!" an alarmed Sir Crickston muttered to the nurse. "The effects of the sedative! If we could be left alone...."
    "Most certainly, Sir Crickston!" the nurse said as she backed up, then exited the room. 
    Sir Crickston turned his attention back to his son. 
"Doctor Dobbs said you would make a complete recovery. I passed him on the way in. Alexander- what were you doing at the brewery with those wretched 'friends' of yours? I have cautioned you time and again that they are merely a gang of ruffians and will do nothing to further the ambitions or social standing of the Crickston family. They will only add to its detriment! Word gets around, you must at the very least be able to understand that. Already families of distinction are distancing themselves from involvement in our social affairs. You are incorrigible!
  I have half a mind to disown you!"
"Disown me, then, father! I will be the better for it!"
"Drugs are in possession of your mind" Sir Crickston replied. "Your ability to reason has been compromised"
"I am firmly in control of my faculties and I say again, disown me! Free me from your life of dull parties and limpid society gatherings! I have much more fun with the lower classes at the breweries, pubs, and dance halls in town. I have a surprise for you, father- I have recently asked the cigarette girl at the Cabana Club for her hand in marriage"
    "You can't be serious!"
  "I am"
   "This will bring you to ruin! No son of mine will be allowed to marry a club girl!"
   "I can, I will, and I don't care!"
   "Impetuous youth! Enough of this! I shall have, as soon as you are able to be moved, a task for Reginald and some others of the estate staff. You shall be forcibly removed to our families' second estate, Dragoon. Once there placed, on the distant Scottish moors for the summer, you, through reeducation, will again begin to learn and appreciate your postion in society!
  "I shall not be removed!"
  "Even now agents under my employ have barred any means of your escape. You will follow your father's wishes!"
"Argghh!!!"

And so it came to pass that young Alexander was expatriated to Scotland for the longest summer of his young life. Upon his return home, he slowly started to pass the brewery in his carriage and while doing so, gave nary a glance at his old friends, who saw him and pleaded with him to join them. 
"I shall not!" Alexander shouted out. "I am a changed man! I read the good book daily, am courting a sweet and polite member of my standing as my future wife, and have studied the means of accounting and business so that I may soon take up duties at my father's firm. I shall n'er see the likes of you again!"
"What the f___ happened to you?" challenged 'Sir Loathsome', the former leader of Alexander's run-around crew. "Have you gone insane?”
  "Ha ha" chuckled Alexander. "I see your choice of vernacular is still the same- coarse. I, my old 'associate', have become sensible”
Sir Loathsome looked around at the other members of the local crew and the look he gave them was that his old pal Alex had most certainly lost his mind. 
  "Ok ‘Alexander’" Sir Loathsome said. "Go. Go and be a member of polite society. Take Miss Jane or whatevers hand in marriage. Raise some fine young lads and lasses. Enjoy your time at your father's firm. Purchase a grand estate. Manicure the grounds. Have tea at four o'clock in the afternoon every day. Read The Times every morning, pressed flat with an iron by whatever butler you hire. Throw gala social events where everybody of your kind mingles over punch and harpsichord music. And then, the day you wake up bored out of your mind, come on down to the brewpub and over some greasy fish and chips and a frothy mug of grog, we in the old gang will celebrate your return to reality!”.

Ratt Rod

    I spent some time living in a medium-sized but rather vanilla Colorado town and there was this guy.
I used to see him here and there, because my job had me driving around town a lot. I'd be waiting three deep to make a left turn at the speed camera controlled intersection, or driving along any of a number of busy arterial drags that fed traffic to the freeway, and spot him. And he was always easy to spot. 
His vehicle of choice was a slightly lowered, apocalyptic-looking, yellowish/rust-orange colored mini truck that had sort of warrior-themed, black stenciled skull on the driver's door. A hint of a powerful engine peeked out above the hood and if you were within a few cars of the thing you could hear it rumbling. 
The driver looked like D-Day from Animal House, with his slight snarl, wrap around shades, and dark, thinning, slightly greasy hair. 
Nearly every other car in town was stock, right off the factory floor, accessorized but not modified, climate controlled, emission compliant, whisper quiet, and boring. 
D-day's snarl probably was one of contempt for people driving company vehicles and ordinary commuter cars because the souped-up mini truck he was driving had to be serious fun. Cops didn't see it that way, oh no, they wanted to be the only ones in town driving the performance cars, tearing off down the road in pursuit, which they had a license to do, but there were times I wondered what their hustling was all about because I couldn't see any reason they were driving so fast. Maybe it was the end of the shift and they were racing back to the yard to park it or they were bored and it was time for a little driving excitement. 
Something I and the masses were never allowed to have. 

License and Registration not required!

Koen Van Ginkel- Unsplash.com

There was a passenger in town I picked up once that told me that he had twelve points taken off his license because some cop said he had pulled away after the light turned green ‘as if he was racing’. Twelve points! He showed me the ticket- 'Intention To Race' was written on it. Said he was going to fight it in court. Twelve points on your driving record in Colorado was four points more than getting caught for drunk driving! I thought this way over the top unjustified.

Motorcycle cops with their radar guns lurked at the trouble spots in town, places I knew about, this simply due to plying every damn street in town over and over, so I knew to look out for them, and then these speed trap/speed camera vans started showing up and driving became about as fun as if the damn driving instructor at the DMV was sitting beside me at all times. 
Not that I (or most of the people in town) was a speeder, drove erratically, was prone to fits of road rage, or was in any other way a menace to other drivers or pedestrians but the overwhelming and constant police presence the local governing body was financing (the police department was one of the biggest and newest government buildings in town) highly suggested that left to ourselves, the streets would become drag strips filled with drunks, road ragers, and other such out of control menaces to society.
So it was a relief to see D-day bucking the trend. Every time I saw the guy he reminded me that driving- and especially commuting- used to be fun. Cars were never meant to be the cookie-cutter, closed cockpit, sensory deprivation chambers that they unarguably have become. Cars are machines built to serve humanity and machines that serve mankind have personalities. 
Now I know a lot of people don't believe this, but cars, like everything else, have consciousness. Not the same that people have, but they do. Ask anybody that drives for a living. Like your car, it'll like you back. Appreciate your car and it'll like you back more. And nobody appreciates cars more than car enthusiasts. 

I’ll be taking the yellow one home

Marc Kleen- Unsplash.com

So there's a bonding there. You're one with the vehicle. It knows you and you it. Let that fresh air come in! Feel the rumble of the engine! Know how she handles, how she responds to the throttle, how the tires bite on the curves. Pilots know planes, captains know ships, engineers know trains, and real drivers know cars. 
Car designers have gotten away from that. Cars used to be hand made, not made like toasters. Oh, I'm straying here..... 

Dig- there is a show on Netlix right now called Gotham Garage. If you wanna see how it's done, how driving can be made fun again, that's the show to watch. Whatever this team builds for their customers is guaranteed to be the only one of its kind in town. Fun to drive? No question. Headturner? You bet.
So it is possible to reverse the unfun car trend. Getting from point A. to point B. doesn't have to be as boring as sitting in a laundromat and maybe by making driving fun again people won't be in such a hurry to get from here to there, which they are now, because the cars they're driving aren't fun to drive!
D-day understood this sort of reasoning. Speed cameras, motorcycle cops, and speed camera vans be damned, he was gonna drive his ratt rod anyway and enjoy his time behind the wheel.

I want a service staff

     I want somebody to patch the roof. Take the car to the shop and bring it back when it's done. Step in and manage my household affairs. I want to ring the Downton Abbey bell to Mr. Carson and have the staff hup-hup-hupping to my every need. 

     I will pay them well and try my best to ensure that they enjoy their time in my service for I have worked service jobs and know what it's like but there are more important things for me to be doing now than the mundane, thus this need to be relieved of everyday burdens has arisen. It's time. 

     I need extra space and time to get important things done. I need to drift like a cloud at times, and move quickly like a cheetah when opportunity appears.

     I can't be standing in line at Lowes wondering if the QX532 part I pulled off the shelf fits the C28 coupler housing. Waaaaay too ordinary for me. In fact, I don't even want to think about stuff like that. That's Carson's department.