I am going to take my blog in a new direction starting any day now. The Number 7 thing is exhausting and, besides, the name of my blog is Papa Linus 'Tories, not Psychological Nonsense Is Interesting. So I have decided to move the focus of my blog in that direction.
I may re-write/edit some previous stories such as the famous Queen Mimi and the Golden Watermelon but I will also present some new material (and I use that term loosely).
Next, look for a new story from Papa Linus entitled Daisy's Big Adventure. It is a true story, based on a smattering of facts, and will serve as an ode and tribute to our cute little Rat-Cat that just today joined Kyla (or Mama Dog or The Vee Vees) in Doggy Heaven.
Coming soon to a blog near this one.
Monday, October 13, 2008
I Forgive you 70 x 7 times if you ignore this post....
Actually this post is more of the same, but If the label didn't include 'different,' what are the chances you would read it? So I lied a little. It's the Presidential Election season so lies are, well, the New Truth. Take your pick - R or D - and they lie to us. But I am here to once again prove that the Number 7 lies to no one. It's like this......
I just received two season tickets to the Phoenix Coyotes because IBM/LSI rented a luxury suite. I've tried to ignore the fact that both Phoenix and Coyotes consist of 7 letters and though it's not working, it is not really the subject of this blog entry. But it is interesting to note that I have never owned season tickets to anything because, frankly, it puts too much pressure on me to keep track of things like "what date is it today?" Another small element of that truth is that I've never had $2400 to spend on tickets, plus gas, goodies, time, etc. to watch hockey in a location that is as close to East L.A. as it is to my home in Gilbert. In case you didn't know, the Phoenix Coyotes play their games in Glendale, AZ. As you know, there is a Glendale, CA - not in East L.A. but nevertheless in the L.A. area - and, though I can't imagine it is true, I was thinking that it is far enough from Gilbert to Glendale, AZ that perhaps Glendale, AZ is on the eastern suburban fringes of the Real Glendale, which is in California. But I thought about that and it's not really logical but I guess as some point someone is going to say "Hey, Glendale and Glendale ought to be Sister Cities!" I don't know about you, but when I hear of our city government spending literally thousands of dollars to become the Sister City to Lizenputz, Lichtenstein, I start to think that having an American Sister City is a pretty good idea. Some say "Buy American;" I say, "Spend American" and "Be a Sister City with an American City", and stuff like that. It's part of the advanced intellectual capital that I spend on a daily basis in an effort to stay politically correct.
So, anyway, I received these two season tickets and I thought, "you know, I can just hear my entire base of readership (6-7 really smart people with a l i t t l e too much time on their hands....) who read my blog would like to know if the Number 7 is lurking somewhere on these season tickets." Now, you know this topic has ceased to be of interest to me for quite some time now (I've been 'clean' for a week......make that a week and a day), but people sometimes call me about something else and if the subject of '7' comes up they always say "you ought to see Number 23, a movie starring Jim Carey where Mr. Rubber Face gets obsessed with a number and it drives him to the nut house." So, based on those calls, I have concluded that interest in the Number 7 is at an all time high - which is not that far from the all time low, but I'm a 'glass half full' kind of guy, so let's go with that approach for how. And, while Jim Carey is more famous than I am and the movie might be good, I might find myself copying some of the stuff from The Number 23 and, with my luck, I'd end up doing several years of 'hard time' for plagiarism, and who knows where I'd end up and whose boy I'd be?
So what's up with the tickets? I'm sure it is as obvious to you as it was to me! If you add the digits of the seat numbers (12 and 13) together the result is what you might expect: 1+2+1+4 = 7. So there you have it, another case where a random event is apparently not as random as one might think! And that's not even mentioning that the seats are in Section Number 209 (9-2 = 7). I know, I know, that is backwards, but 2-9 = (7) and, as I mentioned, I am a 'glass half full' kind of guy. Plus I have an unconfirmed case of manic dyslexia which on occasion causes me to look at things in a manner different. So, as you can see, subtracting numbers in a backward direction is not only mathematically possible, but highly encouraged.
I have to admit that today's story concerning my storied associated with the 'Number 7' is a little far-fetched but, as concerns my life, Far-Fetched is the new Normal.
Or hadn't you noticed?
I just received two season tickets to the Phoenix Coyotes because IBM/LSI rented a luxury suite. I've tried to ignore the fact that both Phoenix and Coyotes consist of 7 letters and though it's not working, it is not really the subject of this blog entry. But it is interesting to note that I have never owned season tickets to anything because, frankly, it puts too much pressure on me to keep track of things like "what date is it today?" Another small element of that truth is that I've never had $2400 to spend on tickets, plus gas, goodies, time, etc. to watch hockey in a location that is as close to East L.A. as it is to my home in Gilbert. In case you didn't know, the Phoenix Coyotes play their games in Glendale, AZ. As you know, there is a Glendale, CA - not in East L.A. but nevertheless in the L.A. area - and, though I can't imagine it is true, I was thinking that it is far enough from Gilbert to Glendale, AZ that perhaps Glendale, AZ is on the eastern suburban fringes of the Real Glendale, which is in California. But I thought about that and it's not really logical but I guess as some point someone is going to say "Hey, Glendale and Glendale ought to be Sister Cities!" I don't know about you, but when I hear of our city government spending literally thousands of dollars to become the Sister City to Lizenputz, Lichtenstein, I start to think that having an American Sister City is a pretty good idea. Some say "Buy American;" I say, "Spend American" and "Be a Sister City with an American City", and stuff like that. It's part of the advanced intellectual capital that I spend on a daily basis in an effort to stay politically correct.
So, anyway, I received these two season tickets and I thought, "you know, I can just hear my entire base of readership (6-7 really smart people with a l i t t l e too much time on their hands....) who read my blog would like to know if the Number 7 is lurking somewhere on these season tickets." Now, you know this topic has ceased to be of interest to me for quite some time now (I've been 'clean' for a week......make that a week and a day), but people sometimes call me about something else and if the subject of '7' comes up they always say "you ought to see Number 23, a movie starring Jim Carey where Mr. Rubber Face gets obsessed with a number and it drives him to the nut house." So, based on those calls, I have concluded that interest in the Number 7 is at an all time high - which is not that far from the all time low, but I'm a 'glass half full' kind of guy, so let's go with that approach for how. And, while Jim Carey is more famous than I am and the movie might be good, I might find myself copying some of the stuff from The Number 23 and, with my luck, I'd end up doing several years of 'hard time' for plagiarism, and who knows where I'd end up and whose boy I'd be?
So what's up with the tickets? I'm sure it is as obvious to you as it was to me! If you add the digits of the seat numbers (12 and 13) together the result is what you might expect: 1+2+1+4 = 7. So there you have it, another case where a random event is apparently not as random as one might think! And that's not even mentioning that the seats are in Section Number 209 (9-2 = 7). I know, I know, that is backwards, but 2-9 = (7) and, as I mentioned, I am a 'glass half full' kind of guy. Plus I have an unconfirmed case of manic dyslexia which on occasion causes me to look at things in a manner different. So, as you can see, subtracting numbers in a backward direction is not only mathematically possible, but highly encouraged.
I have to admit that today's story concerning my storied associated with the 'Number 7' is a little far-fetched but, as concerns my life, Far-Fetched is the new Normal.
Or hadn't you noticed?
Wednesday, October 1, 2008
Don't Blame it On Mio!
Dear Reader(s):
I have been wanting to send you all a picture of my new car but didn't know how to do it gracefully. I wanted to avoid a "Look at MEEEEE" moment if possible but, what the heck, it is kind of fun to buy a car. So here she be!
My new Ford Fusion SEL AWD is actually a nice car, but it sat out in the 120º F lot for a while and some of the trim issues I've been dealing with are a real pain in the buttinski. So I have had to bring MyFusion in for 'trim work' several times. If you've ever visited a dealership you know that, when you check in at the Service Driveway at a car dealership, they stick a plastic number on top of your car so they know which white American car is mine and which one is yours? Well, if you haven't noticed, pay attention next time! At this point in time you can assume that I was NOT surprised at the number they chose for my car. Can you believe this? Oh, and as for the picture: nice door handle, side mirror and windshield, eh? You'll just have to trust me - the rest of the car is nice.
I just have one final thing to say to you today: please DO NOT blame me for the dramatic stock market crash this week! My middle name is not Lehman, Washington, Wachovia or even Chase. And I wouldn't be too quick to blame Brad either because you know that if he could have avoided your losing money on This Year's Black Monday he would have done so. And Brad is much closer to being the type of person who might be able to invoke divine providence to avoid such a catastrophe, so let's not bark up that tree, okay?
Now, as for me being the catalyst or cause of a 777 point drop in the New York Stock Exchange, ask yourself this question: could a person who can no longer tune his guitar without an electronic chromatic tuner be in possession of a sufficient percentage of his faculties to make something like this happen? The answer is of course not. So I didn't cause the drop. Now, as for the precise (777) severity of the crash, how can I say for certain that I had nothing to do with it? How can I deny that this is a possibility?
While I am certainly not aware of anything I have done that would have encouraged the market to crash so violently, I have to admit that it gave me pause when I read the headline for this article >>>>. When I read "Dow Dives blah blah blah, and the mathematical value assigned to 'blah' is 7..... well, you know, it isn't like I have a case of Market Crash Disassociative Disorder. So how can I say that a loss of 777 points has absolutely nothing to do with me? If only I could...
Oh, I hear you, and I am happy to listen to many, if not most of you, spout "tuh" when referring to my obsession with the Number 7. You have earned that right as loyal reader. But, twice again, I have documented certain coincidences that give me pause - I can't help it. And as long as I continue to be prodded by this number, I'm afraid I shall always ask that pressing question that all of us must come to grips with on a daily basis:
"Why MEEEE?"
At least that's what I tend to say. And you, are you sure you are not being numerically stalked and unaware of it simply because you are not paying attention? Well if you are so sure of yourself, Mr. or Mrs. Smartypants, I dare you to start paying more attention to numbers around you to see if there is one number that continually seeks you out. If you find this to be the case please let me know, as I am feeling quite picked-on these days.
I am often reminded in a moderately condescending tone that I am seeing these Number 7's simply because I am more observant...I'm looking for 7's. Others - though they haven't ever said this - wonder if I am going mad. Well, I am bemused and belittled, but not below saying that if I am going mad, how can the rest of the Human Race be far behind?
It's not like I just noticed the Number 7 for the first time a few months ago. Au contraire, digit-breather. I have been aware for over 20 years of the fact that my birth date, translated, equates to 7-7-7, yet I have never experienced anything like what has happened these past several months!
My quest is to discover exactly what has changed. I am human (as far as I know) but, just like all of the 90210 freaks on Heroes, I am searching for my Life Purpose. And when I approach The Last of Days, were I to discover that the Number 7 was the key to my quest, how will that make me look when I show up at the Pearly Gates? What, I'll tell them that I simply didn't care enough to try to discover my Life Purpose? No, no no, I cannot afford to simply ignore it.
That would be very bad for my reputation, such as it is.
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Anyway, I suppose you can imagine how NOT surprised I was when I looked at the number on the plastic thing they put on the top of your car when you check in....
Tuesday, September 16, 2008
The Day My World Turned Upside Down
I was in the midst of a lovely day a couple of weeks ago as I left my office to head home, just airily wondering how I was going to force myself to do anything once I arrived at home and was sucked into an alternate reality by the tractor-beam that is my big screen television. It is also possible that I was subconsciously considering the virtues of hideously constructed run-on sentences at that very moment, but I can say in all honesty that those thoughts had very little to do with the first two sentences of today's blog which are, as you can see, hideously constructed run-on sentences.
But I digress. Or is it regress? How about pro-gress? Never mind. Let me try to gather my thoughts, which is a process that requires some pretty quick reflexes as you might imagine.
So where were we? Oh yes, I was contemplating several inactivities for that evening as I walked toward my new VEE-hicle**. I bought a new car and, being the risk-taker that I am - and knowing that my sweet wife never, ever reads my blog - I will admit that I've done spent a few scheckles....shall I say, enhancing the sound system that came with the VEE-hicle. So now I've confessed and repented to you, my valued reader(s) and, fortunately for me, my sweet wife will never, ever be on the other side of the curtain. See, I've developed a Approach to Life that I call creative salvation (some of you would say that I have already transformed this into an art form but, trust me, it is a work in progress....). Anyway, as I see it, by confessing this indiscretion in my blog - which my beautiful, sweet lifemate will never read - I still consider myself to have attained a sort of creative absolution. Now if I ever hear that one of you have said anything to my dear sweet wife then I will cut off your access to my blog! Wait - I guess that might be considered to be a reward. Let's just say that I will be very very very very very upset with you - even if that means I won't be half as upset as my dear sweet wife will be if she ever hears about this.
But again I digress, or whatever.
So I'm walking toward my car when...... (can you see why I never get anything done? My entire life is one big parenthetical phrase. Circle back, re-examine, re-state, revise, talk about my VEE-hicle - if this is one Eternal Round then I feel a disconcerting assurance that I will be as goofy in heaven as I am on earth).
Where was I? Oh yes, I was just about to say that, ironically, at this point I actually have to digress, so cut me some slack. About 9 hours prior to leaving the office I walked from my VEE-hicle to my office and walked right on the SLOW sign you see below, painted on the pavement in the parking garage. Of course, I didn't think much of it that morning. In fact, I had walked over this same sign - more or less lucidly - for nearly 50 work days since joining my new employer in mid-July. So, naturally, I didn't think much of this sign until my world was turned on its head after work that same day......
It happened like this: walking back to my new VEE-hicle that evening I saw this devilishly subtle sign in a slightly different aspect. Maybe it was because I had just heard Spike Lee make an inane political comment on TV, which reminded me of his movie Mo' Better Blues - which I have never seen, but the title reminded me of a mid-life dream I had once entertained of becoming an Ebonics teacher in the ghettos of Salt Lake City. I asked around and was told that the very best ghettos in SLC were west of the freeway, especially in Magna. So I went out there for nearly an hour one day and my dreams - like most all of my dreams - were dashed! I couldn't find anyone who was as passionate about learning Ebonics as I was about teaching them this new, soon-to-be essential language (or so I thought at the time). So yet another one of my life-altering dreams, most of which I have judiciously pursued throughout my life for between 24 and 72 hours, was shot in the butt. But maybe that is why I translated the code in this reversed image as I did:
I looked, looked again, and couldn't believe my eyes. What kind of a sick joke was this? The image was very clear in my mind: the Fates were saying:
Well, suffice it to say I ran to my car, turned my Forbidden Stereo up (well past the 7th level, I can assure you), and allowed my brain to drain in an ambiance that can only be experienced by the nirvana that comes from listening to a really, really good pirated CD.
I disappeared into the sunset, using cruise control to carefully avoid driving at any speed that contained a '7', and wondered when the next hammer was going to come crashing down on what little bit of quiet time my hyper-circuited brain could expect to enjoy that evening.
Then I started thinking, On which date did this happen? Was there a '7' in the date, or could the numbers - added together - equal 7 in any conceivable convolution I could imagine?
Then a wonderful thing just kind of happened: I stopped thinking about it, and to this day I actually can't tell you what the date was. I'd like to say "and I don't care" but you know me better than that. Covering up - a la Richard Nixon - a fairly significant stereo upgrade? Well that's bad enough. But lying about my ability to control what my brain does? Well, that's way beyond absurd, and I'm sure you're sitting there saying "Good thing he didn't try pulling the wool over my eyes about that, because I'm not buying it.
Or words to that effect.
P.S. Oh, by the way, I decided to tell Sweet Vickie about my car stereo enhancements. My thought was "how can I trust anyone, who would stoop so low as to read my blog, with such sensitive information?"
So I faced the music.
So to speak.
_______________________________________
** It pronounce it 'VEE-hicle' because I bought it at Earnhardt Ford which is the worst dealership in the world, and That Ain't No Bull.
But I digress. Or is it regress? How about pro-gress? Never mind. Let me try to gather my thoughts, which is a process that requires some pretty quick reflexes as you might imagine.
So where were we? Oh yes, I was contemplating several inactivities for that evening as I walked toward my new VEE-hicle**. I bought a new car and, being the risk-taker that I am - and knowing that my sweet wife never, ever reads my blog - I will admit that I've done spent a few scheckles....shall I say, enhancing the sound system that came with the VEE-hicle. So now I've confessed and repented to you, my valued reader(s) and, fortunately for me, my sweet wife will never, ever be on the other side of the curtain. See, I've developed a Approach to Life that I call creative salvation (some of you would say that I have already transformed this into an art form but, trust me, it is a work in progress....). Anyway, as I see it, by confessing this indiscretion in my blog - which my beautiful, sweet lifemate will never read - I still consider myself to have attained a sort of creative absolution. Now if I ever hear that one of you have said anything to my dear sweet wife then I will cut off your access to my blog! Wait - I guess that might be considered to be a reward. Let's just say that I will be very very very very very upset with you - even if that means I won't be half as upset as my dear sweet wife will be if she ever hears about this.
But again I digress, or whatever.
So I'm walking toward my car when...... (can you see why I never get anything done? My entire life is one big parenthetical phrase. Circle back, re-examine, re-state, revise, talk about my VEE-hicle - if this is one Eternal Round then I feel a disconcerting assurance that I will be as goofy in heaven as I am on earth).
Where was I? Oh yes, I was just about to say that, ironically, at this point I actually have to digress, so cut me some slack. About 9 hours prior to leaving the office I walked from my VEE-hicle to my office and walked right on the SLOW sign you see below, painted on the pavement in the parking garage. Of course, I didn't think much of it that morning. In fact, I had walked over this same sign - more or less lucidly - for nearly 50 work days since joining my new employer in mid-July. So, naturally, I didn't think much of this sign until my world was turned on its head after work that same day......
It happened like this: walking back to my new VEE-hicle that evening I saw this devilishly subtle sign in a slightly different aspect. Maybe it was because I had just heard Spike Lee make an inane political comment on TV, which reminded me of his movie Mo' Better Blues - which I have never seen, but the title reminded me of a mid-life dream I had once entertained of becoming an Ebonics teacher in the ghettos of Salt Lake City. I asked around and was told that the very best ghettos in SLC were west of the freeway, especially in Magna. So I went out there for nearly an hour one day and my dreams - like most all of my dreams - were dashed! I couldn't find anyone who was as passionate about learning Ebonics as I was about teaching them this new, soon-to-be essential language (or so I thought at the time). So yet another one of my life-altering dreams, most of which I have judiciously pursued throughout my life for between 24 and 72 hours, was shot in the butt. But maybe that is why I translated the code in this reversed image as I did:
I looked, looked again, and couldn't believe my eyes. What kind of a sick joke was this? The image was very clear in my mind: the Fates were saying:
MORE 7's
and rubbing my nose in it by phrasing it in a way that mimics the Ebonic dialect (MO 7's)!
Well, suffice it to say I ran to my car, turned my Forbidden Stereo up (well past the 7th level, I can assure you), and allowed my brain to drain in an ambiance that can only be experienced by the nirvana that comes from listening to a really, really good pirated CD.
I disappeared into the sunset, using cruise control to carefully avoid driving at any speed that contained a '7', and wondered when the next hammer was going to come crashing down on what little bit of quiet time my hyper-circuited brain could expect to enjoy that evening.
Then I started thinking, On which date did this happen? Was there a '7' in the date, or could the numbers - added together - equal 7 in any conceivable convolution I could imagine?
Then a wonderful thing just kind of happened: I stopped thinking about it, and to this day I actually can't tell you what the date was. I'd like to say "and I don't care" but you know me better than that. Covering up - a la Richard Nixon - a fairly significant stereo upgrade? Well that's bad enough. But lying about my ability to control what my brain does? Well, that's way beyond absurd, and I'm sure you're sitting there saying "Good thing he didn't try pulling the wool over my eyes about that, because I'm not buying it.
Or words to that effect.
P.S. Oh, by the way, I decided to tell Sweet Vickie about my car stereo enhancements. My thought was "how can I trust anyone, who would stoop so low as to read my blog, with such sensitive information?"
So I faced the music.
So to speak.
_______________________________________
** It pronounce it 'VEE-hicle' because I bought it at Earnhardt Ford which is the worst dealership in the world, and That Ain't No Bull.
Monday, August 25, 2008
From the "Take Responsibility Department"
I promised no more Number 7 stories but my brother Brad pointed something out that is so obvious I'm amazed we all missed it (as if any of you are actually trying to help!). Listen and learn:
-------------------------
Gergles:
Do you think it odd that your name: Greg; begins and ends with the 7th number in the alphabet? You are Alpha and Omega, the beginning and the end when it comes to the number 7!
Bardley
-------------------------
...to which I must answer "yes, I think it is odd," just as 7 is an odd number. It's all very odd.
Well now I am as close to speechless as I could possibly be. Does anyone doubt me now when I say the number 7 is somehow linked to the purpose of my existence? Holy Mickey Mantle ("and in centerfield for the New York Yankees, Number 7, Mickey Mantle). Need I add: N-e-w-Y-o-r-k = 7 letters, Y-a-n-k-e-e-s = 7 letters)? Can all of this be an accident?
Brad points out that my name begins and ends with "g", the 7th letter in the alphabet. Gregory is 7 letters long. My birthday equals 7-7-7 when each element is added together. 7 is one of the numbers associated with my birthday according to basic numerology - as if we needed to be told.
Even if I acquiesced and agreed that all of these numerical associations are an accident, I would still be hard pressed to believe that the sheer number of these coincidences is an accident.
I can barely breathe at the moment. Enjoy the rest of your day.
-------------------------
Gergles:
Do you think it odd that your name: Greg; begins and ends with the 7th number in the alphabet? You are Alpha and Omega, the beginning and the end when it comes to the number 7!
Bardley
-------------------------
...to which I must answer "yes, I think it is odd," just as 7 is an odd number. It's all very odd.
Well now I am as close to speechless as I could possibly be. Does anyone doubt me now when I say the number 7 is somehow linked to the purpose of my existence? Holy Mickey Mantle ("and in centerfield for the New York Yankees, Number 7, Mickey Mantle). Need I add: N-e-w-Y-o-r-k = 7 letters, Y-a-n-k-e-e-s = 7 letters)? Can all of this be an accident?
Brad points out that my name begins and ends with "g", the 7th letter in the alphabet. Gregory is 7 letters long. My birthday equals 7-7-7 when each element is added together. 7 is one of the numbers associated with my birthday according to basic numerology - as if we needed to be told.
Even if I acquiesced and agreed that all of these numerical associations are an accident, I would still be hard pressed to believe that the sheer number of these coincidences is an accident.
I can barely breathe at the moment. Enjoy the rest of your day.
Friday, August 15, 2008
Congrats to the Sheppards and the Winwards!
Since my writings have inspired very few comments, I have to believe that no one reads my blog or, if people are reading it, they don't like it. Have you seen Leslie's blog? She has received dozens of comments from her friends. Does she have a better blog, or just better friends? I guess I shouldn't be asking you that if my goal is to become the most popular blogger in the universe, assuming you are a friend.
Now I will agree that the Number 7 stuff got out of hand, and I won't be discussing that any more. Except to inform you that, per Kent Winward - Julie's husband, of whom we shall speak later on in this blog - the combination of Kent, Julie and their offspring produces a Family of 7even persons (some of this 7 stuff is unavoidable and, as Mark Twain said [or was it Sindbad?], facts is facts).
So, going forward, I'm going to become more 'newsy' and write cute, current stuff about friends and family. I'm still not a blogger as much as a story teller (or 'Tory Teller, as Taylor used to say when she was a very young [genius] little girl). So let's get right it for, today, I am a Born Again Blogger.
First off, congratulations to our youngest daughter Jenny and her husband Lucas Sheppard! Lucas took the DAT and did extremely well (I'll leave the bragging particulars to other people, including the 95-97 out of 100 test-takers who proved to be intellectually, morally and socially inferior to Our Magnificent Son-In-Law). Such bragging would be untoward so I'll just say that he did very well, and this is raising our hopes that he might be able to find 'the school of his choice' not only in the continental United States, but also perhaps in the Western States.
The thought of our adorable twin granddaughters, Ava and Brynlee, leaving Arizona - maybe forever, but at least for 6-8 years including Air Force time (their chosen dental school 'financing plan') - is killing Queen Mimi and yours truly, Papa Linus. Now if Lucas were to end up going to a Phoenix area dental school then this would reduce the twins' time away to a still unbearable, but shorter, 4 years. And that would be nice, but they need to select the best school from a training perspective and that may not be one of the two in Arizona.
But doing so well on the DAT was a great achievement for Lucas who studied his butt off in the semi-peaceful confines of our home for a few weeks. We are proud of him and happy they are one step closer to achieving their goal. I keep telling them that if they go away to dental school it they are really going to miss the twins - but that quip is getting old and even a little painful as we realize their departure at some point for several years is a given.
Lastly, congratulations to my littlest sister, Julie Ann, who married Kent Winward in Salt Lake City on 8/2/08. It was a beautiful wedding - nice and short. There was great food and a terrific jazz band, but the most important and impressive aspect of attending the wedding was having the chance to meet Kent and his family.
I was blown away. They are, top to bottom, as nice and cool as any family you could ever imagine. After the ceremony and food, Kent announced that the Winward family tradition at such events was to have a roast. Now, my immediate family has had that tradition, though this practice has, for some reason, fallen out of favor. So this was a cool thing to do at a wedding - the problem is, the Carter side of the house had no idea this was the plan and was not prepared for this activity.
We enjoyed hearing the things that Kent's siblings had to say about him but, at the same time, we were mentally scrambling to think of something semi-intelligent and possibly funny to say that would be on a par with the very prepared Winwards.
I played guitar briefly during the wedding processional and, as a result, we had my brother Stephen's old guitar in our clammy hands (perish the thought he would let us use his brand new Taylor 814CE). I suggested to Steve that he sing "Just the Way You Look Tonight", and he did a great job. Then he announced my offering, telling the story of the song Deborah that I wrote in 1974. Now, with the exception of my sweet wife Vickie, this is pretty much a beloved song (for the 15-17 people in the world who have actually heard it.....distribution has always been a problem for me....). For my wife, the song is fighting words but, in this instance, with sweet Vickie nearly 700 miles away, I decided to go ahead and sing The Forbidden Song.
Many of you know the story: I wrote Deborah for a young girl named Debbie Gray. How young I didn't realize but when I realized she was too young I for an RM I got out of dodge. The irony is that everyone assumes this is a love song when, in fact, it is a song that speaks to the potential of youth. For the record:
Deborah, why do the stars shine so tonight?
Might be a dream, oh yes it might.
And Deborah, the song I sing is just for you -
If not who am I singing to?
It's for you.
Deborah, when have the mountains seemed so high?
Can't you just feel them touch the sky.
And Deborah, can you sense the endlessness
Of what life can offer you?
Yes, it's true.
Deborah, when you stand against the moon
Can you see what's coming soon?
What you see - was once also a dream in me,
Why doesn't it dwell in me?
Someday I hope I'll see.
Thus freed from a monumentally embarrassing situation, I put this song to good use by, on occasion, substituting a different girl's name for 'Deborah' when I thought it would be, well, advantageous. I didn't change it for anyone and everyone and, in particular, I didn't change it to "Vickie" when I met my wife-to-be, instead composing a much better song "I'm Learning to Love You More" for her. This was the first love song I ever wrote because, quite obviously - beyond the comfort of being politically correct - Vickie was and is my first and only true love.
But I digress. In a feeble attempt to be clever, I changed 'Deborah' to "Julie Ann" and we had a little fun with it. Then David did what has (or soon will) become known as the "PhD Shuffle" and carried Steve's guitar up to the front of the room, making everyone think he was going to sing "Today" (the Only Socially Relevant Song© he will sing in public or at least outside of a karaoke bar. He faked everyone out and didn't sing "Today," but did make some great comments that were enjoyed by all. Debra Sue, my younger and Julie's elder (not 'older') sister then finished up with some great thoughts that can only come from a close sister-to-sister relationship.
So it all went very well. Unfortunately I only have just this one picture, which I had to buy fr
om the LitziPizzaratti, a renowned yet very unreliable source. Couple that with my deteriorating by the minute eye sight and, well, let's just say it is the only photo I could secure. If nothing else I hope it helps you to capture the spirit of the occasion (if it inspires you to consult with a fertility specialist in hopes of conceiving twins, or instills within your buttocks [or bosoms....bosoms works too] a yearning to adopt children whom you will eventually christen with names such as Apple Dumpling and Megasapien then that, my friends, is on you).
But in all sincerity it was a joy to be there and to see Julie be married to such a charming, wonderful guy. If you don't believe me that he is a great guy just ask his siblings. What they all said during the roasting made it obvious how much they love, appreciate and admire Kent, their oldest brother.
Well, that's it! Wasn't that nice and newsy and Number-Free? Now maybe I'll will see 6 or 7 comments on my blog like Leslie gets (rather than between zero and one) and, if not, I suspect the numbers of comments will eventually be divisible by 7 (sorry, couldn't resist).
Now I will agree that the Number 7 stuff got out of hand, and I won't be discussing that any more. Except to inform you that, per Kent Winward - Julie's husband, of whom we shall speak later on in this blog - the combination of Kent, Julie and their offspring produces a Family of 7even persons (some of this 7 stuff is unavoidable and, as Mark Twain said [or was it Sindbad?], facts is facts).
So, going forward, I'm going to become more 'newsy' and write cute, current stuff about friends and family. I'm still not a blogger as much as a story teller (or 'Tory Teller, as Taylor used to say when she was a very young [genius] little girl). So let's get right it for, today, I am a Born Again Blogger.
First off, congratulations to our youngest daughter Jenny and her husband Lucas Sheppard! Lucas took the DAT and did extremely well (I'll leave the bragging particulars to other people, including the 95-97 out of 100 test-takers who proved to be intellectually, morally and socially inferior to Our Magnificent Son-In-Law). Such bragging would be untoward so I'll just say that he did very well, and this is raising our hopes that he might be able to find 'the school of his choice' not only in the continental United States, but also perhaps in the Western States.
The thought of our adorable twin granddaughters, Ava and Brynlee, leaving Arizona - maybe forever, but at least for 6-8 years including Air Force time (their chosen dental school 'financing plan') - is killing Queen Mimi and yours truly, Papa Linus. Now if Lucas were to end up going to a Phoenix area dental school then this would reduce the twins' time away to a still unbearable, but shorter, 4 years. And that would be nice, but they need to select the best school from a training perspective and that may not be one of the two in Arizona.But doing so well on the DAT was a great achievement for Lucas who studied his butt off in the semi-peaceful confines of our home for a few weeks. We are proud of him and happy they are one step closer to achieving their goal. I keep telling them that if they go away to dental school it they are really going to miss the twins - but that quip is getting old and even a little painful as we realize their departure at some point for several years is a given.
Lastly, congratulations to my littlest sister, Julie Ann, who married Kent Winward in Salt Lake City on 8/2/08. It was a beautiful wedding - nice and short. There was great food and a terrific jazz band, but the most important and impressive aspect of attending the wedding was having the chance to meet Kent and his family.
I was blown away. They are, top to bottom, as nice and cool as any family you could ever imagine. After the ceremony and food, Kent announced that the Winward family tradition at such events was to have a roast. Now, my immediate family has had that tradition, though this practice has, for some reason, fallen out of favor. So this was a cool thing to do at a wedding - the problem is, the Carter side of the house had no idea this was the plan and was not prepared for this activity.
We enjoyed hearing the things that Kent's siblings had to say about him but, at the same time, we were mentally scrambling to think of something semi-intelligent and possibly funny to say that would be on a par with the very prepared Winwards.
I played guitar briefly during the wedding processional and, as a result, we had my brother Stephen's old guitar in our clammy hands (perish the thought he would let us use his brand new Taylor 814CE). I suggested to Steve that he sing "Just the Way You Look Tonight", and he did a great job. Then he announced my offering, telling the story of the song Deborah that I wrote in 1974. Now, with the exception of my sweet wife Vickie, this is pretty much a beloved song (for the 15-17 people in the world who have actually heard it.....distribution has always been a problem for me....). For my wife, the song is fighting words but, in this instance, with sweet Vickie nearly 700 miles away, I decided to go ahead and sing The Forbidden Song.
Many of you know the story: I wrote Deborah for a young girl named Debbie Gray. How young I didn't realize but when I realized she was too young I for an RM I got out of dodge. The irony is that everyone assumes this is a love song when, in fact, it is a song that speaks to the potential of youth. For the record:
Deborah, why do the stars shine so tonight?
Might be a dream, oh yes it might.
And Deborah, the song I sing is just for you -
If not who am I singing to?
It's for you.
Deborah, when have the mountains seemed so high?
Can't you just feel them touch the sky.
And Deborah, can you sense the endlessness
Of what life can offer you?
Yes, it's true.
Deborah, when you stand against the moon
Can you see what's coming soon?
What you see - was once also a dream in me,
Why doesn't it dwell in me?
Someday I hope I'll see.
Thus freed from a monumentally embarrassing situation, I put this song to good use by, on occasion, substituting a different girl's name for 'Deborah' when I thought it would be, well, advantageous. I didn't change it for anyone and everyone and, in particular, I didn't change it to "Vickie" when I met my wife-to-be, instead composing a much better song "I'm Learning to Love You More" for her. This was the first love song I ever wrote because, quite obviously - beyond the comfort of being politically correct - Vickie was and is my first and only true love.
But I digress. In a feeble attempt to be clever, I changed 'Deborah' to "Julie Ann" and we had a little fun with it. Then David did what has (or soon will) become known as the "PhD Shuffle" and carried Steve's guitar up to the front of the room, making everyone think he was going to sing "Today" (the Only Socially Relevant Song© he will sing in public or at least outside of a karaoke bar. He faked everyone out and didn't sing "Today," but did make some great comments that were enjoyed by all. Debra Sue, my younger and Julie's elder (not 'older') sister then finished up with some great thoughts that can only come from a close sister-to-sister relationship.
So it all went very well. Unfortunately I only have just this one picture, which I had to buy fr
om the LitziPizzaratti, a renowned yet very unreliable source. Couple that with my deteriorating by the minute eye sight and, well, let's just say it is the only photo I could secure. If nothing else I hope it helps you to capture the spirit of the occasion (if it inspires you to consult with a fertility specialist in hopes of conceiving twins, or instills within your buttocks [or bosoms....bosoms works too] a yearning to adopt children whom you will eventually christen with names such as Apple Dumpling and Megasapien then that, my friends, is on you).But in all sincerity it was a joy to be there and to see Julie be married to such a charming, wonderful guy. If you don't believe me that he is a great guy just ask his siblings. What they all said during the roasting made it obvious how much they love, appreciate and admire Kent, their oldest brother.
Well, that's it! Wasn't that nice and newsy and Number-Free? Now maybe I'll will see 6 or 7 comments on my blog like Leslie gets (rather than between zero and one) and, if not, I suspect the numbers of comments will eventually be divisible by 7 (sorry, couldn't resist).
Monday, August 4, 2008
Mysterious 7
So this morning I took a few minutes to follow-up on some business-related personal things in my home office. One item that needed to be taken care of was signing up for LSI's 401(k) plan. Most financial sites have one use their Social Security Number for the user name but, in this case, they strongly urged users to come up with something different. So I decided, in a fit of unadulterated originality, to use Papa Linus as my user name. Not too surprising, right?
So I chose Papa Linus and hit 'Next', and the page that followed notified me that, for enhanced security, the user name I had chosen was going to be converted to a numerical value, corresponding to the numbers/letters on a telephone's keypad (P=7, A=2, etc.) . I'll bet you can't guess what's coming now.
The number that popped up was 727254687 and, no surprise here, the converted user name has three 7's, which matches what you get when you add all of the 'integers' of my birthday (07-16-52) together.
In an ongoing effort - consistent with my Life Purposes - to make something out of absolutely nothing, I am going to arbitrarily assign some significance to this phenomenon. I'm been brain-storming and am fluctuating between claiming an inordinate share of global harmonic resonance and preparing to audition for a sequel to Jim Carey's movie '23.' I'm been losing some weight and am looking more ready for prime time than I have in some time but, for now, I think I'm going to stick with global harmonic resonance which sounds cool, and which can be defined any way I choose, depending on my mood.
Yeah, that works.
So I chose Papa Linus and hit 'Next', and the page that followed notified me that, for enhanced security, the user name I had chosen was going to be converted to a numerical value, corresponding to the numbers/letters on a telephone's keypad (P=7, A=2, etc.) . I'll bet you can't guess what's coming now.
The number that popped up was 727254687 and, no surprise here, the converted user name has three 7's, which matches what you get when you add all of the 'integers' of my birthday (07-16-52) together.
In an ongoing effort - consistent with my Life Purposes - to make something out of absolutely nothing, I am going to arbitrarily assign some significance to this phenomenon. I'm been brain-storming and am fluctuating between claiming an inordinate share of global harmonic resonance and preparing to audition for a sequel to Jim Carey's movie '23.' I'm been losing some weight and am looking more ready for prime time than I have in some time but, for now, I think I'm going to stick with global harmonic resonance which sounds cool, and which can be defined any way I choose, depending on my mood.
Yeah, that works.
Tuesday, July 29, 2008
Seven, oh 7
I never thought I would do this but it is just too important a work to hide: I am publishing my ENTIRE essay on the Number 7. As I read my previous post, which I shall heretofore refer to as The Addendum, I realized that my substantiation of the weirdness concerning the Number 7 in my life was mediocre at best. However, when combined with the entire essay, it is overwhelmingly, well, overwhelming. But you be the judge:
___________________________________________________
Want to hear something strange – most certainly insignificant, but still weird and a tad creepy? It has to do with yours truly, The Great I-Could-Be, and the Number 7. Let’s start with some life and death facts:
My Birthday: 07/16/52
07 = 7
16 = 7
52 = 7
Date of My Father's Passing 04/03/07
4+3 = 7
07 = 7
Date of My Mother's Passing 04/03/08
4+3 = 7
8 + …..or is it “8 – “ (see Footnote 1 at the end of this essay)
From here it gets even weirder. Please read this carefully before adding it to your MySpace page. Before taking that step please consider that if you buy into the fact that the Number 7 and I have ‘this thing’ for each other, you could receive the dreaded designation of “Chief Family Nut Job.” You want to proceed? Then you do so, my friends, at your own risk!
The Number 7 – Hear Today and……Here Again Tomorrow
While at the care facility where my mother passed away our family was collectively trying to at least convey the impression that we were already coping with what had just occurred. In this contrived ‘lighter moment’ I was sharing some of my thoughts concerning the impressive number of coincidences in my life where the Number 7 is present with my sweet sister-in-law Lisa. No sooner had I mentioned my birth date and other interesting (at least to me….) snippets – pausing for just a moment to allow the others to marvel at my numerical awareness quotient – than the normally soft-spoken Lisa almost shouted out “Look…..7!” I had no idea what she meant until I looked across the room and saw that my nephew Zach was wearing a shirt with the letters “S-E-V-E-N” embroidered across the front of it.
This was beginning to play out like a convoluted, cheap, local production of Poe’s Telltale Heart, where I was neither the madman nor the heart but, rather, the object of statutory harassment by the Number 7. It really was starting to seem as if the Number 7 was actually seeking me out. But, if so, why? I returned to my home in Gilbert, AZ not realizing that these unexpected exposures to the Number 7 were just beginning.
The Following Events and Observations Actually Occurred…….in Surreal Time
That same week I randomly decided – and to say ‘randomly’ would be to trivialize the word ‘random’ – to record the last part of the Conan O'Brien show because I noticed that the musical group “They Might Be Giants” was scheduled to perform. I have a good friend who loves this band (my friend’s name is Stephen…..not Steven, spelled with 6 letters, but Stephen spelled with 7 letters) and I had always figured that I would eventually find a way to humor him by catching some of TMBG’s act. Keep in mind that I had never – never ever - heard – anything – not even a single song by this band. So I decided to check them out.
Conan did his typical intro: "And now, from their new CD Here Come the 123’s, please welcome They Might Be Giants!" So TMBG starts singing this dorky song that starts out with two strange lines: “Oh there’s the doorbell….Let’s see who’s out there.” I continued to listen and it suddenly occurred to me that the lyrics included dozens of repetitions of the Number ‘7’! This sounds contrived? You doubt this really happened? Well, Doubting Thomas’s and Thomasina’s, kindly navigate to following URL:
http://disneymusic.disney.go.com/artists/theymightbegiants.html
and listen for yourself. Using the player on that site, you can navigate to this song called (duh!) “Seven,” which would have in fact been Track 7 except they inserted a song called “Zero” as the first track for some reason. Some people! Everyone knows Zero-times-anything equals Zero, so what’s the point of counting it?
Despite the fact that by now I am starting to feel even more creeped out by this whole ‘7’ thing I, with no agenda or forethought, decide to listen to the next song, thinking it will be something about the Number 8. But the next song was actually called – no lie – “Seven Days of the Week (I Never Go To Work).” This made me a little paranoid because here I was, transfixed at my computer – spending my valuable time composing this absurd drivel from the confines of my home office rather than ‘going to work’ – when, from far away, somewhere in the World of Seven, I was told I had spent enough time on this essay for the day and that I should go to work! This was a bona fide “woooo-woooo moment” for me because, for the first time, I realized that whatever numerical resonance was tuning into my life was 2-way! I was, in essence, sending data to some great 7-bit Computer in the Sky and, in return, was beginning to receive messages? Was it merely a series of sappy coincidences or was a Greater Purpose at work?
I of course expect you – everyone – to draw his/her own conclusions. If the situation was clear to me I would state it as fact and ignore all of the naysayers, but that isn’t the case. Maybe this is interesting to you, maybe it isn’t. But assuming you have managed to remain conscious during this riveting, revealing and perhaps revolting (to the unenlightened) exposé, I would like to pose a question to you (relax, it’s multiple-choice, for crying out loud, you can handle it!):
Do you find it more disturbing that:
1) My life-force appears to be the target of some sort of wacky, perhaps mystical, assault by the number 7?
I find myself immediately regretting that I asked you this question, and I want to immediately retract it because, you see, it is pointless. I already know which answer you chose – the answer everyone chose. Everyone selected “2” because:
a) That answer is more insulting to me, your humble and observant scribe, and you are all out to get me
Even if I agreed with you that this is reaching a bit, what follows should convince you that this matters to someone, somewhere.
I, in all honesty, had decided to drop this subject, put it all behind me, and chalk it up to whatever (followed quickly by a phone call to a reputable numerologist, if that is not an oxymoron). But it was too late to make that transition because, unfortunately, we had to travel to Salt Lake City for my Mother's funeral and, little did I know, the Number 7 would try to make contact several more times along the way.
When flying out of Phoenix Sky Harbor Airport I normally park at Smart Park, but as we approached the lot it was obvious that the business had closed its gates. Not seeing another option immediately, we decided to return to the Long-Term Parking lot at the airport. We used the old ‘hunt and peck’ method to find a parking spot so it took a few minutes, but we found a spot, parked and began looking for the closest bus stop so we could catch a bus to the terminal. We looked around and could only see that particular bus stop, so we walked there with our suitcases. We sat down, greeted another party that arrived at the bus stop at about the same time, and then sat down. We sighed, looked up, and only then realized that we were at Stop #7. Contrived? Would I spend this much time trying to perpetuate a meaningless myth that, at its core, isn't really very entertaining? Of course not!
I don’t know what else to say about these occurrences except to say that, if they are random and coincidental – which I and any rational person would assume is the case – they are certainly persistent. Should I could ignore all of this and say ‘what the heck?’ Should I stare down attempts to be contacted by the Number 7 whenever it forces itself into my line of sight and pretend I don’t see it?
I have to admit that it is a little troubling. You may find it to be silly, but I can't just ignore all of this. My sincere hope is that ‘legitimate Numerologist' is not an oxymoron (Footnote 2). This whole thing is probably a ridiculous waste of energy, but how can I assume that is the case? Paralysis by analysis, some would say. But even if my awareness of the unusually frequent presence of the Number 7 were simply the result of an unhealthy focus on the mystical and mindless, I can't shake the feeling that one of my life's important purposes is to understand why it is happening.
Any ideas?
Sincerely,
Gregory (aka Papa Linus)
(Geezo-Smeezo, I just realized my flipping name consists of 7 letters. In the words of my formerly close associate, Charlie (7 letters!) Brown: “Good Grief! I’m Doomed!)
-------------------
Post Script
Before leaving Salt Lake City I attended the Tabernacle Choir broadcast in Salt Lake City despite working 17 hours in a recording studio the two previous days, and getting to bed at 1:30 am the morning of the broadcast. I felt I needed to go, to be there because my brother Stephen is considering leaving the Choir in 2008 (2007 would have been soooo much more appropriate), so this was perhaps my last opportunity to see him perform 'live' with the choir. Or was that the reason?
I am beginning to wonder myself. Perhaps you know that at the end of the weekly broadcast the announcer always says "May Peace Be With You, This Day and Always" then provides the numbers of broadcasts the Choir has done consecutively over its 79 years on the air. So the mellow Voice of the Spoken Word, Lloyd Newell, says the following (Stephen as my witness):
"This concludes the 4,102nd broadcast of Music and the Spoken Word”.....and so on. Then I thought, "no, it can't be, but it was undeniable: 4+1+0+2 equals........7 ! What, now I can’t even be protected from this numerological onslaught even when abiding within the newly renovated Tabernacle, within the freeking Everlasting Hills?
But it doesn’t end here…..
My daughter, Leslie, and son, Bryan (and Rachel, Bryan's good friend) ran a 5K race last week. Les and Bryan finished at exactly the same time, and you’ll never guess what that time was! Okay, so maybe you guessed:
If you said “43 minutes, 52 seconds” you win a valuable prize! So you know this is legit, Rachel finished in 43 minutes, 55 seconds. Leslie ran from the back of the pack for the first few miles then sprinted for the last mile or so. So what are the odds that she would catch up with Bryan, finish at the exact same time, and that their time would be 43 (7) minutes and 52 (7) seconds? The odds are at least 7:1 against it.
I asked them to finish the story and tell me where they finished in the race because I have no doubt that their 'place' is 7-related. I told them to find this out and tell me if either of their places, added together, equals 7. I told them if they tied for 77th I would pass that on – it would be interesting to someone. But if they tied for 777th I said I wouldn’t mention it - a single, solitary contribution to what has become known, internationally, as the “Greg is Morphing Into Edgar Allen Poe’s Character in the Tell-Tale Heart, Except He’s Obsessed with a Number Instead of an Organ” Project or “the Greatest Linus Compulsion of All Time” for short, isn't a topic compelling enough to let the word slip out that my offspring had placed 777th in a race! 7-obsessed or not, I still have a heart, and would resist the urge to put that performance on parade and embarrass them. If it were true.
I Solemnly Swear to Never Profane
Okay, I completely agree with you: I've spent more than enough time on this, not to mention way more than enough of your time. I have issues – who doesn’t? At least I don’t have the 7 Deadly Issues, which may or may not be a curse mentioned in the Bible, or it may stem from a vague admission of my tendency to only obey about 7 Commandments (note the capital 'C') at the same time (10 is, for me, pretty overwhelming at times). Maybe I’ll never know what I should be learning from these 'contacts', odd coincidences, or whatever you want to call them.
And I am very hesitant to discuss this with a 'professional,' if you know what I mean. My latest worry is that if I consult with a ‘legitimate numerologist’ (Footnote 2) , he/she will tell me that the Number 7 is invariably associated with people who are "waaaaay below average.” You can see how that would be pretty upsetting and degrading, some would say, to people who are actually waaaaay below average.
But that conversation has not and probably will never take place. For one reason I don’t intend to spend money in such a frivolous manner, so the odds are pretty long that I would ever receive that disconcerting news. More importantly, I am currently taking steps to put an end to this discussion, wean myself of this obsession. To help me make a clean break from this insanity I decided to enter a 12 + 1 Step Program. I’m ignoring the other 12 steps that average people need, and going right to Number 13 which is to “Admit that there is an even higher power – the Internet.”
I’m all over that one.
** Facts is Facts **
So I went to http://paulsadowski.com/birthday.asp, as recommended to me by A Friend, and entered my birth date and year. The rather extensive results from that query are found at: http://paulsadowski.com/BirthData.asp and include the following:
Your age is the equivalent of a dog that is 7.99021526418787 years old
Your lucky day is Monday.
Your lucky numbers (are) 2 & 7.
Your ruling planet is Moon.
Your lucky dates are 1st, 10th, 19th, 28th.
Your opposition sign is Capricorn.
Your opposition number(s) is 8.
Today is not one of your lucky days!
Eastern Wisdom aside, I would argue that today is actually my lucky day. Why, you say?
Because it's Tuesday, naturally. And not only does Tuesday have 7 letters, but it is the only day of the week spelled with 7 letters. So I've got that goin' for me, which is nice. But the reality is that if you are still not A Believer, after all we've been through together today, you never will be. So smile and enjoy a life in denial. But it might just drive you a little crazy thinking about the possibility that there is A Number out there that is trying to contact you from the uber-desert otherwise known as your semi-conscious mind and, unlike myself, you'll never know it is happening.
My advice?
Seek the truth (aaaahm)
Be the truth (aaaahm)
Embrace the truth (aaaahm)
and, most importantly
.......feel free to ignore the truth if, for any reason at all, you find the implications of acknowledging the 'alleged facts' to be annoying or requiring too much physical or mental energy. And even if you hold me in complete disdain, I will be undeterred. I will simply forgive you "70 times 7," to quote the Good Book, and be on my merry way. As I always say, at least occasionally, you can't please anyone some of the time, but you can't please anyone ever.
But that's just one Linus' view of the world.
And I could be wrong.
_____________________________
Footnote 1:
Footnote 2:
Some might say that ‘legitimate numerologist’ is an oxymoron. Actually, my problems go much deeper than that because, until recently I thought an oxymoron was an idiot that uses too much acne medication. I’ve taken some heat for that misconception so I’ll compromise and say that, simply based on the laws of probability, there has to be a legitimate numerologist somewhere.
___________________________________________________
Seven, Oh 7
Want to hear something strange – most certainly insignificant, but still weird and a tad creepy? It has to do with yours truly, The Great I-Could-Be, and the Number 7. Let’s start with some life and death facts:
My Birthday: 07/16/52
07 = 7
16 = 7
52 = 7
Date of My Father's Passing 04/03/07
4+3 = 7
07 = 7
Date of My Mother's Passing 04/03/08
4+3 = 7
8 + …..or is it “8 – “ (see Footnote 1 at the end of this essay)
From here it gets even weirder. Please read this carefully before adding it to your MySpace page. Before taking that step please consider that if you buy into the fact that the Number 7 and I have ‘this thing’ for each other, you could receive the dreaded designation of “Chief Family Nut Job.” You want to proceed? Then you do so, my friends, at your own risk!
The Number 7 – Hear Today and……Here Again Tomorrow
While at the care facility where my mother passed away our family was collectively trying to at least convey the impression that we were already coping with what had just occurred. In this contrived ‘lighter moment’ I was sharing some of my thoughts concerning the impressive number of coincidences in my life where the Number 7 is present with my sweet sister-in-law Lisa. No sooner had I mentioned my birth date and other interesting (at least to me….) snippets – pausing for just a moment to allow the others to marvel at my numerical awareness quotient – than the normally soft-spoken Lisa almost shouted out “Look…..7!” I had no idea what she meant until I looked across the room and saw that my nephew Zach was wearing a shirt with the letters “S-E-V-E-N” embroidered across the front of it.
This was beginning to play out like a convoluted, cheap, local production of Poe’s Telltale Heart, where I was neither the madman nor the heart but, rather, the object of statutory harassment by the Number 7. It really was starting to seem as if the Number 7 was actually seeking me out. But, if so, why? I returned to my home in Gilbert, AZ not realizing that these unexpected exposures to the Number 7 were just beginning.
The Following Events and Observations Actually Occurred…….in Surreal Time
That same week I randomly decided – and to say ‘randomly’ would be to trivialize the word ‘random’ – to record the last part of the Conan O'Brien show because I noticed that the musical group “They Might Be Giants” was scheduled to perform. I have a good friend who loves this band (my friend’s name is Stephen…..not Steven, spelled with 6 letters, but Stephen spelled with 7 letters) and I had always figured that I would eventually find a way to humor him by catching some of TMBG’s act. Keep in mind that I had never – never ever - heard – anything – not even a single song by this band. So I decided to check them out.
Conan did his typical intro: "And now, from their new CD Here Come the 123’s, please welcome They Might Be Giants!" So TMBG starts singing this dorky song that starts out with two strange lines: “Oh there’s the doorbell….Let’s see who’s out there.” I continued to listen and it suddenly occurred to me that the lyrics included dozens of repetitions of the Number ‘7’! This sounds contrived? You doubt this really happened? Well, Doubting Thomas’s and Thomasina’s, kindly navigate to following URL:
http://disneymusic.disney.go.com/artists/theymightbegiants.html
and listen for yourself. Using the player on that site, you can navigate to this song called (duh!) “Seven,” which would have in fact been Track 7 except they inserted a song called “Zero” as the first track for some reason. Some people! Everyone knows Zero-times-anything equals Zero, so what’s the point of counting it?
Despite the fact that by now I am starting to feel even more creeped out by this whole ‘7’ thing I, with no agenda or forethought, decide to listen to the next song, thinking it will be something about the Number 8. But the next song was actually called – no lie – “Seven Days of the Week (I Never Go To Work).” This made me a little paranoid because here I was, transfixed at my computer – spending my valuable time composing this absurd drivel from the confines of my home office rather than ‘going to work’ – when, from far away, somewhere in the World of Seven, I was told I had spent enough time on this essay for the day and that I should go to work! This was a bona fide “woooo-woooo moment” for me because, for the first time, I realized that whatever numerical resonance was tuning into my life was 2-way! I was, in essence, sending data to some great 7-bit Computer in the Sky and, in return, was beginning to receive messages? Was it merely a series of sappy coincidences or was a Greater Purpose at work?
I of course expect you – everyone – to draw his/her own conclusions. If the situation was clear to me I would state it as fact and ignore all of the naysayers, but that isn’t the case. Maybe this is interesting to you, maybe it isn’t. But assuming you have managed to remain conscious during this riveting, revealing and perhaps revolting (to the unenlightened) exposé, I would like to pose a question to you (relax, it’s multiple-choice, for crying out loud, you can handle it!):
Do you find it more disturbing that:
1) My life-force appears to be the target of some sort of wacky, perhaps mystical, assault by the number 7?
- OR -
2) Anyone would spend as much as a nanosecond thinking about such inconsequential minutia?I find myself immediately regretting that I asked you this question, and I want to immediately retract it because, you see, it is pointless. I already know which answer you chose – the answer everyone chose. Everyone selected “2” because:
a) That answer is more insulting to me, your humble and observant scribe, and you are all out to get me
- and –
b) Answer ‘2’ consists of 14 words, which is divisible by 7. Yes, I hear some of you snickering. Of course I wrote both questions but I had no idea that number 2 would be 14 words. PEven if I agreed with you that this is reaching a bit, what follows should convince you that this matters to someone, somewhere.
I, in all honesty, had decided to drop this subject, put it all behind me, and chalk it up to whatever (followed quickly by a phone call to a reputable numerologist, if that is not an oxymoron). But it was too late to make that transition because, unfortunately, we had to travel to Salt Lake City for my Mother's funeral and, little did I know, the Number 7 would try to make contact several more times along the way.
It Was Just There
When flying out of Phoenix Sky Harbor Airport I normally park at Smart Park, but as we approached the lot it was obvious that the business had closed its gates. Not seeing another option immediately, we decided to return to the Long-Term Parking lot at the airport. We used the old ‘hunt and peck’ method to find a parking spot so it took a few minutes, but we found a spot, parked and began looking for the closest bus stop so we could catch a bus to the terminal. We looked around and could only see that particular bus stop, so we walked there with our suitcases. We sat down, greeted another party that arrived at the bus stop at about the same time, and then sat down. We sighed, looked up, and only then realized that we were at Stop #7. Contrived? Would I spend this much time trying to perpetuate a meaningless myth that, at its core, isn't really very entertaining? Of course not!
I don’t know what else to say about these occurrences except to say that, if they are random and coincidental – which I and any rational person would assume is the case – they are certainly persistent. Should I could ignore all of this and say ‘what the heck?’ Should I stare down attempts to be contacted by the Number 7 whenever it forces itself into my line of sight and pretend I don’t see it?
I have to admit that it is a little troubling. You may find it to be silly, but I can't just ignore all of this. My sincere hope is that ‘legitimate Numerologist' is not an oxymoron (Footnote 2). This whole thing is probably a ridiculous waste of energy, but how can I assume that is the case? Paralysis by analysis, some would say. But even if my awareness of the unusually frequent presence of the Number 7 were simply the result of an unhealthy focus on the mystical and mindless, I can't shake the feeling that one of my life's important purposes is to understand why it is happening.
Any ideas?
Sincerely,
Gregory (aka Papa Linus)
(Geezo-Smeezo, I just realized my flipping name consists of 7 letters. In the words of my formerly close associate, Charlie (7 letters!) Brown: “Good Grief! I’m Doomed!)
-------------------
Post Script
Before leaving Salt Lake City I attended the Tabernacle Choir broadcast in Salt Lake City despite working 17 hours in a recording studio the two previous days, and getting to bed at 1:30 am the morning of the broadcast. I felt I needed to go, to be there because my brother Stephen is considering leaving the Choir in 2008 (2007 would have been soooo much more appropriate), so this was perhaps my last opportunity to see him perform 'live' with the choir. Or was that the reason?
I am beginning to wonder myself. Perhaps you know that at the end of the weekly broadcast the announcer always says "May Peace Be With You, This Day and Always" then provides the numbers of broadcasts the Choir has done consecutively over its 79 years on the air. So the mellow Voice of the Spoken Word, Lloyd Newell, says the following (Stephen as my witness):
"This concludes the 4,102nd broadcast of Music and the Spoken Word”.....and so on. Then I thought, "no, it can't be, but it was undeniable: 4+1+0+2 equals........7 ! What, now I can’t even be protected from this numerological onslaught even when abiding within the newly renovated Tabernacle, within the freeking Everlasting Hills?
But it doesn’t end here…..
My daughter, Leslie, and son, Bryan (and Rachel, Bryan's good friend) ran a 5K race last week. Les and Bryan finished at exactly the same time, and you’ll never guess what that time was! Okay, so maybe you guessed:
If you said “43 minutes, 52 seconds” you win a valuable prize! So you know this is legit, Rachel finished in 43 minutes, 55 seconds. Leslie ran from the back of the pack for the first few miles then sprinted for the last mile or so. So what are the odds that she would catch up with Bryan, finish at the exact same time, and that their time would be 43 (7) minutes and 52 (7) seconds? The odds are at least 7:1 against it.
I asked them to finish the story and tell me where they finished in the race because I have no doubt that their 'place' is 7-related. I told them to find this out and tell me if either of their places, added together, equals 7. I told them if they tied for 77th I would pass that on – it would be interesting to someone. But if they tied for 777th I said I wouldn’t mention it - a single, solitary contribution to what has become known, internationally, as the “Greg is Morphing Into Edgar Allen Poe’s Character in the Tell-Tale Heart, Except He’s Obsessed with a Number Instead of an Organ” Project or “the Greatest Linus Compulsion of All Time” for short, isn't a topic compelling enough to let the word slip out that my offspring had placed 777th in a race! 7-obsessed or not, I still have a heart, and would resist the urge to put that performance on parade and embarrass them. If it were true.
I Solemnly Swear to Never Profane
Okay, I completely agree with you: I've spent more than enough time on this, not to mention way more than enough of your time. I have issues – who doesn’t? At least I don’t have the 7 Deadly Issues, which may or may not be a curse mentioned in the Bible, or it may stem from a vague admission of my tendency to only obey about 7 Commandments (note the capital 'C') at the same time (10 is, for me, pretty overwhelming at times). Maybe I’ll never know what I should be learning from these 'contacts', odd coincidences, or whatever you want to call them.
And I am very hesitant to discuss this with a 'professional,' if you know what I mean. My latest worry is that if I consult with a ‘legitimate numerologist’ (Footnote 2) , he/she will tell me that the Number 7 is invariably associated with people who are "waaaaay below average.” You can see how that would be pretty upsetting and degrading, some would say, to people who are actually waaaaay below average.
But that conversation has not and probably will never take place. For one reason I don’t intend to spend money in such a frivolous manner, so the odds are pretty long that I would ever receive that disconcerting news. More importantly, I am currently taking steps to put an end to this discussion, wean myself of this obsession. To help me make a clean break from this insanity I decided to enter a 12 + 1 Step Program. I’m ignoring the other 12 steps that average people need, and going right to Number 13 which is to “Admit that there is an even higher power – the Internet.”
I’m all over that one.
** Facts is Facts **
So I went to http://paulsadowski.com/birthday.asp, as recommended to me by A Friend, and entered my birth date and year. The rather extensive results from that query are found at: http://paulsadowski.com/BirthData.asp and include the following:
Your age is the equivalent of a dog that is 7.99021526418787 years old
Your lucky day is Monday.
Your lucky numbers (are) 2 & 7.
Your ruling planet is Moon.
Your lucky dates are 1st, 10th, 19th, 28th.
Your opposition sign is Capricorn.
Your opposition number(s) is 8.
Today is not one of your lucky days!
Eastern Wisdom aside, I would argue that today is actually my lucky day. Why, you say?
Because it's Tuesday, naturally. And not only does Tuesday have 7 letters, but it is the only day of the week spelled with 7 letters. So I've got that goin' for me, which is nice. But the reality is that if you are still not A Believer, after all we've been through together today, you never will be. So smile and enjoy a life in denial. But it might just drive you a little crazy thinking about the possibility that there is A Number out there that is trying to contact you from the uber-desert otherwise known as your semi-conscious mind and, unlike myself, you'll never know it is happening.
My advice?
Seek the truth (aaaahm)
Be the truth (aaaahm)
Embrace the truth (aaaahm)
and, most importantly
.......feel free to ignore the truth if, for any reason at all, you find the implications of acknowledging the 'alleged facts' to be annoying or requiring too much physical or mental energy. And even if you hold me in complete disdain, I will be undeterred. I will simply forgive you "70 times 7," to quote the Good Book, and be on my merry way. As I always say, at least occasionally, you can't please anyone some of the time, but you can't please anyone ever.
But that's just one Linus' view of the world.
And I could be wrong.
_____________________________
Footnote 1:
Don't be silly. Of course I see the ‘08’ after 04/03! Inclined to throw water on my 'Number 7 obsession?’ I highly recommend that you first consider the following:
- My mom was the 7th eldest person in our (the Wayne Carter) family
- She was the 7th youngest in her (the Ross J. Ramsey) family.
- You want more? Her date of birth is the 16th (October 16, 1930).
Footnote 2:
Some might say that ‘legitimate numerologist’ is an oxymoron. Actually, my problems go much deeper than that because, until recently I thought an oxymoron was an idiot that uses too much acne medication. I’ve taken some heat for that misconception so I’ll compromise and say that, simply based on the laws of probability, there has to be a legitimate numerologist somewhere.
Monday, July 28, 2008
The Number 7 - Part Deux
I know this sounds like a Victim rather than an Owner, but I can't help it:
It's happening again!
Out of the blue, I started noticing that the Number 7 is still trying to send me some sort of a message, even if just to let me know that he/she is still there. Or maybe that message is to quit worrying about the Number 7, or maybe to start worrying about some other number for a while.
I'm not sure what to think but, I'm sorry, I can't just walk away when so little is at stake. Wait a minute, what is at stake? Nothing you say? Well it's too late, I'm rollin'. Take a look at these nuggets of weirdness:
A. My new employee number at LSI is 07-248-70
7 = 7
2+4+8 = 14
7 = 7
Surely you remember the numerological anomaly that started all of this silliness….remember that date of significance that we have been celebrating for, what, 3 weeks now…..you know, my birthday? Surely you remember that now-monumental discovery....no? Well, let me remind you, my birthday is July 16, 1952, so…..
07 - 16 (=7) - 52 (=7).
What? You don’t find it a little bit weird that my birthday is, in effect, 7-7-7 and my employee number is 7-14-7? You're okay with that? Well how about the fact that L-S-I-C-o-r-p is 7 letters? Contrived, you say? Because LSI Corporation is...wait a minute.....L-S-I-C-o-r-p-o-r-a-t-i-o-n is.....14 letters. The more curious types will Google and find that the company used to be called LSI Logic, Inc. Well even that is 14 characters is you include the punctuation and spaces! There is no escape! Let's go to the next item:
B. My new phone number: 446-1704
4+4+6 = 14
C. Minutes working on this email:
7 minutes, 7 seconds
Okay, this is completely bogus, but I can't carry the conversation by myself forever, now can I!
Again I ask: don't you find this to be a wee bit disturbing? Has Mr. Just-Turned-Fifty-Six (21 characters [include the punctuation, silly] ÷ 3 = 7) become afflicted with the dreaded Obsessed with Seven Syndrome (28 ÷ 4 = 7). Say, did you notice, right off the bat, that the number of characters in this newly discovered medical condition is divisible by 7? Of course you didn't. That’s my job!
But as obtuse as I can be, even I am getting the feeling that I am going overboard with this notion of numerical intrusion. Maybe I am losing my mind. But the fact is that I continue to notice these coincidences - and I’m not looking that hard for them, at least not too hard from a Linus-is-the-one-looking perspective. I see numbers, I do the math and voilà, a link with the Number 7 emerges!
Some might say “this is just accidental or coincidental.” Well, I take that a little personally because it may very well be that I am the product of an accidental coincidence. I mean, is it a stretch to imagine that there were perhaps several, if not millions, of superior - and no doubt more stable - sperm-egg combinations available at the moment of conception than the obviously contorted chromosomal braids that eventually turned into 'me?' So why is it, or how is it, that I emerged (couldn't resist the pun, sorry)victorious? See what I mean (if you do, please explain it to me some time)?
But while I don’t pretend to know the answers to every deep question, it is nice to know that I have actually finished first at something (I'm thinking that "I" is what I called myself when I was a sperm [I can't ever, ever, see myself saying "I" as an egg. But referring to myself as "I" while still a sperm? I can live with that. It's, you know, a male thing....]).
So, I repeat, it is kind of nice to know that I finished first at something now that the month-long celebration of my birthday has concluded. And now, armed with that life-affirming assurance, I have begun my quest to find the next great thing to talk about....and try, I will. But I am fearful that the narrative of my life will lack the necessary pizzazz to be worthy of conversation (or is it 'blog-versation') if I let this Number 7 thing die out, so maybe I just need to find a new angle for this subject matter. And if this is any comfort to you, even I have reached the point where if I read the words 'sperm' or even 'egg' one more time in this blog entry I am going to be grossed out of my gourd.
So I'll work at it, and if I can come up with something better to talk about I’ll let most, if not all of you, know. I'd like to say 'all of you' but I can’t be tying myself down to such precise commitments; I’m still fighting the very battle with inconsistency that I spoke of in an earlier blog. So I’ll commit to letting most, if not all, of you know if I come up with something better. That's the best I can commit to.
As if anyone actually cares about my pitiful little life.
Wednesday, July 9, 2008
Slam of the Month
One of my favorite moments in the month of June (2008):
While alone at Jimmy Eat World concert (well, not exactly alone - it was sold out - but I didn't have a date for the night....) I was asked at least twice if I was a chaperon. That was kind of funny - if not a tiny tiny tiny bit of an insult - but the best part was when I told them, "No, actually (use of this term is a shameless tribute to my awesome grandson Carter Nikolaus) my band started playing one of their songs, so I checked their albums out and have become a big fan."
I resisted the urge to tell them that my son (Jeff) had been a quasi-roadie for JEW on one occasion in the State of Colorado (Jeff knows his brother), but did pass along a little known factoid that the guitar Jim Adkins uses is actually the cut-out version of my Taylor 810E guitar (as if this somehow legitimizes my roaring infarct of a musical career). So does this make me cool? Name-dropping? Association by instrument? Offspring is a quasi-insider-roadie? No, no, no - these are just cheap old tricks. And this alone obviously does not make me cool.....it is attributable to so many newer cheap tricks.
Incidentally, my take on J.E.W.'s latest album (see Note 1) Take This Light is that it is as good as anything they have ever done, end-to-end. I know that lyrics aren't everyone's focus with the music they listen to, but encourage you to check out the lyrics for this CD if you pick it up. The music is a little poppy in spots (not an insult, just my way of letting you know that this isn't Metallica Lite), but very good, with just enough EMO/alternative (i.e. 'dirty') guitar tracks to keep it on the right side of the, uh, tracks. The vocals are great as always, though a little less reverb/echo on Big Casino would have been my choice for the 'best mix.'
But then who asked me? I'm just a lonely fan disguised as a chaperon. Or am I a 'Rock Star in Chaperon's Clothing?'
You make the call.
_________________________
While alone at Jimmy Eat World concert (well, not exactly alone - it was sold out - but I didn't have a date for the night....) I was asked at least twice if I was a chaperon. That was kind of funny - if not a tiny tiny tiny bit of an insult - but the best part was when I told them, "No, actually (use of this term is a shameless tribute to my awesome grandson Carter Nikolaus) my band started playing one of their songs, so I checked their albums out and have become a big fan."
[insert video of attractive young person(s) - probably from the East Valley - saying "Oh, that's great" (which may have been directed as much to themselves as to moi-self) while sporting a riotously blank, perplexed look on their face(s)].
I resisted the urge to tell them that my son (Jeff) had been a quasi-roadie for JEW on one occasion in the State of Colorado (Jeff knows his brother), but did pass along a little known factoid that the guitar Jim Adkins uses is actually the cut-out version of my Taylor 810E guitar (as if this somehow legitimizes my roaring infarct of a musical career). So does this make me cool? Name-dropping? Association by instrument? Offspring is a quasi-insider-roadie? No, no, no - these are just cheap old tricks. And this alone obviously does not make me cool.....it is attributable to so many newer cheap tricks.
Incidentally, my take on J.E.W.'s latest album (see Note 1) Take This Light is that it is as good as anything they have ever done, end-to-end. I know that lyrics aren't everyone's focus with the music they listen to, but encourage you to check out the lyrics for this CD if you pick it up. The music is a little poppy in spots (not an insult, just my way of letting you know that this isn't Metallica Lite), but very good, with just enough EMO/alternative (i.e. 'dirty') guitar tracks to keep it on the right side of the, uh, tracks. The vocals are great as always, though a little less reverb/echo on Big Casino would have been my choice for the 'best mix.'
But then who asked me? I'm just a lonely fan disguised as a chaperon. Or am I a 'Rock Star in Chaperon's Clothing?'
You make the call.
_________________________
(1) This free review - offered due to, or in spite of, absolutely zero demand from the blogging public - is provided at very little charge by Papa Linus. who may not know everything there is to know about everything, but has an opinion on everything of which he has ever become aware.
Wednesday, June 25, 2008
Tuesday, June 24, 2008
2 short
Today, I dedicate this blog to brevity. I am writing the least loquacious, most superficial, and least descriptive blog ever written. When brevity is the goal, and not clarity, it is amazing how few words are required.
Saturday, May 17, 2008
I Will Admit It: I don't want to be the Person I always wanted to be
For most of my years on earth I have struggled with consistency or, more precisely, with the problems I have caused myself, family and friends due to the lack thereof. I have always struggled with consistency - well, off and on - at various times throughout my life.
I have come to understand that I am the living, walking, breathing personification of the "I" word (no, not Idiot, Ignoramus or Imbecile, though these descriptors may be even more painfully accurate - I'm talking about Inconsistency).
I find it amusing when people say "I would give anything if......" or "I would love to......." People who regularly utter those words but don't act upon them are, in the words of the Biggest, Fattest Liar of All Time (Al Franken), Big Fat Liars.
It is obvious: if someone would give anything he/she has to become or achieve whatever, or if he/she would in reality love to do such-and-such, well that person would surely find a way to make it happen. That's like someone with a full wallet and an empty stomach (and at least shared-title of a fairly reliable vehicle) saying "I would give anything to have a steak tonight" then never making the effort to drive to the Outback Steakhouse to place an order (this omission would be particularly egregious now that you can Dine-in or Drive-up). So we can fairly judge such a person, who wouldn't take action to find a steak, and say that this Big Fat Liar really isn't willing to 'give anything' for that steak.
Having categorically criticized the Big Fat Liars of the world I am compelled by social pressure, if not by a sincere commitment to personal integrity, to tell it like it is: I don't want it that badly. After years of pseudo-intellectually surmising concerning the subject I have concluded that I somehow prefer my erratic, inconsistent approach to life to that of a person who plans his/her every move and action. In fact, I have even come to realize that I am actually afraid of what would happen if I lived in a more measured and consistent manner. I might be more successful, it is true. But at least now, if I fail miserably, I can use inconsistency as an excuse. Were I to become consistent and still fail, how would I explain that?
It feels good to be honest about the reasons you live your life as you do, imperfect though it may be. Still, I can't escape the fact that my approach to life makes a pretty convincing argument that utter madness and empirical logic are close cousins.
I have come to understand that I am the living, walking, breathing personification of the "I" word (no, not Idiot, Ignoramus or Imbecile, though these descriptors may be even more painfully accurate - I'm talking about Inconsistency).
I find it amusing when people say "I would give anything if......" or "I would love to......." People who regularly utter those words but don't act upon them are, in the words of the Biggest, Fattest Liar of All Time (Al Franken), Big Fat Liars.
It is obvious: if someone would give anything he/she has to become or achieve whatever, or if he/she would in reality love to do such-and-such, well that person would surely find a way to make it happen. That's like someone with a full wallet and an empty stomach (and at least shared-title of a fairly reliable vehicle) saying "I would give anything to have a steak tonight" then never making the effort to drive to the Outback Steakhouse to place an order (this omission would be particularly egregious now that you can Dine-in or Drive-up). So we can fairly judge such a person, who wouldn't take action to find a steak, and say that this Big Fat Liar really isn't willing to 'give anything' for that steak.
Having categorically criticized the Big Fat Liars of the world I am compelled by social pressure, if not by a sincere commitment to personal integrity, to tell it like it is: I don't want it that badly. After years of pseudo-intellectually surmising concerning the subject I have concluded that I somehow prefer my erratic, inconsistent approach to life to that of a person who plans his/her every move and action. In fact, I have even come to realize that I am actually afraid of what would happen if I lived in a more measured and consistent manner. I might be more successful, it is true. But at least now, if I fail miserably, I can use inconsistency as an excuse. Were I to become consistent and still fail, how would I explain that?
It feels good to be honest about the reasons you live your life as you do, imperfect though it may be. Still, I can't escape the fact that my approach to life makes a pretty convincing argument that utter madness and empirical logic are close cousins.
Tuesday, May 13, 2008
Changed my Mind: I'm Not Doing a Blog.....
I have always thought that doing a blog was a good idea but I've changed my mind, so I'm not going to do a blog. I am going pretend to do a blog and hope that no one notices.
See, my problem (one of many, some would say) is that I am morally and mortally bound to digress into what I call my Daily Existential Phase. Some people will relate with that - okay, maybe like 2-3 people who are stationed in remote locations never to be seen again - and others will conclude that DEP's are only experienced by soulless, shallow, narcissistic, over-thinking cartoon characters. And they would be right.
For that is me in a nutshell. Linus and I are One. We evaluate, calculate, stipulate, analyze, re-analyze, re-analyze again, repeat ourselves, over-do, under-do, doo-doo (okay, that's private - if I can figure out how to use the Backspace key I'll erase that.....), castigate, promulgate, watergate (just seeing if you're really listening - ignore this one), fumigate and postulate.
And that's one, single DEP! No wonder I never get anything done. If I ever figure out how to use the Backspace key do you have any idea how much time I will spend reviewing and editing what I have written so far, to make sure it is absolutely, positively imperfect in my own special way? Let's not go there. I have a job, a career some call it, and I have to go. I have a meeting in 9 minutes and I'm 15 minutes away.
Story of my life. No one told me about the meeting. Or did they?
See, my problem (one of many, some would say) is that I am morally and mortally bound to digress into what I call my Daily Existential Phase. Some people will relate with that - okay, maybe like 2-3 people who are stationed in remote locations never to be seen again - and others will conclude that DEP's are only experienced by soulless, shallow, narcissistic, over-thinking cartoon characters. And they would be right.
For that is me in a nutshell. Linus and I are One. We evaluate, calculate, stipulate, analyze, re-analyze, re-analyze again, repeat ourselves, over-do, under-do, doo-doo (okay, that's private - if I can figure out how to use the Backspace key I'll erase that.....), castigate, promulgate, watergate (just seeing if you're really listening - ignore this one), fumigate and postulate.
And that's one, single DEP! No wonder I never get anything done. If I ever figure out how to use the Backspace key do you have any idea how much time I will spend reviewing and editing what I have written so far, to make sure it is absolutely, positively imperfect in my own special way? Let's not go there. I have a job, a career some call it, and I have to go. I have a meeting in 9 minutes and I'm 15 minutes away.
Story of my life. No one told me about the meeting. Or did they?
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