My “Best” Self, Time Keeping in the Post-Apocalyptic World, and Other Questions No One Asks But Me

watch

I forgot my watch today.  That is rather vexing, even though I can make the argument that the habit of wearing a timekeeper on one’s person is rather archaic and quaint. I very seldom forget to wear a watch.  It became habit when I was in elementary school (way before the days of smart phones or computers) because it was necessary for me to know the time, 1.) when I went home for lunch and had to be back at school, so I didn’t screw around too long on the way back (I don’t know of any elementary schools today that let kids leave for lunch, but that was a different time) and 2.) if Grandma was going to pick me up after school, I would know she would be there at exactly 3:00, and that I had better be right out front next to the oak tree and not messing about on the playground.

vintage timex

The watch I wore from the time I was 9 years old until I was in college was a wind-up Timex (good luck finding one of those, but I still have it, and it still works.)  Today I generally wear a Timex digital watch (I have a few) or the really nice Fossil analog watch (talk about archaic, though this one does have a battery) I reserve for non-casual occasions.  I don’t know why I hang on to that rather dated custom- there’s a freaking clock in the car for heaven’s sake, not to mention on the cell phone and on the computer screen.  If I really need to know what time it is that bad, the current time is everywhere.

The impulse to always have a watch on reminds me of “Rainman’s” obsession to always buy underwear at K-Mart.  Not everyone on the autistic spectrum is OCD, (and I’m not) but I do remember as a kid I did NOT like having my schedule or routine changed at all, unless I was the one changing things.    I still don’t like other people screwing up my itinerary, but the older I get, I tend to be a lot more flexible.

It really doesn’t matter in the broad scheme of things, but people like me tend to get hung up on some really weird shit sometimes.   Perhaps it is a lame attempt for me to maintain some sort of continuity in an increasingly unpredictable world.

This country may be going to hell in a handbasket as the new Louis and Marie strut about as if they are royalty, as they stomp on the Constitution, squander taxpayers’ money, take their Hawaiian vacations and pontificate from their ivory tower, but at least I’ll know what time it is.   I can even set the chronometer, should I need to call 911 and want to know how long the cops take to get there.

Louis and MarieI couldn’t help it.  This reference to B.O. and Moochelle as the new Louis and Marie was too much NOT to share.  Sad thing is, this is NOT France.

Since I am painfully aware of not having a watch on my wrist, the thought came to mind, when would it really be imperative to have a watch on to know what time it is?  After the apocalypse- when there are no more computers or cell phones or cars?

At that point, when my immediate surrounding area resembles something out of Mad Max Beyond Thunderdome, who would give a rat’s ass about the time?  It would always be half-past ass whupping time, right?

There is a politically correct phrase I’ve heard that teachers use to “encourage” the children they teach, and for the most part I loathe it: “Be your best self today.”

WTF?

Can I be my shitty self tomorrow?

best selfThis is about as far as the “best self” train is going to go today.

I’m sorry, but the way I grew up was that it was either tow the line or get a boot up your ass.  I think that’s part of the problem with kids today, that parents and teachers are afraid to challenge them.  I can think positive all day and blow sunshine out my poop chute, but unless I actually do something positive it really doesn’t matter, does it?

r lee ermeyKids today need less mollycoddling and more boot camp.

Now I do like some of the suggestions here, even though the author of the post uses that phrase.  I think I will strike up a conversation with a complete stranger for shits and grins, or do something completely spontaneous just because I can.  Some of her suggestions are a tad bit more challenging, such as telling someone you love how much you love them.  I have emotions- I think- but I’m not very good at sharing them.

loathing

Is it just me, or am I the only one who thinks it to be bad manners to make a take home plate at a funeral wake?  I went to a calling hours and wake last week for a friend of mine whose father had died.   The departed was Irish, and there was plenty of liquor, so it really was a proper Irish wake.  Since we belong to a group of Lutheran church ladies, we had all brought enough chow for three armies too.

Jerry actually had the cojones to ask me if I’d fixed him a plate when I got home.

Granted, there was more than enough food and nobody would have missed it if I would have made Jerry a plate, but if you don’t at least go to the wake and pay your respects to the departed, then what gives you the right to go munching on their chow?

This is the message that action sends: “Gee, sorry about your Dad, too bad I was too busy drinking beer and watching the Big 10 channel to show up for his wake, but can my wife set me up with a doggie bag?”

I know Jerry was raised by wolves, but methinks requesting a doggie bag from a wake is a bit much.

Irreverence is Underrated, the Pithy Humor of Youth, and Mid-Life Angst

I love this kid’s honesty.

In 100 years, statistics would have it that over 90% of people currently inhabiting the planet will be DEAD!  If one wants to keep citing statistics, the odds are 100% that I will be dead in 100 years.   Taking the Dirt Nap.  Sleeping the big sleep.  Not even the little old dudes in India and Russia have made it to 143.  I don’t think I want to be first for that.

I’m sure that in the near future near-immortality will be possible- technically- but let’s face it, that sort of engineering poses some moral questions.  I am not a big sci-fi fan.  The idea of living on as a disembodied computer program and then being deposited into a manufactured body as presented in the reanimation scenarios on the Science Channel show Through the Wormhole  is downright creepy.

Now if I could engineer the body, that would be intriguing.  If I could be about 6′ tall, weigh about 120, and have the perfect man-bait model bod, I could have some fun.  However, being the sexy vixen would take some upgrading to the motor centers of my brain as well as a full body upgrade.  What’s the point of being man-bait if you fall all over yourself and spill crap on your sexy clothes?  It’s no tragedy to spill coffee all over the clothes I bought at Goodwill or off the Target clearance rack, but to spill coffee all over designer duds, or twist my ankles and break the heels off of high faluting stilettos?  That would suck.

What’s really bad is I thought this was Steven Tyler for a minute.  My bad.

Today’s body-mod technology is scary.  I couldn’t afford cosmetic surgery in my wildest dreams, and even if I had the scratch I’d be loathe to actually do it.  The only plastic surgery that seems to be effective, at least most of the time, is breast enlargement, which I need like a hole in the head.  38Ds are enough for anyone.  Keeping them from moving any further south is my ongoing objective.  The things that are wrong with my appearance aren’t fixable.  Short arms, short legs and bad proportions don’t fix.

I’ve had major surgeries.  It takes a long time to recover.  Knowing my luck I would end up looking even worse than when they first started, or I’d get MRSA or something and die an excruciating and macabre death from it.  I think I’ll reserve surgical intervention for the truly necessary things, until they can do surgery like on Star Trek– where they scan you with a high faluting electronic box and you’re magically healed, with no blood or incisions or anything.

Implanting my brain into a super-body is probably not going to happen.  So you do what you can with what you have.

If all else fails, be glad you can “P” !

I’m surprised this teacher didn’t give the kid a gold star for being able to perform bodily functions, as much as the schools have been dumbed down.  Personally I have to admire his weisenheimer attitude even if the teacher’s dreadfully politically correct response sort of dampens the effect.  “Best self?”  What kind of happy horseshit is that?  Would he be a “better self” if, like Beavis and Butthead, he forgot how to pee?

Then again,

It’s fun to screw with others.

Just in case anyone is curious, I found this an interesting assignment too.