Doctors and Such
Why yes doc, that has been growing on me for three years and now that it is gently rubbing my back while I sleep, I feel I should get it checked out. Why didn't I come in earlier? That's a good question. I have this aversion to doctors offices. No I am not scared of shots or showing my personal bits to a stranger. I guess it all began with the time I was told that I was "morbidly obese" by a young fella not many years out of med school. What did that have to do with my cold you ask? That's a question for Doogie. There is that time where I was sure I was riddled with cancer and it was just a cyst. Answer me this dear doctor, did I need your eyebrows to raise when I explained that it constantly felt like someone had slapped my fellas with a flip-flop? That got a strange look. I guess I just hate the idea of being judged. If I feel like something is wrong with me then the last thing I want is a doctor raining on my sickness and telling me I am just fine. The concept of "you are young" and "that would be rare" does nothing to ease my concerns. Apply that line of logic to any cemetery's grave stones and get back to me. Hank Gillecki was only 26 when he died from that thing that should not have killed him but did because some doctor wanted to get to Olive Garden for Neverending Soup, Salad, and Breadsticks , which by the way is logically impossible now that I think about it, with his wife. I will end with the statistics and wisdom of my father. 50% of all doctors graduated in the bottom half of their class and they don't call it a practice for nuthin'.
Skateboards and a Few Cliches (aka BS)
I spot the tall blades of grass tossing every so gently in the wind. They remind me of childhood and the awkwardness that seemed all powerful over me in those early days of life. Why? I don't know. Who knows where these things find life and become thoughts. I find myself sensing an urgent calling to explore this tiny forest of Kentucky Bluegrass 31. Calling me from beyond a different type of jungle, a manmade jungle. After 43 chiropractic visits the pain is gone and I have been restored to the fine athletic specimen that was created especially for me. Youth has poured itself back into my bones. I was once a man of 33 with a numb foot dragging behind me like a stubborn dog on a hot sidewalk. But now I find myself plotting the inevitable arrival of the thing I fear most. Man was not made to do this. No one should see this daunting task laid in front of him. "Not I", I say. I will not turn for it is not in my core. I accept your challenge and I laugh in your face dear foe. So there it is, the moment of truth where a man is either made or broken. With the precision of a laser, I focus in on the task in front of me. I will either abandon the bamboo in favor or the grass so elegantly placed by the side of the road or face the inevitable tearing as the asphalt enters my skin in search of its favorite meal of blood. There is a moment in all skateboarders lives that you must dismount in search of refuge. At the moment you begin this journey you can't be sure if your legs will hold or crumple under the requirements a cheetah was designed to handle. This moment is upon me and I eagerly await the results as I begin. With the reflexes of a cat and the leaping gallop of a gazelle I find myself bounding and oddly enough giggling like a child as the board takes off in search of it own path. The entire time I hesitantly prepare for the tuck that will be accompanied by several rolls. However, they never arrive. The machine that my body has become has withstood the trial and emerged victoriously. This time I have won but I take care not to mock a foe such as this because I know we will meet again and perhaps this next crossing I will not be so lucky and he will take what is rightfully his. After all I am to old for this junk.
Music and Youth
The mouse hovers over the button for only a second before it gets clicked, and sets off an array of packets in search of their destination. The power of the "Buy Now" button is known the world over. Funds are exchanged, and as promised, the seller begins the process of delivering the purchase. The bits are coming with all the speed the internet can supply. Songs one, two, ten, eleven. The download is complete. This process is repeated often, but not likely with the impact that this particular download brings. There are few albums that can survive an almost constant repeat cycle. These albums live in our lives for a time, and leave an impact, whether noticed or not. Music binds itself to us unlike anything else. The best albums transport us like an author's finely crafted words. In our youth, we emptied our minds, increased the volume, and allowed these albums to envelope us. These moments have quickly disappeared from our lives as we have molded into the normal ideal of an American adult. What's to be said of consciously returning to some of the times and practices that formed the individuals we have become? Thoughts?