Marking Time

For those who don’t watch tv, or live under a rock (not that I blame you), the “more flags, more fun” slogan is part of the current ad campaign for the Six Flags amusement park franchise. There are 17 total parks, including Six Flags now in Montreal, Mexico City, and Dubai (United Arab Emirates). So it’s not strictly a U.S. phenomenon anymore. But it’s very much a product of what can be called “American” thinking — the kind of “more is better” thinking that leads to a slogan like the one above, as well as leading to a far-reaching corporate influence that offers a window into the most current marketing techniques. Six Flags wants to be the new Big Brother, in other words, or at least reduce the Disneys and all their own marketing muscle to a bunch of flashy plastic made-in-China rubble. (Speaking of China, and this dangerous “growth at any cost” mindset, who watched Ted Koppel’s Discovery Channel series on China this week?)

This year’s first lesson about the iron grip of commercialism happened for my sister before she even entered the park, when she was faced with the choice of parking in the back lot for $15, or in the closer-to-the-entrance front lot for $25. As we recall, all parking was one price last year: $10. Even Disneyworld in Orlando, where my sister went last year, only charges $10 to park.

I on the other hand, found a way to beat The Man: I parked for free in an out-of-the-way spot outside the park and rode my bike in. Considering that there was only one small bike rack, and mine was the only bike that was locked there all day, I think this was the biggest sign that the “car culture” and the U.S. amusement park experience are inextricably linked. I wonder if they’re running scared now? Are they trying to figure out ways to seem green, while distracting us from the fact that they’re plopped down in no-man’s-land — on an interstate fifty miles from each of the two major nearby cities (Milwaukee and Chicago)? Probably not scared, though. They’ve got sort of a monopoly, and are likely benefitting from the high price of airfare by getting more regional vacationers who have to stay closer to home this summer.

Speaking of the car culture, the GEICO gecko has apparently joined Bugs Bunny, Batman, Scooby Doo and other Time/Warner mascots at Six Flags to make my experience more… um… fulfilling. I first noticed the annoying product placement campaign when I saw that all of the 30+ bumper cars on Rue le Dodge had a bumper sticker which read: “My other car is insured by GEICO.” Then later, they had posted a picture of the gecko on a sign that advised it would be 15-minutes wait-time from that point to get to the front of the line. Next to that, of course, was the reminder that in those same 15 minutes, I could be saving 15% on my car insurance by switching to GEICO. Thanks, mate. Got any sunblock on you? That would be more useful at the moment.

This was just one example of the unrelenting corporate cross-marketing extravaganza we were exposed to, in concentrated form, all day long. It’s like being on The Truman Show, where the godlike planners have thought through every possible angle, dressed it all up nice and pretty, and yet all you want to do is escape as soon as possible. (If not for the rides, that is… which are fast becoming just a part of the background for all these other money-making schemes; they’re the reason we go, but not the reason The Man wants us there.)

I know I must sound like a crotchety old man. Fact is, that’s what I am now. Maybe I’m just pissed that the five pounds I had put on since last year made it impossible for me to fit into the seat and shoulder harness on my favorite coaster: Batman. Add to that the chafing on my thighs from walking around sweaty all day, and the problems with my feet and left knee, and suddenly I’m the All-American Whiny Stick In the Mud, the last guy I ever thought I’d turn into. Getting old just sucks. And I’m not even that old.

Okay, enough whining. A few highlights:

1) American Eagle, a huge old-style wooden roller coaster, has still got the goods, even after twenty years. A tad more rickety in one section, but a nice long ride compared to some newer coasters, yet still with good dips and decent speed.

2) I didn’t notice much ridiculously bad behavior from kids and teens this year. In the past I’ve seen line-jumpers and heard pretty foul language on occasion, or else general brattiness from the spoiled younger ones. But it wasn’t so bad Friday, and most kids were dang cute and pretty gleeful, so I guess the park still remains what I would call “family friendly”. People may finally be learning civility, in these tough times when we all feel a bit nervous about what’s next (Orange Alert, a Second Great Depression, or maybe a flood that takes out the entire city of New York). 

3) I had a grand time reminiscing and catching up with my two younger sisters, for whom this Six Flags trip is a tradition that they put right up there with any religious obligation or national holiday. Myself, I was just along for the ride, not looking to do everything in the park, …twice (like the 18 times my nephew Bill rode the Batman coaster). I see them alot, but not as often in a context where spouses and little ones aren’t around. So we got to pack three months worth of uninterrupted storytelling and complaining about life into one day, as we waited in line, moving five feet every five minutes. It’s nice to have people to do that with, people who know me that well, and aren’t wanting something from me.

It’s always an eye-opening experience for me to go to a big, sprawling amusement park like Six Flags Great America (where I went yesterday), or one of the Disneys.

All the blinking lights, the noise, the walkingwalkingwalking, the junkfood, the tall purple-faced people dressed as comic book villains I don’t recognize, and of course the rollercoasters! It all hurts one’s brain and beats up on one’s body, but it’s a mildly pleasurable and necessary pain… the “no pain, no gain” type. The intra-body wave you ride, trying on purpose to get dizzy and euphoric and sugar-buzzed without going so overboard that you lose your lunch, is part of the fun.

So is the “taking the pulse of the country” aspect of being there, at least for me. Once again, the park reminded me that the culture I was born into is often simultaneously fun and toxic, brilliant and stupid. For example, I am often in awe of the scientific prowess and heavy-duty marketing knowhow it takes to build these rides and to run such a place, even as I bemoan the unconscionably high prices, and whine that the new Dark Knight coaster really sucked.

Yup, sorry to be the one to break the news, people, but Dark Knight-The Ride was not worth the 1+ hour wait (yes, an hour, …no I’m not crazy, just stupid, …and keep in mind that’s the wait on a non-crowded weekday). It’s an enclosed coaster which runs mostly in the dark, with mediocre blacklight effects and more of a semi-predictable, neck-thrashing jerkiness than genuine thrills, speed, or haunted-house scares.

I didn’t mind the “you’re in Gotham City now” pre-boarding total-immersion room, complete with a mock “live” press conference featuring characters/actors from the new movie shown on a courtesy screen in the mock subway station, with a red dot matrix fake Gotham news crawl running below it. But the letdown of exiting that room, only to board a coaster that doesn’t even equal the creative engineering of the Magic Kingdom’s Space Mountain (now over 30 years old), soon takes all the wind out of any Dark Knight rider’s sails. (Did someone say Knight Rider? I hear KITT came back again this year, too, but still sucked as much as the original… ha! The Hoff is such a joke.)

It wasn’t just our multi-age, middle class white party (ages 8-42) that thought the Dark Knight ride stunk, either. I made a conscious effort to listen to people as they were getting off, and also later that night when I again rode Superman next door (an awesome ride, BTW, day or nite). Both rides dump exiting passengers into the same DC Comics-oriented giftshop, and as people exited, it seemed nobody was impressed with Dark Knight-The Ride. It’s barely half the fun of the original Batman coaster on the other side of the park, which is a much underrated marvel (comics pun intended) of design and execution.

Maybe they just tried to squeeze DK into too small a space in the park. Maybe in their enthusiasm about all the high-tech pre-ride stuff, and the up-to-the-minute tie-ins to a summer 2008 Hollywood blockbuster, they thought the coaster itself wouldn’t matter to us. But it does. And it sucked.

That disappointment was piled on top of my already low-boiling chagrin over the massive “Virtual Army Experience” recruiting building Six Flags has allowed in the front parking lot. Apparently, existing propaganda that blurs the line between real violence and simulated violence still hasn’t been enough to fill the Army’s recruitment needs — not even with all the new Army-developed and endorsed “shooter” videogames on the market.

So now they are “taking their message to the people”, to where people show up by the thousands. I can almost hear their fatigue-clad carnival barker now :

Hey all you gung-ho twelve-year-olds! Hey you paintball fans! Come on in! Shoot at real holographic enemies! Test your speed and toughness! Plan a mission to take out the freedom-hating terrorists! Then go get youself a free t-shirt and a Coke, take a pamphlet, and go on into the park for other equally intense amusements, all at the low price of  $54 per person. Just think of it as your personal boost to our sagging economy,son. Amusement is your duty, and your right, as a red-blooded American. Now go do your duty, soldier!

Tomorrow: more reflections on Six Flags Great America, including how my body let me down, how the Geico gecko ruined my day, and the blessing of being with siblings who know you “by heart”.

Regarding the switch to digital cable from analog, I put it off for a year or two, not for any good reason, but because my cable needs were modest, a switch would be a pain, and I assumed that any kind of upgrade would end up costing more, whether they told me so or not.

Now I’ve gone through the process, made the switch (to non-HD), and meanwhile adjusted my account so that we no longer have a separate internet account. Except I’m not happy with what I’ve got now. I feel like we went backwards in some ways. This is not for the usual reasons, but because I expected more improvement than I’m actually seeing on my HDTV, and we also have not solved the technical problem (occasional dropout of our internet service) that was our main reason for upgrading.

I’m somewhat enjoying Comcast’s On Demand feature, but otherwise I’m frustrated. Internet still goes away unpredictably, even with a new modem now and a newish computer (2006?). The HD-level channels that were coming through the cable all along (!!!) and were formerly being read directly by my new HDTV are now being blocked by their non-HD box (they say an HD box is $10 a month more). So now I probably have to bypass the box if I want to watch an HD broadcast in true HD. Ridiculous.

Not to mention the appointment missed by the first cable installer, the rigamarole of rescheduling, the installation charge for the new box and moderately faster modem…

Why do we put ourselves through this? Why do we let them get us hooked on the junk?, and then we fall for the promise of more and better junk, and then they’ve got ya.

It’s hard to know exactly when it happened, but sometime between January and June of 2008, my five-year-old (now six) outgrew most of the post-toddler “kid” shows on Playhouse Disney and PBS, and became a crazed fanatic about Cartoon Network.

It would be easy to blame it on my wife, since she does not share my mistrust of the network itself, and started turning it on for him when I had previously been steering him away from it. But it’s my fault, too. For one thing, I’m doing what we said we would not do: using the tv as a babysitter, to keep him occupied and safe while we try to get other things done (like this damned blog! …which magically turns minutes into hours!). Or rather, his body is safe… his mind may be another matter.

I’m trying to nip it in the bud by setting some time limits, but I fear Pandora may already be out of the box, and my kid’s a budding cartoon junkie. He hasn’t asked  to read a book in months. He blurts out random non-sequitr quotes from unknown shows while we’re riding in the car. He doesn’t want to go outside when it means turning the tv off. I don’t want to sound alarmist, but I’m concerned Cartoon Network will make my child into a brilliant idiot.

There are two reasons I don’t like and don’t trust Cartoon Network’s daytime programming:

1. commercials for junkfood, bad toys, and more crap we don’t need but that he will bug us to buy. He’s being groomed as a consumer, and I don’t want the corporate monstrosity that is AOL/Time/Warner reprogramming my child and undoing the good work we’ve done for six years
2. too much ‘toonified violence… watered down, bloodless, but aggressive nonetheless, and pushing values I definitely don’t share. There’s a marked difference between the spirit of conflict between Wile E. Coyote vs. Roadrunner, and the power rays, magic and kung fu of today’s cartoon violence. I can’t always put my finger on it, but something about most of the current “drama” and adventure ‘toons just seems to rub me the wrong way as a parent and a pacificist-leaning Christian. Plus it’s mostly just bad… badly written, badly drawn, badly acted. For example, I won’t willingly let Graham watch Tarantino’s Reservoir Dogs until he’s 17… but when he does see it, I want to be the one to show him how good movie and tv-makers can do up violence and double-crossing with great intelligence, humor and style, instead of the cartoonish hollowness and CGI flashiness of The Incredible Hulk.

Just as an experiment, though, let’s switch on Tuesday morning’s Cartoon Network offerings for awhile and see what we get:

7:56am   Ben 10  is just wrapping up. Or is it Ben Ten: Alien Force. I don’t know. There are two current series featuring the same characters, and I think Ben 10 is Graham’s new favorite show. He clearly idolizes Ben, who is ten. (How’d you guess? No wait –on Alien Force, Ben is 15. I’m confused now.) It’s not bad overall. Fairly innocent, with today’s villain being a midget hypnotist who wants all the people at the mall to rob the cash registers and bring him cash. Ben has some wristband thing with a button he can push to transform himself into other entities, like Fireball Guy, or Plant Guy. Silly, but not all that different from the animated adventure/superhero stories that formerly appeared only on Saturday mornings or after school. The downside: I put on Playhouse Disney as Little Einsteins was wrapping up today, and Graham howled, “No! I don’t like this show anymore!” It used to be his favorite. Poor innocent little glasses-wearing Leo, cast aside in favor of one of the “cool kids”, complete with a shape-shifting gizmo and a preteen’s smart-aleck attitude.

7:59am        Wedgies. I had neither seen nor heard about this show until just moments ago. Oh wait, I see – it’s only a little bumper, a time-filler, a 1-2 minute mini-toon called Flapjack. Maybe these pilot-y sorta things are called Wedgies ’cause they’re wedged between two other shows. And unless I miss my guess, that’s Brian Doyle-Murray I hear voicing one of the two featured Flapjack characters. Brian is Bill Murray’s older brother. He’s a fairly decent, funny actor in his own right. But apparently nowadays, in an era where scripted tv comedy is third in the pecking order, behind hourlong dramas and semi-scripted reality tv, A-list character actors like Brian have to take what they can get. That means voicing car commercials (Matt Dillon is the current voice of one of the major car companies), or little wedged-in bumpers, or cartoons, just to keep working steady. (Brian’s done some Sponge Bob, some Disney tv stuff, a wide range… his scratchy voice is good for cartoons.) It used to be that movie actors (I think) did this type of work on the side, for fun, or after their biggest career successes were well in the rear-view mirror. But with increased competition, for fewer on-camera jobs, I’ve noticed more and more recognizable actors slogging away on cartoons. Take the PBS show Cyberchase, for example. It has two: Christopher Lloyd (Back to the Future’s Dr. Emmett Brown) and Gilbert Gottfried (better known as a stand-up comedian, and for that aggressively annoying voice). Now maybe these two actors actually like working on a quality show that subtly builds math skills into the plotlines. And I know Mr. Lloyd has done stage work on and off for years as well. But part of me can’t help but wonder if the less expensive, less creative, tenement-style programming that is reality tv is the main reason that cartoons have become the bread-and-butter for a whole class of actors now. Meanwhile, have you looked at most of the crap that passes for live-action network sitcoms aimed at 18 to 32-year-olds these days? Big Bang Theory ? Puh-leeease!

8am      Johnny Test - (Not to be confused with Jonny Quest, for all you old-schoolers out there.) I’ve only popped my head in and watched partial episodes, but when I did watch, Johnny Test had a time machine. This is an old trick: it gives the writers permission to put their own goofy spin on thousands of years of human history. Now Graham will probably think Atilla the Hun was just a scowling ham of an actor with a beard and a clearly un-American look, unlike the dashing, blond and ironic hero, feisty little Johnny T.

8:30am    missed it - TVGuide.com says it was Skunk Fu! - probably typical of the snarky, hugely ironic and self-referential nature of entertainment in the Oughts. Everything’s a lefthanded rip-off of something else…

9am    Tom & Jerry Blast Off to Mars. A feature-length movie, produced by TBS cable network. Actually, Ted Turner and/or AOL/Time/Warner (owners of Cartoon Network) own alot of those old cartoon franchises now. When Cartoon Network first started it was mostly just an outlet for a wide range of those shows I grew up with, like the Hannah-Barbera stuff. (Now , CN shows alot of original and syndicated programming, some of which is imported, much of which is crap that definitely will not stand the test of time.) I blogged about this once, in the context of a discussion on Scooby Doo’s staying power. Meanwhile back here at the ranch, Graham just saw that Tom and Jerry were on, and got very excited. I was gratified that at least two of the more “classic” characters and situations strike his fancy as much as, if not more than, the Pokemons and Ben Tens of the cartoon universe.

Long live Bugs Bunny, Felix the Cat and Fred Flintstone!

“He wanted it, but I needed  it.”

So said American Joey Chestnut today, as he narrowly defeated perennial competitive hot dog eating champion Takeru Kobayashi in the Nathan’s world championship on Coney Island. At the end of the ten minutes (a time reduced from the former twelve minute period, to increase the pace) the two were tied at 59 hot dogs each –  ten more dogs than any of the other competitors. Then the regulation tie was resolved in a 5-dog “dog off”, a shootout where speed mattered more than ever. Chestnut finished his fifth dog not long after Kobayashi, who “stumbled” early, had just started his.

Chestnut, a Californian, kept the victory in perspective in the postgame interview. He put a nice patriotic spin on his response to “Why do you do this?”, responding humbly “I love to eat. I love the competition. We’re just having some silly fun, which is in the spirit of Fourth of July.” Chestnut was the defending Nathan’s champ, but last year Kobayashi reportedly had a jaw injury. Thus the statement above about “needing it”. Chestnut had to beat a healthy Kobayashi to secure his legitimacy as a champion.

Meanwhile, the commentators went on about Kobayashi having to win to maintain the image of “his brand”. What human being is, in himself, a brand? Is this what we’ve come to?

The competition itself was as weird, funny, and intense as one would guess… reportedly the best competition ever in the 80-plus years of the contest. And the first commercial after the crowning of a winner was from the main sponsor, Heinz Ketchup.

Ketchup?! On a hotdog?! That’s un-American right there. Or at least goes against the traditional hot dog rules here in Chicago, where we take our hot dogs VERY seriously. (Condiments allowed: yellow mustard, sweet relish, tomato wedges, celery salt, onions and hot peppers optional… any questions?!) Get away from me with that sauerkraut. Put the chili in a bowl. Save the ketchup for your burger. This here’s a Chacaago dog!

Maybe it’s a political thing, and Senator Kerry’s ketchup-mogul wife Teresa Heinz Kerry is the perpetrator. They’re swift-boating their condiment competition. You think it’s an accident that the leading yellow mustard on the market is called French’s? What’s next, Freedom Dogs?

Don’t let them do it, Joey. You’re America’s best hope to stay on top in the world. Not only did you need it… we needed it, too. And we’re right proud of ya.

“Because, in truth, because they have misled my people, saying, ‘Peace,’ when there is no peace. Therefore thus says the Lord God: In my wrath I will make a stormy wind break out.”

Ezekiel 13:10a, 13

Apparently there has always been a public relations industry, and spin doctors to put a positive face on a steaming pile of lies. If I read this passage correctly, that is.

Yesterday at a simple desire, we had a good look at the difference between exaggerated, metaphoric violence and actual physical violence, between “outer” peace and inner peace among the people of God. I think today’s verses make the case pretty clearly that Ezekiel’s is a story of the battle in the heavens for our souls, not the ones on earth for our property or ideologies. In verse 5 of Chapter 13, the Lord uses the image of the false prophets as those who have not repaired “the breaks in the wall”. This way of equating physical objects (a destroyed temple, a city, a whitewashed tomb) with the spiritual identity of a follower of Yahweh (one who is under threat of attack, who must guard his or her heart from sin, lies and false deities) has precedent throughout both the Old and New Testaments. For example, Nehemiah and other minor prophets put the rebuilding of Jerusalem in this same context: the city IS the people, and vice-versa.

Here, Ezekiel’s Lord talks about “flimsy” walls covered with “whitewash” (v. 10) , walls that will not be strong enough to stand in a coming battle. It’s not much of a stretch to see that they’re not talking about brick and mortar walls here, so much as a religious and political house of cards, based on lies and denial, that will not stand against the coming opponents. It reminds me of something… a battle entered into with faulty, made-up information from the leadership; a shoddy, patched-together, whitewashed mission thought to be “accomplished”; battles for which we’re not prepared… where have I heard this before? Ah well, it will come to me later.

Chapter 13 ends, on the other hand, with a merciful God, a saving Lord. He’s still angry, yes – and not only at the liars but also those foolish enough to believe them. But He just wants His people restored, his family set back on the right path. Here’s more of what He tells Ezekiel to convey to the false prophets, the pundits of that era, making up predictions off the top of their head:

19b By lying to my people, who listen to lies, you have killed those who should not have died and have spared those who should not live.

 20 ” ‘Therefore this is what the Sovereign LORD says: I am against your magic charms with which you ensnare people like birds, and I will tear them from your arms; I will set free the people that you ensnare like birds. 21 I will tear off your veils and save my people from your hands, and they will no longer fall prey to your power. Then you will know that I am the LORD. 22 Because you disheartened the righteous with your lies,… 

As a disheartened peacemaker in the 21st century, I take hope from this. The veil behind which a liar hides can always be torn away by our protective Father, revealing what was hidden and scurrilous (but often seductive, complete with flashing graphics and seemingly plausible statistics) about the false prophets’ message. Except nowadays, instead of “peace”, they say “War!” when there is no war… at least not the kind of war – with nukes and guns and IED’s – that they’re telling me we need to fight. 

I may or may not be righteous, but at least now I know that I’m not alone and abandoned here, utterly unable to sort out the truth from the lies, on the eve of still more battles for the hearts and minds of God’s people.

Okay, so time has not stopped entirely. I recognize that. It just feels like it has, because it’s my last day of work, I’m packing up my office, and I’m here all alone.

Minutes have felt like hours today. So since for me, writing always seems to make the time fly, here I be. I have to stay here anyway till an evening sendoff/thank-you event around the corner tonight (why drive an hour home only to come back an hour later?), so  I thought I’d log on and whine a little bit. (You’re welcome.)

To make matters worse, I’m stuck with the unenviable task of closing out not one, two, or three, but up to four separate “departments” that work out of the gym and thus utilize this dusty, dark, windowless storage room/jail cell that has been my ofice for two years now. The music program (which I expanded to include fine and performing arts last year), and the former health classes, and the P.E. department, all have a home in here.

It’s hard, partly because I’m not just making decisions about what to put away for the summer, but also pitching some things for good, given the prospect that the school will be staying closed and thus have to store or give away alot of this material. In some cases, I’m pitching very old teacher texts. At other times, it’s equipment for mysterious unknown games that we never played in two years here, and that I never played as a kid.

In a few cases, I’m pitching perfectly good material… like the free 5th grade puberty-education and hygiene products sent to us by Procter and Gamble (I assume P&G does this to get kids hooked early on their products, since Secret deodorant and Always feminine pads are bundled in there). I feel guilty tossing out a dozen newish trial-size stick deodorants, but it would just feel too awkward to try finding them a good home. (I did, however, take a few for my own family… after all they’re ”strong enough for a man, but made for a woman”…)

I feel guilty throwing away books, too. But it’s clear they’re old, and haven’t been used in years. So whadya gonna do???

And I suppose I’m grieving a bit: another career avenue I once thought viable and semi-permanent, now gone the way of the dinosaurs through no fault of my own. Again I’m left out in the cold (well, …it’s eighty five and muggy here, but you get my drift), haphazardly looking for a job that actually makes sense.

Anyone in the market for a dozen sets of blue plastic basketball cheerleader pompons? Get ‘em while they last… I think trash pickup is on Monday.

But first another confession: This marks at least my third blog post in which the word “confession” is part of the title - a sure sign that I’m a St. Augustine-aping, whiny, guilt-ridden, post-Catholic, pseudo-intellectual hack trying to catch people’s attention with self-deprecating humor and imitation, half-assed, lazy religious trickery. Nevertheless, here goes…

I went out, alone, for pricy coffee and and a delicious torte after a church committee meeting the other night. I seem to need to do something like this about once a month: fancy coffee and a hipster newspaper, or popping into a blues bar, or walking down to the corner tavern (which for me is about a half-mile away, barely walkable with my arthritic knee). I never plan when I will make these little bohemian excursions — where I act like a carefree single man, or an irresponsible married man, or a down-on-his-luck divorced man who for some stupid reason reveres reckless poets and raging drunks like Charles Bukowski and Arthur Rimbaud. In fact, planning would be in direct opposition to the spontaneity I so desperately need when the urge to excurge hits. (Excurge? Excurse? Play hooky from my boring life? Whatever… you get it.) Plus, I’m multiply disabled in the medulla adultada, that part of the brain where for most people planning occurs.

But my secret fear is that I look out of place when I’m out playing at that bohemian lifestyle. I have no tattoos. No hardware hanging from my appendages. I don’t wear funky hats much anymore. I mostly wear off-brand polo shirts. My jeans are not ripped, nor written-upon, and I don’t wear all black. I do own a classic old leather bomber jacket – one which I can picture the hero of Kerouac’s On the Road  wearing as he immerses himself in some seedy underworld of tenement apartments and broken-down, landlocked houseboats. But the zipper on that jacket is busted, so I often opt for something warmer and more sensible, if less cool.

Out at the cafe the other night, my main clue that I’m getting too old for this sh*t was that I couldn’t see anything in the dim, atmospheric lighting. I had to use my phone as a lame-ass itty-bitty book light, in order to read The Onion, skipping over articles about rock bands I’ve barely heard of, and occasionally puzzling over references aimed squarely at college-age kids. (I still “get” most of the jokes, though I may not think they’re as funny as the youngsters do…) And I cursed under my breath like a crotchety old man when my twenty-year-old waitress moved at the speed of molasses in getting me the check. Doesn’t anybody have pride in their work anymore? (Yeah, I sound like my parents now. It sucks.)

For last month’s excursion, I admit I pushed the outside of the envelope a bit, as I went out late on a Friday, after Sue and Graham were asleep, to play craps on the gambling boats all the way over in Gary, Indiana. I didn’t leave a note. I didn’t ask “permission” (God forbid). And I knew full-well that my father struggled most of his adult life with a gambling addiction, much injuring my mother and yet denying he had a problem every step of the way. But dammit, it was Friday night, I was wide awake and wired, and I wanted to do it. I’d been thinking about it for months, in fact. So I did it. I even won $130. But Sue called me at about 1:30 or 2am, as I was driving back, wondering where I was. When I told the truth she was rightfully ticked off.

So now I have to make confession, to be reconciled to my wife and my life and my boring middle-class, middle-aged existence. Until next month, when I will fall off the wagon again and limp my way through a game of Ultimate Frisbee with kids half my age after church. In a few minutes I will go off to my full-time job, and when I come home tonight I will cook a well-balanced dinner and probably watch Night In the Museum with my family. Between now and Sunday, I have to mow the lawn, the ultimate symbol that I’m no longer bohemian. (Do they even have lawns in Bohemia, or do they just cover their yards with skate parks and cheeky paintings of Elvis on black velvet?)

Plus I probably need to spend some time this weekend looking for work again, as the school I’m teaching at is suspending operations next year due to financial difficulties. Well, at least that’s ONE way I’m still living like a twenty-something bohemian and wanna-be. I have no real CAREER to speak of…

My brain function was bad enough before old age started setting in. Now it’s getting ridiculous.

In the past two days I’ve forgotten first my cell phone (in a pullover pocket at work for two days), and then my wallet (up in Wisconsin, where I can’t get it back until this Friday).

Add to that the increasing frequency with which I forget people’s names (I used to be really good at it), and the 15+ times I’ve gotten my son to school late this year, and you’ve got all the makings of a classic flake. David Hirsch, an old family friend, calls my personality type Abstract Bewildered. It’s true. I can be creative, but when it comes to little details, schedules, and crossing all the t’s, I’m often a mess. My mother has been of the opinion for years now that I was borderline ADHD as a kid, but never diagnosed because I was high-functioning academically… all that completed-at-the-last-minute homework at least had the right answers.

Now that I’m looking for work again, it really gets me worried. “Attention to detail” and “ability to meet deadlines” seem to be the two main skills/cliches held in common for all the job-postings I’m interested in. Of course, nobody’s gonna advertise that they’re occasionally forgiving when it comes to a proposal deadline. So how serious do I take these job descriptions?

I know there’s no cure for old age or stupidity, but is there at least some kind of pill I can take to be normal? (Or as abnormal as I used to be, before I completely let myself go?)