Best to Leave Some History Behind

I've always was interested in histories, not the major political stuff, just the more intimate, bizarre happenings that have gone on. Like Catherine the Great of Russia letting a horse rape her, or the fact syphilis was the disease of European royalty for many years. Did you know Italy was the first ever to develop the fighter jet during WW2 that worked? It wasn't the Germans nor the Americans.

Campini-Camproni Italian Jet Fighter

I used to watch a show called “Connections” by BBC way back then. In it they follow the various inventions and how they have changed the world. In one of them, the narrator describes why the knight of Medieval times was the “tank.” In his armor, he could defeat pretty much any serf conscript that assailed upon him. In battle with another knight, the slugfest could go on and on.


The narrator speaks of this while holding a bastard sword on his shoulder. The camera pulls out to include him and a side of beef hanging by a chain from a tree bough.


“This is how your Medieval knight earned his keep” says Burke. He then, with all his might, swings the sword into the beef. He nearly clops it in half. I sat there in my chair wide eyed. “Jesus!” I thought.


After about five swings into it, the side of beef is hanging lopsidedly with huge gaps in it.


Burke then goes onto describe where he is. “In this field, in 1415, the English army under Henry V defeated the French nobility. This is Agincourt, where 15,000 French soldiers died and perhaps, 100 English died.”


The wide victory for the English was due to use of the longbow, and the fact the French knights, in their heavy armor, were corralled onto a muddy farm field which impeded their ability to advance and fight. They were slaughtered like pigs.


The type of sword the English used was called a “bastard” sword due to it being a bit different than the usual ones. It comes to a thin point which is just perfect for slicing into the gaps of armor. You had to get personally very close and find that gap and shove it in, all the while the opposing knight is trying to lop your arms off.


I wanted a bastard sword. I found one too, well, nearly.


Albion Swords Ltd fashions, from historical swords, replicas in exact detail. They're also “battle ready” meaning they have a razor's edge on them.


I imagined how cool it would look on my wall. Also, it's not some cheapo sword you can get at some knife shop at the mall. This was the real deal. Until I thought about it for a bit.


Knowing me, I just couldn't leave it on the wall. I'd have to go into the backyard and swing it around some, over my head. I'd make some thrusts with it and then finally, I'd have to see what it can cut.


I'm sure I'd slice through a soda bottle full of water. Perhaps a small branch, then a larger one, and then...


Then...I'm sure the sword would bounce off something I'd hit it with and then sink into my calf.


How foolish am I going to look at Memorial hospital with a massive laceration on my leg and then explaining why I had one to the Dr?


I never got the sword. I know myself too well.

Wave Hi!

Did you know, the Hubble Space Telescope was just an American spy satellite that's pointed to the stars, instead of down onto the Earth?

 

 

*****

Living in a neighborhood half full of retirees is a mixed bag. Granted, this neighborhood can be quiet as a monastery without the younger families whooping it up to 3 AM. The problem arises because retirees are so bored, anything that moves in the neighborhood becomes their TV to watch.

Anything includes the mail man, the occasional car down our long forgotten street, a cat or me. When I step outside, I have to remind myself I'm being spied upon by 80 year old neighbors who have little to do now. That's OK really, because it's not like I'm standing on the sidewalk, picking my nose a good three inches in, for all to see. In fact, watching me unload the groceries from my trunk has got to be a mundane as I think it is.

As a neighbor, I guess I ain't too bad. The only noise you may hear coming from this house is music and it's not blasted at 100 decibels. I didn't throw parties due to a seemingly rabies-infected German Shepherd who would broach NO other person in this house but me. And I don't sell drugs so there's no constant traffic at my home, for little five minute visits all day long. Oh, and I don't have young kids screeching all day long either. The best thing about having me as a neighbor? I won't bother you at all if you don't bother me. What more could you want? You like raping sheep in your backyard? I'll ignore it as long as you don't invite me nor do it in my yard.

But, the one thing crime you may easily convict me of is keeping the grass cut. I don't care a whit about lawns and never did put the effort into cultivating a putting green in my front yard. I harbor such an independent streak on certain things that no amount of peer pressure is going to bend me. In fact, It will make me even more determined to piss you off, allowing my first noble reason to defy everyone degrade into simple peevishness. Good luck in trying compel me to keep a Scotts type lawn. It isn't going to work.

So, today I'm outside, finally cleaning that pig sty I call my car. Actually, it wasn't as bad as I thought it was, mostly dust, pollen and loose change spread out inside. Even so, I did a bang up job, restoring this car back to a nicer condition. The problem, of course, I was being watched.

Then I hear a voice...coming from god knows where. A thin whispy voice the elderly have. “Ronnie! Ronnie!” I turn to search for the source and I see my neighbor across the street, hobbling over a little bit to make herself clearer.

“Could you mow that strip in front of you sidewalk...when you mow the rest of the yard?”

Being as polite as ever (to my detriment, I swear to God at times it is!) I answer her “Of course I will" and quickly dart my head back down to my work, cutting that conversation off quick.

Just right after that, and under my breath I said this while cleaning the stereo in my car, “Fuck you, Anna...for that, I'm not mowing anything for another week!”

I might just do that too. I can add to the elderly neighborhood gossip circuit some great material they can chew upon.

*****

Who knows? If I make it to that age, perhaps I'll be the nosiest, privacy-invading fussbudget you'd ever meet because I'll be bored out of my mind?

You're Supposed to be a Role Model, Not a Menace!

There's a family near me who I see occasionally out in their yard. Dad, Mom and three girls, five, eight and twelve. It's a busy, soccer Mom, activities-up-the-ass type of family where every kid is shuttled around to this sports event or that one. Since summer has returned, I see them more.

I watched while Dad and his little eight year old daughter played some basketball. Dad, is about 38, white as a ghost and a bit doughy. He however moves fast enough to play this game The girl looks like any other girl, small, skinny and yappy.

The game goes to sudden death. The girls shoots and misses. Dad then shoots, but he misses. She tries again and misses again. Dad, finally sinks it on his try. Here's what happened next that probably had my mouth agape a bit.

Dad, after sinking the shot, spins around to face his little girl and does a victorious fist pump while yelling out, “YESSSSS!”

The girl, who had her back to me, stood motionless. I swear I could hear the few sinews of self esteem in her being sprained and torn.

I'm surprised Dad didn't make an “L” with his fingers on his forehead while he ground the girl's defeat in a bit deeper. Dad, by the way, is an insurance salesman who pitches very large health plans to companies. I'm sure his life consists of nothing but competition and the only thing that matters is to win and get that fat sales commission.

Yet, how proud can you are I be at defeating an eight year old girl? It's like beating a Girl Scout.

All male arguments are very early '70s. Soviet-made, uni-directional trundling behemoths that say the same thing again and again and again: "I told you I would be late on Tuesday. I told you I would be late, I said it, I heard my own voice, I did say it... I told YOU specifically." Whereas womens' arguments seem to be these slinky, stealth Lockheed bombers designed in conjunction with Jaguar. With a lovely cream leather interior and infinite torque! That's why they can respond by saying "Yes, maybe, alright, but why is the fridge door open?” Your male brain has been hit by a computer guided Raytheon capacitor bomb that leaves it's circuitry fizzling.

 

*****

I watched a relationship slowly fall apart and I wanted in. I didn't do anything to promote it's demise but stood back and let the two tear one another apart by their own devices. They needed no help from me whatsoever as they were talented enough to ruin one another's pitiful self-esteem. But I'm a guy and impatient and was about to renege on my own sage advice. I was going to stir the pot.

“I want her...and she's prying loose...I'm going to hasten that. I'm going to lead her right into my arms.” I told my buddy.

“Are you?” he said with some huge doubt.

“Sure, she's done with him, she's told me she wants stability...I'm stable as hell. Job, house, car...you name it. He has none of those things!”

“Yeah, you're stable...but if you think your going to pit your wily cunning, up against a woman's, you'll lose fast.” He tells me.

He adds, “She'll smell you coming from a mile away because she's had a string of bad relationships. She's experienced.”

“Don't you know by now? Shit...you've really zeroed in on this one and you're not thinking this out at all are you? When ever have you been able, successfully, defeat a woman at these little relationship games? You're waaay too direct, too obvious and too apparent. It's a great quality to have in that with you, people get what they see...but it's a incredible detriment if you're going to play mind games with woman! You are READABLE. Your talent...if you want to call it that, is that you can be very charming, playful...but you don't have the cynical background of years of manipulating people...that's why you suck as salesman...you're not a Born Liar.”

And I sit there, with the transparency of my character, laid plain in front of me to see. Yep, he's right.

“I still like her, want her...”

“You're thinking like a boy...she's a toy to you...and you want your toy. Granted, you're not being devious about wanting her...you're just honestly very interested in a open sort of way...but stand down on this one.” He says.

So I stood down. Probably saved my ego from a good tearing up too.

It's Probably Cooler in Phoenix, AZ

It's not the heat, it's the humidity!

Yeah, I'm sure you wanted to hear that again.

It's wonderful 90 degrees in this room but I have a fan on me, drying up the sweat as it beads on my forehead. As long as I have this, I can tolerate it. Tolerate is the word. It has nothing to do with my liking it.

Growing up we never had an air conditioner till around 1975. My brother and I had our bedrooms upstairs which became an oven most summers. If really hot, we'd move down stairs and sleep on the couch or carpet. To tell the truth, it wasn't much of a relief as the living room was probably just ten degrees cooler than upstairs. But you take what you can get.

So, my Dad, thinking it was about time, bought an seeming 500 pound Tappan air conditioner from Apex. He managed to hump the unwieldy thing upstairs and shove it into our window. I was amazed at how cool our room had then become. Talk about luxury!

What was interesting was that Dad, who never got an a/c for his bedroom, started taking up residence in our room during the summertime. It was bit disconcerting as that was where I could be in private and in wonderful coolness but not with Dad spread out on my small bed. I had to behave while in my own room dammit.

It's funny how you can remember weather at times. Everyone that was there, can remember the '78 blizzard. I can remember the summer o f '88. I don't know why that sticks in my head but it was nothing but week after goddamn week of 90's and sopping wet dewpoints. It just wouldn't let up it. I'd drive by a temp/billboard thingy near Route 37, on my way to work in western Cranston, and it never read below 90 in the afternoon for what seemed forever.

I can remember waking up as soon as the sun cleared the tree line every morning. Why? Because I'd start sweating in the bed. Every night I'd fall asleep due to literally passing out because I couldn't stay awake anymore around 1 AM. It was too hot to sleep.

It finally did break. We had a huge Canadian cold front move through and I swear it took me a few days just to over come that heat wave that assaulted all of us.

Now the heat is back. I hear people wondering if we'll get any drier air. When you're deep into an ugly event, like this one, it seems it'll never end.

But it will, one day.

And I kiss my Fedder's air conditioner I have in my bedroom every night.

Do Overs

There are the scads of acquaintances and the few friends we've kept for decades. I have a couple that fit into that decade category. I was talking with one about how our lives managed to end up where they were at from what we thought, hoped it would, and the fact there are no “do-overs.” You can't go back again.

He was telling me of a memory that I had a dim recollection of. We apparently were hiking around Anawan rock in Rehoboth when we sat down and just talked. We were in our mid 20's, starting our careers and both still hunting for that girl. We both planned, sloppily, our futures with a certain confidence that it was ordained to happen. Well, our prescribed futures did come about but what we refused to take into consideration is that life's changes don't end there. I guess we can partially blame our parent's generation, who had the amazing, dumb luck to be living in the US after WW2. The economy shot up and stability in life could be had in the US, while Europe dug itself out of the rubble. We thought that would continue with our lives. Why shouldn't it? We saw daily reminders of how our parents, friends' lives were stable and predictable. Whoops! Nothing remains the same, even if it does for a few decades, things eventually change.

In his case, he found his niche in the accounting field, managed to rise in it and was hoping to work for one of the “Big Five” in New York one day. The “Big Five” were the five accounting houses to work for if you wanted to ascend the ladder of success. If you ended up there, you made it.

He found the girl too.

Flash forward a decade or so and now he's w/o that girl or the NYC job. The change in his job was no fault of his own as the financial crash made it vanish like morning mist. His wife left due to them growing apart, falling out of love and straying.

He wondered what the hell happened.

I thought the same to myself, about his life, mine and others, “Yeah..just what in hell did happen?”

What happened were the stable, solid non-variables became variable. That wasn't supposed to happen. But it did. Uncontrollable, unforseen events overruled our beliefs and once we shook ourselves from those beliefs that no longer sufficed, we modified our bearings and had we not, we'd be sunk. Bigger winds blew us off from our hoped for landings and the window of opportunity, our youth, was closing fast too.

“What the hell do I do now? Where do I go? How can I get that happiness again?” he asks.

I told him that happiness, as we thought as kids, as we were bombarded with day in and say out, was the “happily ever after” story. I'm not talking just of Disney, but that supposed solid advice we got from our parents, teachers and just about anyone who seemed competent about finding the career path, marriage and the answer to life.

“Do these things and your life will be good.”

My friend and I can answer that with, “Well, yeah, but what about cystic fibrosis, major financial upheaval, plain ignorant decisions and silly luck?”

The simple point being, what do you do when the rug's been pulled from under you and you cannot get a “do over.” Add to that, the youth, vigor and enthusiasm you had then is slowly spent day by day.

What I advised him was a bit mercenary, but it's what I believe myself.

There is NO justice in this world I say. You could've been a kid, growing up in an alcoholic home, where Dad routinely molested your sister. You could've been born with some disease that limited your possible growth in life. You could've been born in Venezuela, drinking water leaching out of some mighty, stinking dump. Where you end up, when your born, is no fault of your own. You're given a hand of cards to play and sometimes that hand sucks, or becomes “sucky.”

No matter what may have happened to you, don't expect justice I say. I've never seen it and the only justice would have been to prevent ugly things from happening to you in the first place. Religion? Sure, it's great for the afterlife..but what about now? And isn't that what we all bitch about..is the now?

And since there is no justice, do what you damn well please.

The only caveat, rule to that is don't spread pain. Don't let your desires ruin someone else's day. This is the only moral you need.

As far as do overs are concerned? Sure, you can't wind back the hands of time to regain that youth but guess what, you don't really need it. Didn't get magna cum laude when you were 22 in college? So what, you can attain something now that'll feel close enough to it. Get robbed of a section of your life where you invested in someone that didn't pan out? Well, if your still alive, you can still find someone who will pan out.

Do what you damn well want while your are still drawing breaths.