Starbucks and Barnes and Noble

The Runtyun went to a Christmas party and they had a swap of presents. Well, we all know how that works and to make a long story short, she ended up with a gift card to Starbucks. Yey!

Sunday, we decided to go to Barnes and Noble to redeem my book card and fulfill her caffeine addiction.

She must have had a premonition, because she would not get into line until I went with her. It turns out the cafe that sells Starbucks at Barnes and Noble, is not a Starbucks at all!

They have the Starbucks colors and designs, but they don't except gift cards!

I stopped going to Barnes and Noble a while ago due to their refusal to honor a gift card my parents had. I found their attitude lousy and unresponsive to my needs as a customer. And I stopped going to that coffee shop because I don't like the way they pay their Baristas and how they push out the little local coffee shops. However for Christmas, one of my presents was a Gift card for them and of course the Runtyun's gift card helped to sway me to break my personal boycott . It all seemed so magical the way the two gifts worked together...

…The Black Magick of marketing…

Well, B&M (may I say BM here?) did not have any of the things I wanted for writing or photography and the Runtyun did not get her coffee. The only flaw to my boycott is that the money has already been spent, so I guess we'll just have to bite the bullet. But, I think I'll spend my card online and get more!

OLC

Endorphins and brain malfunctions

Back in the bad-old-daze, I looked for chemical stimulation to find contentment. Now, because I am an evolved person I don't look there any more. (yeah right) 

I am an aspiring writer, yeah I know I am old for that whole "aspiring" thing, but I am young at heart :-). (read, 53 and still don't know what the hell I want to do: When one cannot do anything else---write. Who said that, any one know?) I am always looking for inspiration for the next, most interesting thing to think and write about.

As I was sitting in a private place, flushing the toilet, my brain began to wander back to when I was seeking stimulation from man-manipulated chemicals to find the high that we should only get when earned. (could I have been a little more ironic when I thought about flushing my life away with a little white rock while flushing a shit down the toilet?)

Back in the day, way back before chemists could create elixirs to give us artificial happiness, people were looking for ways to make themselves feel better about life  in general. We are still trying to find personal enlightenment and happiness. Now we have chemicals to find our own personal and immediate satisfaction.

Most right thinking people know that the road down artificial well-being is fraught with turmoil and frustration and the end game really sucks. There will always be those who think they have found their happiness through artificial stimulation, yet for me, and a few others out there, chemicals were not the way, only a means to learn a hard lesson.

Yes I am and will always be an addict, yet I resist the urge to scratch that itch. You know, the one that says, "Light it up and feel the rush of saticfaction and contentment this poison can give." Every time I feel the urge to do the dirty deed I remind myself of the disaster at the end of the burnt out match just waiting to engulf me like the smoke coming from a piece of hollow glass stuffed with a metal filter and white death.

The truth is, my life is little better than those dark daze. Actually, I made better money then and lived a more or less financially secure life. I still struggle on a daily basis to make it to the next paycheck, I still have few friends. I still ride a motorcycle that needs work, though it does give me a sense of wellbeing when I ride.

Our society says that I am a better person now that I am drug free (though I still have a beer now and then). I guess I am, even though I am older and my body does not work like it should any more. I tell myself a touch of artificial joy will help that discontent smooth out. I keep asking me, "Is it worth it?"

The truth is I don't know. The most important other truth is, I will never find out.

olc

A few thoughts swimming around my brain

Two very interesting things happened to me while I was working yesterday . They made me think and look a little deeper into my being than I have in a while.

I listen to a radio talk show pretty much every day. I have gotten to “know” the personalities of the host and her Mooks. I enjoy what they talk about and sometimes feel superior to them because of their immature ways. Yet as a listener, I have become accustomed to their hair-brained ways and even like them for what they have to say. The hostess, Stephanie Miller is fun and interesting and a true character. She flirts with me and all of her other listeners and creates a smile from deep down inside my darkend soul.

As I said, she is consistent in her comedy and her views on life, some might say are, “Predictable”. Yet this is a good thing. In our world of uncertainty, it is good to know I can count on something predictable. Every once in a while though, she will come out and show her bare heart. Sometimes she is touched by something that taps into her raw emotions and releases the power of her very being.

Yesterday (5-20-14) was one of those shows.

It seems someone very close to her died unexpectedly and she shared her feelings in a very profound way.

For some reason lately I have been feeling rather emotional, maybe just lonely. At any rate, lately my emotions have been rather raw. Anger has been quick to raise its ugly head, while sadness and regret have been fighting their way through the cracks in my armor. It seems that happiness and satisfaction have been on vacation. So when Ms. Miller let her sadness fill her very being and overflow into her show, I felt it coming through the speakers and take over.

The truth is, I had nothing in the game, but the feelings of lose and even failure gushed through my radio all the way into my heart. I felt her lose more profoundly than I have felt anything in a very long time. Her raw heart-rending eulogy of her friend unleashed feelings in me that I have suppressed for time forgotten. To hear her recalling times they had together and then express her regret brought similar feelings to the surface of my not-so-well-balanced life.

I did not know the man Ms. Miller lost, but I could feel her pain. It was raw and unbridled. Her pain brought mine to the surface where I could see it and hold it and maybe, somehow overcome it. I feel refreshed.

A little while later—

I was driving down a rural highway when I saw a squirrel squirming in front of me. It was obviously critically injured, yet able to move. It crawled on its side and flopped around in the middle of the road. It was going to die, of this I am sure. I had a moment to think. Should I try to avoid it, just keep on going, or end its pain? I swerved and aimed for its head. It was in pain and it would die soon, either by car or its injuries. I felt it go.

I dealt the final blow to a living creature. Was it within my purview as a human being to make this decision? After all, I am not a God who has the authority to make life and death decisions. Yet I saw a creature in distress and wanted to help in some way. I do not regret ending the life of that little creature, I just wish it was not necessary 

I don’t know if these two events had any influence in my dreams that night, yet I had a pretty profound one. I dreamt of an old relationship. It was a strange one, the dream that is. Most of my dreams are stories reflecting some undetermined issue. Yet this one was a rehash of my former lover and our good times together. After some reminiscing of past glories together, scenes of love and tenderness flowed through my mind’s eye…Snuggling and hugs, and even kisses were flashed in this surreal dream.

Then the simple kiss of farewell and the understanding that the past was the past and could not be dredged up. I woke up with that thought and tried to go back to sleep and find that place of happiness. What happened in the dream though, was the understanding that I could never go back, but that it is OK to think about those good times and remember a smile.

Interesting thoughts here, what do you think?

olc

14-4-5 Riding Again

It has been awhile, way too long really, but the Grinner is rolling again! To those who do not have the addiction of riding                       you may never know the high of fixing and then riding. To those who do, you understand what I’m talking about.

The Grinner rides again.

olc

I wonder, do you know?

The other day some one on my FaceBook news feed posted a video of a guy being questioned about his carrying a gun in the open.

Here is the link: http://m.youtube.com/watch?v=jfdEbe7e9GE

I made a comment about how I thought the guy was being a kinda ass. Let me state that the guy had every Constitutional right to do what he was doing, I thought he was just being an ass for doing it and the way he was doing it.

Some one commented on my comment. He used all of the standard Right wing and Teaparty rhetoric. Our conversation roamed around a bunch of different hot button gun issues. But never seemed to really deal with the subject of my original post.

It seems that whenever I made a good strong and irrefutable argument, the topic bounced someplace else. I have seen this tactic many times and though it is frustrating, it seems to be an acceptable way to control a conversation. I have to admit, I may have used it once or twice. Having said that, I think the some use it to divert away from a weak, or hypocritical    argument.

Our conversation finally drifted to the Travon Martin, Zimmerman shooting in Florida. I had hoped that we could get some understanding on that subject. I am such am optimist!

It turns out that I was totally misinformed on the whole thing. There were details that did not make it into the mainstream media. Important things.

Things like the boy was being disrespectful and antagonistic toward Mr. Zimmerman. Being the guy I am,  I wanted to know more of the things that I had missed out on. It turns out that there were eye witnesses, despite what I had heard stating that no one had stepped up, and they say the whole thing, according to my new FB friend, was about the boy disrespecting the man with the gun.

It turns out that the boy was being disrespectful to the man, my FB friend reminded me again and again. It also turns out, according to my new FB friend, that Travon Martin had gone home and then went out looking for Mr. Zimmerman and that is when the two had their final confrontation that resulted in the shooting of a 17 year old man. I have not heard this before and don't know the truth here.

It turns out that, Martin was being DISRESPECTFUL, and used the sidewalk as deadly weapon. He was not doing as he was told. I think that my FB friend was trying to tell me that it was Travon Martin's fault that he got shot, so I asked my FB friend that very question, "Are you saying that it was the victims fault he got shot to death?"

My new relationship with my new FB friend did not last very long. He never did answered my question and I think he blocked me.

Now we all know that I may not be the swiftest boat on the lake and sometimes I miss the really important things, so maybe I missed the hint this guy was sending me. My excuse is that I was working and distracted by minor things like cars and people crossing the street while I was making deliveries.

It finally came to me, he was sending me a code word! I have another fault, one that has gotten me in trouble a few times and one that I really don't want to change: I just don't understand how any one can think that because some one has different color skin, they can be told what to do and how to act.

I think that my lost FB friend was trying to say that the boy needed to be punished because he was being disrespectful. I asked him if he should be shot and die because he was being disrespectful? He directed the conversation someplace else, but it went back to the whole respect thing, and how Zimmerman was not wrong to do anything that he did, including shooting a boy for being disrespectful. I reminded him that the police had told Zimmerman to back off and stay in the car.

And that is when I asked the fateful question, "Was it the victims fault he got shot." And got blocked.

This would be the place in this commentary, that I should editorialize and make my statement about the whole idiocy of that killing of a 17 year old boy by a wannabe cop and over-achieving neighborhood watchman. But I want to hear what you have to say about it first.

olc

A visit to the danger zone

The other day I had a visit from a friend. Now this person and I go back a ways. I was infatuated with some work my friend did which I studied for a college assignment. I was lucky enough to get an interview with this person and a friendship of sorts was ensued.

We have a rather contentious relationship, we will go for long periods of time without seeing each other. During one point in our relationship I felt pushed away, used like a piece of trash to be discarded. Then again I may have done the same.

Whenever I get a visit from my friend, I am happy and excited. My friend is an exciting person and always brightens my day. This time we were gonna talk about a story I was working on, after all my friend is a published author and the closest thing I have to a muse.

My door burst open and we were on. We talked and hugged, got caught up and settled into reading my work. After reading it, I was told to email the story, and she would go further into it. The moonshine was out and some flowed. Something else was brought out and partaken.

I have been wondering about that stuff and how I could deal with it. Well, after a bit my brain was not working so well. It was at that moment my friend said, "If you were a real man you'd drink that," nodding to the sip or more of beverage in front of me. "I've finished 4 shots and you have not finished with yours."

"I was a little confounded by that statement, and my head was spinning from it and other things roaming around my brain. I was not sure what to say, so I picked up my glass, swirled it, sniffed it and drank half what was there looking my friend in the eye all the while. I put the drink down...and left it there.

We talked awhile, but never really got to talking about my story or how to make it better. Finally it was time for my friend to go. My friend had many things to do during the day and I wanted to continue with my writing. A little something-something was left for me to use later, though I kinda knew I would not.

It bothered me that my manhood would be challenged by my friend. My past with all its abuses was well known. We have talked about my addictions, yet when I knew that I was at a point where I had to stop, my very being was challenged. I wanted to drink that stuff and I wanted to do the other, but I knew a cliff was in front of me and I could not fall off. There would be no bottom until the final Crash.

Does this make me less than a man? Do I suffer from wimpitis because I know a bad thing when I find it? If that is the case, than I am a wimp. I walked out side after my friend left and I was reminded of all the other times I had done the very same thing, only I had said yes back then. I remembered the empty feeling of wanting more. I remembered the way the world looked in the middle of the afternoon when I was fucked-up with various poisons in my blood. I remembered the need to get more into my system---to make me feel better---?

I felt all of these feelings right at that moment. I knew it was all false, even my feelings of inadequacy were not real, at least partly. I felt empty and knew that I could fill that empty space with chemicals and feel happy for a moment. I went back into the house and threw the shit into the fire and closed that door.

olc

Another user Dream

I guess these things happen in clusters.

I have this friend whom I’ll call Leggs. Maybe I’ll go into that at another time, in another post. Leggs has this unnatural ability to find the negative thought, action or circumstance into a beautiful thing. Many people have this skill with little effort. The truly wonderful thing about Leggs, is that it is a truly organic thing. In other words she does not look to find a positive from a negative, there is no dark side in her realm.

The other night I must have been infected with her outlook, because, though I may have had another user dream, it was, oddly enough, an enlightening one!

For the longest time I was addicted to cooking. I found my identity from it, I made my living from it and mostly loved to create food that made others happy. The truth is, there was no high greater than creating and presenting a meal to a stranger and seeing the smile my creation produced.

That outlet of creativity ended about the time my full blown chemical addiction took over.

In the dream, I was hired as the personal chef to some very important person, I am not sure who it was, in dream world these things can be either be important or not.

In my dream, my first task as chef was to make the “Picture soup.” Well, being the new guy, I did not want to ask a silly question, so I looked high and low for the recipe for Picture soup. I searched recipe books in the house. I found an old box of written and clipped recipes. I tried to get to know the other staff and illicit knowledge from them. I spoke with the markets I was to deal with without coming out and asking what to do. I looked around the house to see if there was a special picture with the family dining with soup. All to no avail.

I even went to my father, the most humble yet best cook I knew, to see if he had any knowledge of what a Picture soup was. There was this guy I worked with many years before, who was a font of experience and cooking skill. He was the type of guy who could impart knowledge without even trying. One time I asked him for a simple pasta recipe and in less than five minutes he gave me five easy yet elegant ones, yet he was unable to help me with this task.

The time was coming for service and I still had no idea what to do. In desperation, I called the staff together and told them of my trouble. The all looked at each other and smiled. Some one, remember this is a dream, pulled out a magazine, opened it to a page with a picture of a soup on it, “The Picture Soup. All you had to do was ask.”

As I pulled the magazine from her hands, I woke up. And as with most user dreams I was still a little disoriented, yet I had an even stranger feeling. It was of satisfaction. It was a much better feeling than the feeling I had the other night, yet I still don’t know what the “Picture soup” was.

olc