Writing and Juggling and Magic, Oh My!

What? It’s time for another post? What day is it? Where am I?

Hey, how are you doing? You doing great? You getting things done? Good for you! So am I.

You know, maybe I misjudged sciatica. Maybe I wasn’t thinking it through. Maybe, just maybe, it’s a wonderful thing and I should be happy, grateful for the stabbing, tingling pains it planted in my buttocks.

You like that word, “buttocks?” Do you hear it in Forrest Gump’s voice like I do?


Oh, this post is going well!

Isn’t this just what you needed to be reading on a Tuesday instead of working?

Yeah, so that sciatica thing. It’s still around, lurking, watching–like that weird neighbor who’s always peaking out his windows at you. I still can’t sit for more than about 20 minutes at a whack before I have to get up, stretch, and move around, but that’s maybe where the blessing comes in, ’cause since coming down with this crap over a month ago, I’ve gotten a lot of stuff done.

First, I’m writing. A lot. You wouldn’t think that’d be the case because I can’t sit whenever, wherever, and for however long I want, but I am just killing it on the page.

I do a bunch of humor/comedy writing I’m planning to turn into something I don’t want to mention just yet, then after about an hour of that, I move on to this project I’m working on with a friend of mine.

Which I can’t mention either.

Just take my word for it, there’s things happening. Big things. The biggest.

I also taught myself to juggle. Because that’s somehow a skill I needed to pick up.

I’ve talked about this a little on Facebook already, but since I can’t sit, I figured learning to juggle would be a way to stand in my living room without looking like some kind of weirdo who just doesn’t understand how chairs work. And so far it’s going pretty well!

Three-ball cascade, two balls in one hand, three balls in columns–there’s a lot of ball-handling going on, people, that’s what I’m getting at. And obvious jokes aside, I really enjoy juggling. It mellows me out. Like yoga, only I don’t have to worry about farting.

Then there’s the magic. You know, I’ve always been interested in illusions, slight-of-hand, that kind of thing–and I’ve tinkered with it a little–but never really, really got into it. And I’m digging it! Yeah, I’m just playing around with cards at this point, but I can sit or stand or walk around for hours, practicing moves, seeing improvement.

Like the juggling thing, I don’t know if I’ll ever do anything with magic, perform or whatever, but I can kind of imagine myself actually getting good at both.


We’ll see.

God this post is terrible.

Alright, on Saturday, I’ll be heading off with my daughter to my friend’s place to spend a glorious week out in the almost woods. I say “almost woods,” ’cause while we will, in fact, be surrounded by trees, we’re also going to be like a five minute drive from a city. It’s a weird situation. Woods with wi-fi.

I wonder if anyone’s been attacked by a bear while watching YouTube videos of other people being attacked by bears. That’d be ironic.

Wait, would it? Is that irony? Alanis Morissette messed that up for everyone with the dumb song and now no one knows what “ironic” means anymore.

Oh, that joke’s hackey. What do you want from me, my right butt cheek’s starting to tingle and I need to pee.

Anyway…my daughter and I go to my friend’s place every year, drag along the computer and a bunch of games, and have our own kind of mini-convention to wrap up the summer. It’s always fun, always chill, and I hardly ever bother to post things on whichever blog I’m writing for at the time.

So if you’re one of the three people who reads this disaster, I wouldn’t hold out hope for another post until I get back.

And with that, sir or madam, I hope you have a fantastic week yourself.


Optimistic Pessimisim

I can’t wait until this election is over. Watching your friends and family discuss politics is like eating a hot dog, then seeing how it was made.

I love these people–at least as much as I love suspicious sausage–but my digestion would be better if I didn’t know how they’re put together.

Especially the old people.

The first lesson any attentive person in their thirties learns is this: You’re only two generations removed from something hideous. For instance, one of my grandmothers was married at the age of 14, and started having kids within a year. Totally acceptable in her day!

Let that sink in for a moment, then ask yourself what kind of freak show your own grandparents grew up in.

And then ask yourself how that might have affected how they raised your parents.

And then…oh god, does that mean you’re messed up, too!?!

Yes. Yes it does.

Thirty, maybe forty years from now, you’ll be hanging out with your own grand children, they’ll ask the wrong question, and next thing you know you’ll be all: “You know, back in my day, we didn’t let our robots just roam the neighborhood however they pleased!”

And then they’ll be trying to drag you out of the room, apologizing to the other guests, making excuses for your insensitivity to the robotic plight.

Not to belittle the plight of anyone right now, this is just how it works. Each generation reels in horror at what its ancestors did, while putting together plenty of its own horrible things for future generations to reel at.

And you know, I kinda take comfort in that. ‘Cause yeah, we mess things up, we get a lot of stuff wrong, but we also manage to get one or two things right before passing this sputtering torch of a world on to the next batch of fools.

So yeah, maybe things get uncomfortable when your Uncle Joe gets a couple of beers in him and starts talking about the “good old days,” or when your seemingly-otherwise-sane friend reads some socio-economic treatise from the 1950s and starts spouting his theories, whatever.

Just relax, do the best you can, and hope that in a few decades, when you start freaking people out, there’ll be someone there to drag you away from the party and tuck you into bed.

Have a great day, you weirdos.