20 July 2017

This is a Melange of Writings Concluding With News of My Impending Trip

A picture taken near Tampere, Finland, one of the stops on our forthcoming trip.


This first part was written over a week ago.

Ya never know what you can write in eight minutes until you try. I’ve got eight minutes before I have to pack up and go, so we’ll see.

After a long pause it seems the answer might be: not much, but I think it’s probably more along the lines of it depends. The word depends has become somewhat of a punchline these days because its the name of an adult diaper. Speaking of punchlines: Donald Trump. Okay that was too easy unlike being president which apparently — who knew? — is rather difficult. People find that out once its too late. How many people have been good at the job? Only 45 have tried and many have been absolute disasters, as we’ve been seeing since January 20. It seems a certainty that this current president will go down as the worst ever. And go down he will. There’s stiff competition for the worst. Consider the recent George W debacle and the greatest foreign policy blunder in US history (the invasion of Iraq is thus far the worst but Trump’ll likely take a shot on topping or bottoming it). Then there was Warren G Harding. Yikes, that was bad. Don’t forget Andrew Johnson. Abe Lincoln was sandwiched in between two awful presidents, the aforementioned Johnson and one James Buchanan. Truth be told most of our presidents have been more mediocre than bad. And a lot of the good ones have significant marks in the negative column to go along with the good that they accomplished. For example FDR and Japanese internment. Then there was LBJ who did so much good domestically but then again that little business about Vietnam. Nixon actually had some accomplishments but they were totally wiped out not just byWatergate but by the continuation of Vietnam and the bombings in the north and of Cambodia. He ended up way, way way in the debit column.

Eight minutes is up.

I actually tell you within the text when I wrote this next bit.

It’s two days later and now I’ve got a bit more time to write. I’ve been so busy tin lizzy drinks that are fizzy. Leaving next week on a big trip getta grip don’t slip I’m hip. One more cause the rule of three up a tree that’s for me tee heee.

Isn’t auto correct a pain in the arse sometimes? Let’s be clear I do not here make reference to Mr. Otto Korectt. He, by the way, is a prominent, distinguished, local businessman of ill repute whose reputation precedes him and is well known, notorious, beloved, much despised, reviled and entirely anonymous. His actions defy description and took a a lot of courage and show a keen understanding of the issues and mark him as a man to be reckoned with, his future is ahead of him and his past behind him. In fact my own future is behind me, but not my past, which I’m looking forward to, I’m living in a state of flux which is one of the contiguous 49 states. Flux produces hard-working Americans who look out for one another and know the value of a dollar. Fluxians are kind, greedy, selfless, selfish people who tirelessly work at being lazy. They believe that procrastinating should be put off to another day — no they don’t.

The next three paragraphs were written earlier this week.

A typical day in the Johnson household begins with dawn. Hours pass by at a 60 minute rate and eventually dusk signals the end of daylight and the beginning of evening which is ceremoniously marked by the Johnsons with the turning on of lights. The Johnson’s also sleep.

But who among us has not imagined necrophilia followed promptly by cannibalism? Come on, you know you have. We’re all human and we all have hidden desires to sexually ravage then devour the deceased. Don’t we? Surely I’m not alone in this. Or surly, he was angry and alone in this. Or Shirley, she was alone in this. Sure, Lee.

I kid, of course. Anyone old enough to remember telegrams? I don’t recall ever receiving nor sending one. I have received plaudits and encomiums and heaps of criticism. Let’s all be self effacing. Or self affixing. Or self adhesive. What is the shelf life of the self life?

I wrote this last bit on Thursday July 20, the same day it will be posted.

It is 7/20, thus the eve of my wife and my departure on a month long vacation. We will stop in New York for a few days — where the hot and humid weather will make me miserable — to visit youngest daughter and take in a play. Then it’s off to such locales as Amsterdan, Berlin, Finland and the UK which will include London and Cornwall.

Yes, I am excited and for so many reasons too. One of which is an escape from the daily grind. I need a break from the weekday morning routine — just not having to slap together lunch will be a relief. Mostly I need a respite from commuting. On a good day a commute is tolerable but there are not all that many good commute days. My students I do not need a break from but I could do with a month without grading, lesson planning, photocopying and wrestling rabid wolverines.

In the lead up to the trip I’ve managed not to be depressed and one can assume that travels may well keep the depression at bay — hell, maybe it’s gone for good. Me, cured.

You will be delighted to learn (actually more like mortified) that I plan on regularly blogging on my trip as I have on other occasions see links to European Vacation and Paris in the Labels section to the right on this page. Or not. Entirely up to you.

The problem with this trip will be that I wont want to come back. I prefer Europe to the States. (So why don’t you move there, ya commie bum? I wish I could have long ago, believe me and I hope to be able to soon.) I have strange relationships with the US and with my city of residence, Berkeley. With the latter I have a definite love/hate relationship. Officially I’m proud of Berkeley, but at the same time its a mess and when I reference all the scruffy looking poorly dressed people I do not just mean our sizable homeless population. Berkeley is dominated by 50ish men with ponytails who wear jeans, sandals and a clean but very old shirt. There are also women of retirement age still wearing the dresses they looked cute in in the Sixties. Others look they slapped together their wardrobes from the costumes used in a production of Hair. (How did I get on this topic? Only my psychiatrist knows for sure).

Anyway I’m outta here tomorrow. More to come.

No comments: