It is the little things,

Last week a truck driver came in to pick up a shipment. Mostly we are just a small parcel shipper. UPS, FedEx and the postal service, but sometimes we have big, bulky freight, something that needs a truck. 

It was a driver who had been here before. We knew him, not by name, but by appearance and company. He was older, and seemed adept at driving a truck, which is not easy at our place. His white hair was always combed, neatly and always the same, it never seemed to change color, length, or style. His blue jeans were always blue, never the faded milky grey of age and repeated laundering. 

In some ways you develop a friendship with people whose lives occasionally and repeatedly intersect yours. He was always pleasant, efficient. He would joke, and talk about his plans for the evening, he liked to cook things on the grill. He really liked steak. He used to ride a small motorcycle, but gave it up after he got married.

"I had to go to a meeting this morning." He said, his accent was southern, but it was washed out by years of living in the north.

"It was to teach us about the new technology. There going to put a camera in the cab of my truck." 

"Watching you?" I asked. 

"Yeah. I been driving forty one years, I was going to go 4 more and retire, make it to 45 you know. I'm going to do it now." His voice was even, but the words came quickly, allegro information with a disillusioned beat. 

It was a move designed to lower insurance rates, and increase safety. They told him they would never even look at the footage unless there was an accident, and then only the few minutes preceding the collision. He scoffed. To him it was the purest form of Big Brother intrusion, and he wanted no part of it. 

I worry about self driving trucks. Are they safe? Can the programmers possibly predict every circumstance. And what about all the people who make their living driving trucks? What will they do? A whole industry displaced by automatons. It has troubling implications.

On a drastically smaller scale technology is already taking a toll. Here is a man whose life has been changed by the intrusion of machinery. It bothered him, it scared him, and his only method of retaliation was to cut short his plans, retreat, let the machines win. In some ways that bothers me.

I really wish I would have learned his name. 

The Week in Review, kind of.

It has been a hectic week, in a way, by normal Life Explained by Tim Clark standards, anyway. Around here, we like things to move a little slower, no surprises, no emergencies, no obligations. “No deeds to do, no promises to keep.” Life as a pleasant diversion.

Early in the week I went on my lunchtime stroll. Keeping the step count up there, you know. And I came across an oddity of a building in a parking lot. What made it odd was the shape, square, about 14 foot square, and the height, about 40 foot high, and the location, right in the middle of a parking lot, and the color, bright red. My coworkers John and Bill had no explanation. It is a complete mystery.

Today, I walked right next to the building, and it still makes no sense. It is empty inside. A tall, narrow, thin building sitting empty in the middle of a busy parking lot with no easily understood purpose, and it is beginning to bother me. I will keep a weather eye on it, and if there is any news it will be right here.

Last night we went out and had a beer with a friend of ours. It was a hip, trendy new bar (kind of) in an old building. It was wonderfully decorated, antique everywhere, booths, tables, chairs, and barstools. This was a stark contrast to the staff, who were young, attractive and friendly, it a little heavy on piercings.  The small room was crowded, and it made me a little uncomfortable, there are lines that should not be crossed, memories that should be avoided. I wasted a lot of my life in places like that.

When I walk around town at lunch I try not to walk in front of cars, even at stop signs. Yes, the laws of right of way are clear, and crosswalks define the sacred path of pedestrians. You don’t have to drive very long to understand people in cars are often willing to ignore the rules. Sometimes with catastrophic consequences.  I try to just walk behind the car, it only takes one miscalculation, one untimely twitch, one lapse of judgement, one person in too much of a hurry to pay attention to make me wish I had not been in that place.

Memories are much the same it doesn’t take much for one of them to break free and run right over the top of you. Sometimes it is just as much about time as it is place, I guess. Those kinds of memories make a person realize how many friends have been lost over the years. People you saw all the time and will probably never see again. Some are gone completely, joined the choir invisible, others are just in Montana, or Oregon, or who knows where. They are all faces that were once so familiar but have grown faded, fuzzy and indistinct. Where does the time go, and where do the people go?

Today, I changed the name of the Life Explained Facebook page to Life Explained by Tim Clark. I am getting better at this shameless self-promotion.  Here is something you may not know; to change the name of your Facebook page requires approval and they say it can take up to three days. It took less than hour. It wasn't a big change, though.

I stopped and got coffee on my way to work this morning. Since the coffee place was so close to where my wife works I got her an iced tea, she doesn’t drink coffee, poor girl. Since she wasn’t at work I left it on her desk, and left a note. “Happy Friday” was my first thought. It sounds so skimpy, insignificant, though. So “I wrote, “Happy Anniversary. It has been thirty wonderful years.” It isn’t our anniversary, and we have only been married 27 years. But, Friday comes every week, our anniversary it only comes two or three times a year. I am thoughtful that way.

It is Fun To Workout.

I decided to start exercising. Getting older, heavier, more liable to suffer the effects of health related illness, or injury made it seem a wise choice. The only choice. Aging is difficult, aches, pains, constant worry and concern. It is impossible to escape the gripping fear of doctors, tests, and the terrible results waiting after every blood draw, x-ray, or scan.

“My knee hurts. Has for weeks.” I will tell my wife.

“You should go see the doctor.” She will reply. No thanks, who needs that kind of pressure. Who knows what he will dig up, what he will find, if he goes looking deep enough. And he will dig, and probe, and ask until he backs me into a corner from which there is no escape, no hope of rescue. I will be forced to confess, rat myself out just to avoid any more accusations.

“I did it, Doc, I didn’t take my medicine, and I have been drinking soda pop, and eating potato chips. I’m guilty.” That’s when it gets bad.

So, it seemed much smarter to just get in shape, cut down on the doctor visits, and take better care of myself. So, I joined a gym. The YMCA. I know, it’s not a real gym, it’s not where real fitness guys go, it is workout lite. But, we got a discount, since my wife works at a school, and since I have never been to a gym before and had no real plan and assumed that my zeal for fitness would not last long, it made sense.

I am still going, every other day. And I love it.

At first it was very difficult, I didn’t know what to do, or how to do it. And I was sure it was only a matter of time until someone said “hey, you’re not a workout person, you don’t know how to use this stuff, beat it. Come back when you don’t look so ridiculous.”

It was more like guerilla exercise, sneak in, work out, run out the door, don’t make eye contact, try to blend in. Get in, get out. Too bad I couldn’t go in the middle of the night. “Who owns the night?” I do, kind of, if no one else is there.

After a couple of weeks I noticed that I didn’t have to rely on subterfuge, camouflage. Nobody cared I was there, nobody even noticed. Everybody was just exercising, and not paying attention to anybody else.

And you know what, there were all sorts of people. Young, firm, fit people. So athletic, doing exercises the seem impossible, lifting enormous weights, Atlas like weights, bouncing jumping, twisting, contorting in ways that make me hurt just watching. Old people who limped in, carried themselves all the way to the treadmill in the back. Hooking their cane on the rail, resolutely piling up the steps. You wonder why they put them so far from the entrance. And all the types in between my category, the type in-between. I realized this was the perfect gym for me.

There are groups, mostly older people, who come, hang out together, drink coffee, work out a little, and talk. They seem very close, a special bond of friendship. Forged in carrying Styrofoam cups, conversation, and occasional forays into the world of exercise.

There are groups of younger guys. Serious about lifting. Staying mostly at the free weights, encouraging each other, in manly, macho ways. “One more, One more, C’mon!” Their dedication shows, they are big, muscular, and lift insane barbells loaded with huge plates. They spend a lot of time adding and subtracting weights, preparing for the next assault. It almost seems a symbiotic relationship, lifter, and weights in harmony, forever.

Groups of women gathering at the door, chatting excitedly, waiting for the current class to end. They work in unison, to music, and at the direction of a leader with headset microphone. A leader who, from the safety of the open exercise room, can sound sound dictatorial, harsh, unforgiving. “Up, reach, higher, higher than that.” You almost expect the instructor to start swearing, Iron Mike Ditka teaching Jazzercise, “Move it, you worthless **#$%%++!”

I made my long suffering wife start going, so I would have a workout buddy. Poor girl, but she is starting to enjoy herself, or has accepted her responsibility anyway, and pretends. So, she goes. And since she is so charming, and outgoing a lot of people know her, and talk to her, which makes it look like I have a lot of friends. Nobody knows they are just waving and smiling at my wife. Man, do I look popular, as long as she is there.

My wife does not stay for the cardio portion of the work out. I don’t know why, and have never asked, not a good idea to mess with your workout “gang.” I plug in my headphones, select a machine and rock and roll my way to better health (sometimes I listen to audio books, thanks to the Columbus Metropolitan Library), and occasionally it will be a podcast, but mostly it is music. It is so easy to get lost in a song.

And here is another great thing about working out at the YMCA. I rock and roll. Tapping the handles in time to the music, I probably sing along. Jerry Garcia and me crooning;

“This heart of mine, could never see

What everybody knew but me
Just trusting you was my great sin
What can I do, you win again”



Man Hank Williams understood pain, torment, and the Grateful Dead could turn it into a long, sad, melodic anthem that will push you through the most painful “rolling hills” selection on the elliptical machine. And nobody cares that I am singing and tears are streaming down my face. Occasionally someone will come along and say, “don’t worry, everything will be ok.” Invariably, they will offer to buy me a beer.

You have to love the Y.

I made a new friend.

This morning, I went to the kitchen, and as is normally the case, I emptied the dishwasher, and made coffee. On the counter was a cup, turned upside down. Thinking maybe somebody trapped a spider underneath it I just left it alone. Grappling with a spider is no way to start your week.

Attached to the coffee maker, though, was a note, "Don't move coffee cup, an ancient, evil demon of the Moloch variety(the abomination of Annon, the devourer of children, and the innocent) is trapped under there. I accidentally released it opening recently discovered artifacts. I will dispose of it first thing Monday, Bob, Archaeology." Helpfully, it had an arrow drawn that was pointed in the direction of the overturned cup.

That was quite a relief, it wasn't a spider.

"Hey," I asked, "how's it going under there?"

"It's OK, I thought by now you would have better drinking vessels, this is not much of an
improvement from Babylon, though the high gloss finish would make it easier to clean, I suppose. And I love the decorative, contrasting rings, they really add a nice touch." He answered very politely.

"Oh, and that is bigger than the average coffee mug," I assured him. "It is Pamela's, she works in Customer Service, and it is quite a trip from the kitchen to her cubicle."

"What's a cubicle?" He asked.

"Oh, it is like a little room, with short, movable, carpet covered walls. It gives the illusion of privacy, and significance without providing either. We have hundreds of them on every floor, and people come and occupy them every day, working at various tasks. All designed to advance the greater good of the company, and provide profits for the shareholders and upper management."

"Sounds like hell, and I would know," He said and we both laughed.

"Hey, do you want to see one?" I asked.

"No, I told Bob I would wait here. But, if you could put one of those donuts under the cup I would be very grateful, I haven't had a bite to eat in over 5,000 years."

"Sure," I said, sliding a donut under the mug. "Hey, if you get out, I am on the third floor, down at the west end of the building, I am the one doing all the work, you can't miss me, my name is Tim."

"If Bob has time we will swing by and see you in action, Tim, Thanks for the donut."

You know, sometimes Monday is not so bad.

Something Old and Something New

Friends and fans of this blog will tell you I am a big fan of technology, and progress.  And convenience.  And ease, and comfort.  At the same time I am a staunch ally of the classics.  Wisdom that has traveled the treacherous, rocky, often violent path of time can still have value, and truth.  Moreover, there is a great deal of comfort in applying the remedies that once offered hope and relief to our ancestors.  That is why we were so excited to find out about Infographics.

 
Apparently ancient man was not alone in using pictures to tell enhance a story. Unlike Cro-Magnon man, though, we can use Infographics on almost any PC, tablet, or smart phone. Always just a few keystrokes away, or sometimes a mouse click, or occasionally a swipe, touch, gesture, press, or tap these modern hieroglyphs are easily accessible for the "cave painters" of modern times.

 
If you get an email with the following; "Hey, ( me" you know what to do. You should call that person.  Conversely, if you get a text that looks like this:

You know it means that person wants to know if you are available for toxic coffee with a communist pirate.  Make sure to keep a few hours open every day for opportunities like this. Yes, most days it will be wasted, but when the chance does come up you don't want to be overscheduled.

Maybe you will get this information packed jewel.

Which lets you know that your choice in music is so awful it would make a monkey nauseous. These are things we need to know. These are things we have to hear, or see. These are things that are much better said with Infographics.

Of course, these are the only uses for, and certainly not the only type of Infographics. There are tales of numbers represented by lines and segments imposed on appropriate photos. But, who knows about that stuff.  Send us a sample of your favorite Infographic, and it might end up in "Life Explained, The Trilogy." Yes, friends, it has grown beyond the confines of a single cinematic masterpiece, it has become a franchise.

 

 

And, The Celebration Continues.

Yesterday I was greeted by this happy sight when I went to lunch.  It was kind of a teary moment for the whole company, most of whom don't even know I have a blog.  In fact this woman probably doesn't know.  But, she is a very good sport, (and a very good friend, and a exceptionally good person) and agreed to hold the sign, which was actually a box, with a product still inside, and I just added the text.*

Actually, she is always willing to help me out by holding props and letting me take her picture, sometimes I use an app to put a silly mask on her, and she never, well hardly ever, gets mad about it.  This time I just cropped the picture, so she can't complain at all, probably.

But, 500 posts later, something foolish should be done, and I am just the guy for the job.

On to more news, I have decided to approach Peter Garrett, member of the Australian House of Representatives, to be the Official Celebrity Endorser for Life Explained, not because of his political success, at least not just because of his political success, more because of his time as the spokesperson and lead singer for Midnight Oil.

So many of their songs said the things I am saying, repeatedly, of course being Australian, he sounds much better saying them, and being fearless, and politically keen, he said them with much more vigor, and putting them to music always makes them sound better.  Other than those few things we are like brothers.  So, here is my brother Peter, (and possibly future Celebrity Front Man for Life Explained) singing about greed, waste and the excesses of capitalism, I think.

I will see you for post 503, or maybe 504.  I can't really remember.

*text added with "Strip Design," see my review here.

Almost the last "I quit smoking post" I promise.

Quitting smoking has so many benefits.  It is so expensive to smoke, the savings are enormous, even if you stay "healthy."  Most people who never smoke, and people who still smoke probably don't understand the amount of time and effort it takes to smoke.  It is more than just the act of "smokin' a butt," there is a whole set of logistical challenges facing smokers.  For one thing you need cigarettes, (hardly a smoker without some of those) and something to light them with, (non smokers who only need to remember keys, wallet, watch, and a cell phone are rookies) and a decent place to enjoy the comfort of a serene smoke, which is becoming more of a challenge all the time.  So, the benefits are manifold, one unexpected bonus was the friends I made.

There are a couple who deserve special recognition.  Gale, and Susan, we were members of an online support community to help us in our efforts to quit, and we have just become friends.

In fact Susan, and Gale were my first Facebook friends, I had joined Facebook several months prior because I wanted to join this particular fan group, for my beloved KIN 2M phone, but it was filled with superior, smug people and I quickly ignored them (actually, I am still trying to decide whether Facebook is a huge waste of time or the most under utilized form of entertainment, keep an eye on Life Explained for more in the near future) so it was nice to have a friend, and all of the sudden I had two friends, of course now I am in the thirties, but, I still remember when it was only two.

Susan (who is from Columbus) has actually had beers with my wife and I on more than one occasion, and we are considering her for the exalted position of "drinking buddy," on a probationary basis of course.  Even though she is genius, MENSA member, who can do amazing things with Microsoft Excel she still enjoys a good pirate joke.  Hey, Susan, what does a pirate do on the weekend?  Yarrrrrdwork.  I don't really know if she likes pirate jokes or not, but she has a wonderful sense of humor, and  has been to a Grateful Dead concert and that is cool.

Gale (who is from North Carolina, Scotland, Germany) is a fearless on the ground reporter for this very blog, and was willing to take on the Evil Barbie Empire to get the truth to you, and save the world, too.  She tackles plastic women bent on world domination with the same gusto as German noun declension.  An enthusiastic world traveler, Gale has over 300 cities dotted on her world travel map, (a lot of them are in foreign places, filled with foreigners) and a lot of that was done through air travel, which we all know is crazy.  And she has a tattoo, which she recently had upgraded, another act of bravery.

Anyway, thank you, both.  In the words of Jerry Garcia, "what a long, strange trip it's been."  But, thanks to you it has never been dull.

There would be pictures here, but they still need to sign the consent form, and have it notarized, and air parceled to our secret location.  Not really, I am going to email them and ask for permission.

A small favor, please.

In what can only be viewed as a very pleasant surprise, many people who have looked at this important and historically significant blog are from the wonderfully progressive and delightfully joyful Country of Germany.  By what can only be viewed as one of the most fortuitous coincidences of all time 2 very good friends of mine are traveling to your scenic, beautiful, historically significant, and fiscally responsible Nation.  I would be very grateful if you could meet them at the airport, and buy them a nice meal.  Maybe bring them a cake, here is one idea, feel free to use your own.

 

 

Since one of my friends is from Ohio she may, at random times, shout the letter O, and then quickly follow that by shouting the letter H.  It is considered good manners to respond by shouting the letter I and then the letter O.  This will make her feel right at home, it is very similar to the way wildlife uses unique sounds to signal safety.  My other friend is from Scotland, and may be playing Angry Birds on her iPad, so feel free to move around her if you are waiting in line, people from the UK are used to long lines, so she may not even notice, particularly if you say something nice about her Angry Bird tossing ability, or her shoes.

Thank you, in advance for the kindness, if I can ever do anything for you please let me know.