Life and times in the farmland

Work is a funny thing.

It really begets more work.  I have pivoted on this concept for many years, and have yet to find the perfect fulcrum point.  I recently entered my 15th workplace, and the thought occurred to me that in the course of my life, I have gotten a lot more done when I've been insanely busy as opposed to when I've had no job and been primarily a househusband.

I should pause to remind everyone that I do not have children... and so the job of "househusband" involves little more than making pies.

But the movement causes more movement, doesn't it?  Like trapped gas devouring oxygen, it only moves perpetually faster.  And so I find my mind getting clearer as things speed up, some sort of opposite reaction of anti-laziness.  I say this knowing full well that football season is on the horizon, and as such, goodbye weekends.

I'm not sure how it works around the world, and I've never been one to understand how other people become happy doing the things they do (that previous sentence was brought to you by Daniel Plainview), but I know that getting into, and staying knee deep in the action has always been a positive thing.  If it works out that you have to take a 3 day jaunt to Santa Barb, then tack on a wine-run during the early hours of a Monday morning, well, so be it.  If you find yourself slap-dash in Stonington, Connecticut, looking for ice cream an hour before your flight, well?  What of it?  Get in the air, get your affairs in order, and get moving.

I don't know any secrets about the best way to go about things, but maybe the secret is really that it is all subjective.  And maybe it's best to go at the speed of the mountain.  I know my life has become incredibly situational, and that's bringing more and more gold out.  As the future starts to melt into the present, and sharp edges start to soften up, it's becoming easier and easier to chase it down, so to speak.  I mean, hell, we just sloughed off to Africa-land for 2 weeks, and didn't plan so much as a ride home.  I hesitate to say it's getting old hat, but the patterns are easier to follow.

And so, action breeds action.  We move.  Stress is so incredibly temporary.  It sharpens and focuses the brain, dialing in to establish a true connection to life's miracles.  Shit, if the point of it all is to Learn How This Thing Works, then it's best to prepare yourself so that when you hear the answer, you understand the language.  And I feel like we've moved beyond the traffic now, so to speak, out into a realm where we grow more and more able to drive free and clear.  Nothing comes easy, but action always results in education.

Life has really come a long way.

Too Many Things

"There's just too many things."
-Amber Waves, in a moment of clarity

For my initial years in Dealville, the sum of my possessions could be considered minimal.  This is fine, and accepted at that age.  I moved on a continuous basis, enough to annoy relatives, and ensure "set-up" bills for those shysters at each new site.  Like the Abromowitz family in the night, I'd leave cursing some aspect of the place while celebrating the glory of the next.  You can't add a lot of shit in a plan such as that, and I'd occasionally get chided for it...usually by women who weren't women but were still girls.  I haven't talked to them in years, I'm proud to say.

Now, though, I am doing adult things.  Not exotic adult things, but accepting some responsibility.  This is a life moment of which I am prepared and, in one review, possibly overdue.  There's two ways a conclusion such as that could be reached.  One is seeing someone older than you by more than a handful of years living in suspended adolescence.  It makes their social interaction incredibly awkward, even in minor situations.  It's hard not to offer unsolicited advice when you see them stumbling on life's more basic tasks, but that is a waste of your time: they're older than you.

The other conclusion is mentally still feeling young despite an advancing age...and then you meet new hires and interns and realize that, in some cases, I'm over a decade older.  Nope, not young anymore.  (This reminds me of an opportunity long ago where a girl was considered for courtship, one who was 20 or so.  For all the good that could have come with that, I soon realized that everything we'd discuss I'd gone through...7 years ago.  It was all old news...)

These adult things include receiving very thoughtful gifts from family and friends, each item chosen for the rest of our lives.  Had you visited our place, you could easily see there were some basic items that were needed to overcome the collegiate look.  There were also items that were improving life: nicer options to expand culinary attempts.  Don't think I'm ready to watch Food Network or anything, but this will (hopefully) ensure I won't burn a sunny side up egg.  These items, too, were welcome and appreciated.

Then, there are the items that I carefully mentioned to Smiley as examples of barely needed things: items that were placed on the list despite my misgivings on their use.  We now own a glassware item that can be a punch bowl, a cake stand, or covered holder of food.  It looks (and is) extremely heavy.  If you told me this was the Davis Cup and we had mistakingly received this trophy in Madrid, I'd believe you.  But it's ours now, without some discussion.

We don't need this.
No, we do.  This will be good for cakes.  Or for punch.
How much punch do you think we're going to make?!
Well, your Grandpa's rum punch recipe is in the book.  Besides, I'm going to be making a lot of cakes.
Man, this thing is heavy.  
Yeah, you have to be careful.

This is an area of the world where the sleazy measure each other by material goods.  It is a race no one can ever win.  Ask the dolt who bragged about their items years later.  They'll tell you they're "gonna get an upgrade on  _____"  Be that as it may, you might as well swing by and visit as NCAA Football season starts, because we'll have a lot of food!  Er...food on display.  I can make all natural ice cream now.  I can rinse and prepare a salad without using another tool beyond a plastic device that looks like something from the moon.  We can drink champagne from glasses that have our names etched in them with fine detail.  I appreciate all gifts, believe you me.  However, I realize now that I left "new house" off the list.  Guess that's up to me, huh?  Because I'm an adult?  Shit, I told Smiley we were gonna go out to eat, and we went to some place called "Tacomiendo."  She didn't complain at all.  Does that mean I won?  Or is it that another moment of life passed, and I was reminded that there are no rules along the way?  

"How does it feel?" they ask.  The same, I reply.  "That's good."  It is.  Life, new and exciting, rolls on.

It ends with another Super Bowl

This is how these waves work.

(editor's note:  Yeah, we're switching to football, because why the hell not?)

If there is a pattern - and we've already established that there is decidedly NOT (though moving the mouth is fun) - then it probably isn't quite as fun to be on the roller-coaster.  The twists and turns, if predictable, are only slightly less intense.  After all, who cares when the loop-der-loop hits?  When it happens, you're still shocked senseless.

There's no more institutional continuity, and if there is, it means nothing.  Football teams succeed on "tradition" as much as LSU players succeed on books.  The guy that came before you is just the guy that ain't here anymore.  In this climate, separation comes rarely, and has to be micro-managed.  Fans seem to have an inside track to how this is accomplished, but they are almost always wrong, and definitely always are dumb.  "DUDE, JUST GET VINCENT JACKSON AND THIS OFFENSE IS SET!"  And, ham-wich.

I do, however, enjoy a luxury that I fully admit is more cosmetic than substantive.  I happen to pull for an organization that has effectively removed greed as a main operator of success.  That means nothing when/if #12 gets concussion number four, but it helps clarify emotions, at least.  An example is the Purple... they can run a dog-shit team out there (and they do), but Mr. New Jersey still banks cash and reinvests it into mini-malls.  Then, when the team comes off a 3-13 season in which the fattest players look the best, the politicians in the state (who have really liked football since they've been fans... about 5 weeks now) vote to give him billions.  Hey, it all makes sense.  And in 3 years when they go back into the first round to reach for Rodgers' brother, or whoever, the fans' displeasure will be tainted by the economic reality that 1) their money still flows to Zigg, and 2) they are married to this idea forever and ever.

So, with a limited amount of moving parts, you can only ever hope that the tumblers line up and you strike it rich for one glorious season.  That's the fleeting nature of the NFL.  And that's why so many are drawn to it, like moths to a bonfire.  We go back and forth on if "dynasties" are good for sports, or football, or whatever.  But nothing hooks a fan-base into their team like the Big Run.  Christ, they're probably still selling gear at the Packers Pro Sh- yep, still got em.  And so it matters not if this "design" has anything to do with success of the league as a whole, because the league doesn't operate as an entity.  They pass the plate around and everyone gets to take a cookie out.  Shit, that sure beats having to cheer against the Red Sox or Yankees every. fucking. year.

Ok, so what's the point of all this?

I'm on another wave here.  We crested, and now it's a slow roll up the beach.  The way I can give this language is to remind you that yes, I have been through this before.  Here's the breakdown:

1.  You Hit It Big, And Everyone Is A God

Dear me, did I love Eric Walden in 2010.  And Howard Green?  HALL OF FAMER.  I took a shot to Crabtree that night, and I didn't feel bad about it.  It was flowing like cherries, and everyone got a sip of that bubbly.  When it all comes together, there is such a sense of happiness that it blots out any other considerations you could ever have.  It's a singular moment, one that you wait for years to achieve, and then it happens, and it's a white wash of light.

2.  Little Pieces (Who Stepped Up Big) Go Somewhere Else Where They Will Be Paid Like Big Pieces, Even Though They Are Not Very Good

Hey Arizona, how's Darren Colledge working out?  Hey Cleveland, you're welcome to Brandon Jackson.  Nice to see Brett Swain still pulling them in in San Fran.  The point is that inevitably, you can't keep all the pieces, because they all get instantly more expensive.  So you lose the "glue" guys.  And that's fine, because they aren't really the crux of the team... but they contribute.  And replacing them with equal pieces isn't a foregone conclusion.

3.  Heads Swell

Last year, I wrote this sentence to my attorney:

My point is that if *I* am reading this stuff, and getting a little amped up, what do you think Charles Woodson is doing? Do you think that Charles Woodson, the only player to ever win the Heisman, DPOY and a Super Bowl, just sits at home, sees TRAVIS BECKUM open his mouth, and does nothing?

Oh, how confident I was.  Oh, the banner would fly again.

OOOOOOOPS.

4.  You Keep Me Hanging On

This is where we are now.  Is Rodgers good enough to keep this team in the Fat and Giggly for the next 5 years?  Sure.  I watched this happen from 1999-2003.  Quarterback is good enough to win 10 games a year.  Rest of the team doesn't care.  Go to playoffs, lose, come back the next year confident.  But when you don't have that team coming together under the right conditions, and you don't have everything click at the right time, and when you sign - oh god - Cedric Benson, you are doing what dogs do when they jump in the lake.

5.  Nice To See You, Felt.  It's Been Too Long.

It doesn't end with the felt.  It didn't end in 2005.  It just gives you higher draft picks.  The bottom rushes up to meet every team, at least once a decade.  It helps restore balance, if anything.  Because, soon after...

6.  Beautiful Surface

The turnaround comes only when the team accepts it will go no further under the current direction.  Once that commitment is made, a child could turn the team around.  Draft strong, stay young, get a coach to kick everyone in the ass.  How can you not win it all?

7.  The End Is The Beginning Is The End

The circle closes, and you buy another jersey.  Cycle complete.... enjoy it.

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And so, we embark down another hard-banking turn.  We know where this coaster will take us, but we still thrill in the ride.  It happens so quickly, but you always forget that first dive when the ride finishes.

But that's ok... when you are heading up the hill next time, you'll remember.

Ain't it enough to live by the ways of the world?

(editor's note: It's becoming clear, through years of research, that Dee Louis operates best without supervision.  We had recently tailed him to Wyoming, to which he responded with a year-long blackout on posting.  However last month we decided to end all communication with him, and he replied 2 weeks later from Tanzania.  His comments appear here, unedited)

We're still walking out here, and the night hasn't begun to fall.  That's the thing about The Spin... it's always waking up somewhere.  Life can be reduced or expanded, but it's always going to come down to what's right there, in front of your face.  If you can't live it, you can't know it.  The Motto.  Off we go....

I suppose at one point the world was a lot simpler, and I suppose that right before that, it was infinitely complex.  When Lucy or whoever stepped out from the primordial ooze, the whole thing got much more in a line.  That thing - the first steps, the dawn, whatever you call it - it happened a million years ago yesterday, and it happened right here.  In a flash, existence woke up and we were finally able to start pursuing the secrets.  Here we are a million years later, and we are still asking.  But Lucy, ah.  Lucy knew.

Lucy was born in the rift.  The rift that tore at the continents and tried to shuck half of Africa back into the sea.  That was the first of many incidents of Earthen Revenge.  Ah, the poetry of that... to be born in the valley of death.  But really, isn't it all the same?  Trees growing out of decaying matter, and all that?  If it's all on a spin, then does it ever really stop?  It spins as much today as it did back then.  This isn't Newton's Billiards.

Oh hell, reign it in already.  It's not like you got shot in the war and are seeing the bright light.  Tell a STORY...

David Mitchell once said that if you ever wanted to just plain get off your ass, then India was the place.  There, he explained, it is quite simply impossible to feel bad for yourself, to lay in bed all day, to be lazy.  You step onto that street, and it's right here, right now.  That's Nairobi.  You don't consider anything.  You don't contemplate.  No thought digs more than a layer deep.  Here, take a test:  step out onto that curb and tell me what your cousin's name is....

Too late.

There's quick-moving cities (Tokyo still holding the trophy on that one) and then there's quick-moving cities with Bonus Chaos.  That's Nairobi.  Everyone move, only nobody do it logically.  Just GO.  Pick a direction (or not) and simply mash the gas pedal.  Eventually, like moths in a jar, we'll either figure it out, or die.  Again, not much difference.

If the goal is to eventually see every side of the dice, then we're making good progress.  Call this the "danger" side.  I don't know what it's like in Northern Mexico right now, but I'm guessing it's close.  I can taste The Fear.  You don't get a lot more dangerous than Africa (both in biological and human threats), and that's something that you can't really forget.  I remember a time in Hawaii... we had a huge tsunami warning.  They drove by on the Kam highway blasting out evacuation orders.  They said that by 10am (it was 6 at the time) that the tsunami would arrive and we should evacuate to higher ground.  Our house was already at the top of a hill... it would've taken a 200 foot wave to take us down.  We sat there that morning and Reasoned with the thing.  Finally, we came to a conclusion... we were NOT going to be "those people" on the news.  You know the ones.  The mother who brings a 3 month old baby to The Dark Knight Rises.  The guy who stays in his house in Tuscaloosa as Aunty Em gets lifted away to the heavens.  And you see the news and think "What a tragedy... but what the hell were they DOING there?"  So that's why we play it safe.  We're not going to be those people.  And, as surely as we fled the tsunami, we take the book's advice to "never go out after dark, ever".  Alright then.  Dinners will be behind fences.  Enough said.

But that's ok, because there are a few worlds out here, and the Bonus Chaos only stretches as far as the city limits.  Eventually, we slink back to the ooze.  The Great Rift Valley lays open before us, a miles-wide swath cut down the globe like a gash in a golf ball, absolutely teeming with life so utterly incomprehensible.  The biodiversity here matches anything I've seen before, and we find ourselves stunned at the proximity we can get to this kind of bubbling nature.  This is where it began, this is where it continues, and this is where it will never end.  I ask the guide "What natural defense to the wildebeest have against the lions?"  He replies "There are many of them".  Simple mathematics, that's the advantage.  Evolution just took a day off on that one.  I suppose it's counter-evolution, in a way.  Something's not allowing the lions to grow in numbers, and that's keeping the denominator (or is it the remainder?) constant.  A man with 16 bullets can probably only take down a max of 16 people.  So then it's simple... just don't give him another gun.

There are no answers out there, only astounding emptiness, but that's an answer in itself, I suppose.  We long ago stopped searching and started wandering.  The greatest thing being to find yourself in a place.  I suppose "find" implies there was first some "searching".  But not necessarily.  Because just like you can find yourself bellied up to the bar drinking Shiner at the B&B BBQ, so too can you find yourself sitting in a Swahili restaurant after sundown during Ramadan, wishing that you could never blink again.

Our lives are a story.  It started when Lucy woke up.  It will continue through the evening.  We'll be there, and then we'll be here.