One of My Biggest Fears

This is going to sound impossibly paradoxical, but one of my biggest fears these days is the fear of becoming a complete hypochondriac. To add to that paradox, I’m going to the doctor tomorrow and talk to him about it. I’m going to the doctor for other reasons too, of course. I would not be concerned about becoming a hypochondriac if I weren’t going to the doctor for some illness, and illness that in all likelihood is imagined. The specific reasons why I’m going to the doctor tomorrow are that I have been having some mild discomfort in the gallbladder area (I looked up its location on the Net), and I have a pea-sized lump in my groin. The mild discomfort is probably nothing more than a muscle strain, and the pea-sized lump is undoubtedly a harmless cyst. But put them together and use some anxiety-based inventiveness and you can come up with some kind of cancer. I know I did. I can imagine someone saying, “He had this little ache that he thought was nothing, but darn if it wasn’t cancer.”

Yeah, my biggest hypochondriacal fear is cancer. The cancer has got to be some fatal variety. Why fear a cancer that cannot take your life? If I have a headache that is something other than the standard frontal headache, I immediately think I have a brain tumor. I worry about cancer of the pancreas too. That’s generally fatal. To a lesser degree I have fears of liver, stomach, and bladder cancer. Any kind of pain, mild or severe, in the appropriate area, and I know it’s a sign of cancer of that region’s vital organ.

Another fear of mine is ALS, or Lou Gehrig’s disease. I know I have ALS when an object accidentally drops out of my grasp. I figure I’m losing strength in my hands and that can only be ALS, or so I believe. Another thing that will do it is a few seconds of slurred speech. That’s another potential symptom of ALS. I ought to know, my hypochondria forced me to do the research.   

This hypochondria is pretty nasty in its own right. There are days when I do not have a bout with some imaginary affliction, but there are days when at various times I will swear I have two or three terminal illnesses. In the morning it might be stomach cancer. In the afternoon it’s a brain tumor. By that evening I’ve got the first symptoms of ALS. This is hard on me. It’s just not a lot of fun. Fortunately I have a sense of humor about it. I’m additionally fortunate that a sense of humor is not a symptom of a fatal disease; at least none I’ve been able to find. But I’m sure I’ll keep looking.      

I Want Assisted Living Now (by guest blogger Cecil Tackett)

Cecil Tackett

I’m only 44 years old but I’m looking forward to having assisted living. As soon as possible I’m going to an assisted living facility. But I’m not going to just any assisted living facility. No sir. I’m going to one that has nothing but gorgeous women doing the assisting.

I can picture the place now. It will be great. I’ll have one honey helping me out of bed in the morning, and another bringing me breakfast. Then I think I’ll get a deep massage by some super hot girl named Lola or Amber or Heather. Cripes, I can almost feel her slender fingers now, gently rubbing my back as I lie there limp. Following the massage, I’ll have yet another babe bring me lunch.

If I don’t take an afternoon nap, I’ll have some stunning doll push me around the grounds in a wheelchair. I can walk, but why should I use my legs when a dazzling dame can push me in a wheelchair? And of course I’ll have still another girl bring me dinner. If she is really a knockout, I’ll have her feed me. Yeah, some beautiful woman feeding me pork barbecue and crepe suzettes.

I’m saving the best for last. Sometime in the evening I’m going to have two sweet babes giving me a bath. One will be soaping my body while the other is giving me a shampoo. They will have fun doing it. The girls will do a lot of giggling. I think I’d want yet another girl to towel me off, sprinkle on the talcum powder, and then help me pull on my pajamas.

So yeah, that’s my thoughts on assisted living. If you ask me, it sounds pretty good. But I don’t want to wait until I’m 80 when I can no longer enjoy it. I’m ready to enjoy it now. Maybe this Obamacare can help me out. I’ll have to go to their website.      

Preserving Via the Net

One of the nice things about the internet that doesn’t get enough notoriety is that whole groups of people can stay in contact with each other through the years. It doesn’t really require much effort. It might take a little work to find the people, but once that’s done, it’s easy street.

This year my high school class is having its 45^th reunion. I keep in contact with about two dozen of them, albeit this contact might be only once or twice a year. I know of the whereabouts of well over one hundred classmates, although some of them are now underground, so to speak. Forty years after they graduated, I’m not sure if my parents could have recalled the name of a single schoolmate. As far as I know, my mom and dad lost track of all their high school chums the day they graduated and got their diplomas.

My last blog entry someone actually left a comment, believe it or not. You can go read it if you want. The comment was written by some idiot named Bob Sayre. I went to high school with this dingbat. Both Sayre and I were no more than 18 years old then. Now we’re 62. We were not best of buddies in high school. We did not hang-out together. I never went to Sayre’s house after school, and he was lucky enough never to have gone to mine. But we were solid casual friends. We would occasionally bark wisecracks at each other in various classrooms. Now all these years later -45 years, to be exact- we are doing the same thing via the internet.

People can complain about the internet, how it has its hate sites and how it oozes pornography, but in most respects the Net is pretty cool. Just take Sayre and me for example. All of these years later two morons are still ribbing each other. The internet changes many things, but it also works to keep some things the same, which is not an altogether bad thing. 

Now, I'd go back and reply to Sayre's comment, but I have already called him an idiot and a dingbat. If I say much more, that asswipe will start whining.    

Some Final Zingers

For a few years starting when I was in about the fourth grade and ending when I was in the seventh grade, I had to watch out for a bully who lived down the street. This wariness occurred over 50 years ago. His name was Bob Talbot and he was the older brother of one of my pals, Gene Talbot. One time Bob put chewing gum in my hair and then to extract it, gave me an extremely ugly scalp-job. On another occasion he held me out the second floor window of his family’s house by my ankles. I did not do anything wrong, I was just smaller than Bob. It was the very definition of “bullying”. I was saved from all the duress when the Talbots moved away.

My older sister, G.G., knew Bob too. They were classmates. She and Bob got along, more or less, but she knew that Bob was a bully. When the Talbots moved away, my sister lost contact with Bob for the better part of forty-five years. Then thanks to things like the internet, Bob reemerged. She talked to him a number of times over the last few years and actually met with him now and then. I, on the other hand, had no such desire. I still saw him as a bully, although due to the passing of time, he and his past bullying have long since become a source of humor.

Anyway, Bob died a few days ago. He had no known illness, he apparently just keeled over. My sister called me yesterday and gave me the news. She was kind of saddened, I think. To me Bob’s death was just more evidence of both the passing of time, and my own mortality. I felt no remorse. In fact, I joked with my sister over the phone about Bob’s demise. I told my sister that I ought to go to the funeral so I can hang Bob’s body out of his casket by its ankles. It was not said maliciously. It was said jokingly and in humor. I said a few other silly things concerning Bob’s passing, all in jest. They were just a few final zingers. To be honest, I think Bob has them coming.         

Christmas and Me

I am an atheist and therefore I do not believe very much of the biblical Christmas story. If there were a Jesus -and that is possible- he likely was not born in a manger in Bethlehem. It makes for a good story, but it’s just as likely that he was born in a tiny rented room, or even a fairly large rented room. A manger sounds good because we like our various saviors, heroes, etc., to come from modest means. It is also highly unlikely that there were wise men, shepherds, and so forth. Probably the most unlikely element of the story is that Jesus was born to a virgin. Virgins are considered pure and unsullied. In most religions, virgins are highly prized. It was true back when the Bible was being written, and it’s true today, albeit to perhaps a lesser degree. Point is; there is a reason why Christian religions state that Mary was a virgin, and it’s not because she actually was a virgin. But to the bigger issue; there is no evidence that Jesus was the “son of God”. Truth is; there is scant little evidence that Jesus existed at all.

But despite the possible lack of religious validity, I like Christmas. We have home movies from Christmas 1957 featuring my three sisters and me when we were tiny kids. There was a hobby horse, a fire truck, a jack-in-the-box, the board game Candyland, not to mention various uninteresting gifts such as new socks and hair brushes.

One of those long ago Christmases, Santa Claus came to our door. He came right in and perched himself on our sofa. We kids were terribly excited. We all got to sit on his lap and tell him what we wanted for Christmas. Twenty years later I learned that the Santa was in reality my Uncle Wilber.

I think that once a person has really great Christmas memories, Christmas will more than likely be special forever. My mother and father are now gone but my three sisters and I get together and exchange gifts. About every other year we pull out the old home movies, now on video tape. These days some of the youthful excitement is missing, but we still have fun. 

So even if a person does not believe in god, Jesus, and so forth, that does not mean the person cannot enjoy Christmas. I could probably argue that I enjoy it more as an atheist than I did as a theist. As an atheist I do not feel guilty for not going to church on Christmas. Come to think of it, when I was a Methodist I did not feel particularly guilty either.        

Our Never-Ending Pursuit of Women

I’m going to tell any would-be blog reader a simple fact, albeit a largely unrecognized fact; men do almost everything with women in mind. There you have it. Many times it is one woman in the mind of a man, but it is almost always a female of the human species, be it one or many.

I first heard this simple statement of truth as it was spoken by a friend of mine when we were 17 years old, about 45 years ago. We had been drinking malt liquor at the time and the alcohol worked to expose our philosophical sides. When my friend made this pronouncement, I quickly agreed with him. I had come to the same conclusion over the preceding year or two.

The first order of business in the mind of a heterosexual man is to satisfy his survival needs. So the initial priorities are food and shelter. Then comes women. Almost every man alive is capable of procuring one woman or another. The idea is to secure the best woman possible. As far as men are concerned, this involves two general categories that pertain to all women; physical appearance and mental state.

Almost every man prefers a gorgeous woman to a homely one. The man who insists he would choose a Rosanne Arnold over a Natalie Portman is a man who is either blind, crazy, or lying. Generally such men are lying. They are trying to give the appearance of being deep, and complex. Ironically, they are very possibly doing this to impress a pretty woman.        

As far as men are concerned, the second category; a woman’s mental state, would be more a matter of personal choice. There are more than a few men who would prefer a rather unintelligent woman. There are other men who would want the intellectual stimulation of a knowledgeable, creative woman. One thing is certain; the vast majority of men would opt for a woman who is non-hostile. Cooperation in women is also valued by most men.

So, a man’s lot in life is to impress women. When a man has put in a respectable effort and believes he has found the best woman possible for him, he then tries to secure her permanently by proposing marriage. However, even if both parties submit to wedlock, this by no mean ends the man’s desire to impress other women, for the yearning is innate. It will be part of his psyche on into middle age and beyond, albeit at a less intense level. 

I remember many decades ago, seeing my then-recently expired Uncle Monty resting comfortably in his coffin. As stated in his directives; he was dressed in a fine, new suit. I knew which gender he had been thinking of at the time of his post-life clothing selection, and it wasn’t the male gender. Even when there was no longer a breath in his body, Uncle Monty was trying to appeal to women. We men just can’t seem to shut it off.    

An Opinion On Social Diversity

I'm thinking that someday someone might read this blog and when they do, I ought to have some actual opinions in it. So here's one of those opinions...

Social diversity is all the rage. It's been that way for a while now. Companies are pushing for ethnic and cultural diversity, universities are too. The yearning for diversity is everywhere... well not quite everywhere. I'll tell you one place where right this second it is not lovingly embraced; that's right here in the room where I am sitting alone, writing this blog entry.

I have seen diversity. In a lot of places it is a good thing. I go to a Thai restaurant a couple of times a month. Believe it or not, the food is cooked by a guy from Thailand. It's great food. But he does not interact with his customers particularly well. Why? Because he does not completely understand the culture. It limits and weakens his customer interaction. In effect, he is a soldier of diversity, and he is losing-out, ever so slightly, to the socially assimilated Thai restaurateur down the street. As an American entrenched in the American mainstream culture, I want the Thai restaurateur to be personable specifically to me. I want him to understand my humor, and be able to deliver humor of his own, humor that I can grasp and appreciate. I want him to at least understand my interests even if he does not share them.

The Thai restaurant owner feels the same way. He would really like to have me understand his cultural nuances. The trouble is; both he and I are in America, so my need to understand his culture is not acute. Though he understands that, it still saddens him.

This whole diversity thing really stems from the many African-Americans who feel uncomfortable among white folks in this post-Civil Right Revolution America. Consequently, the larger culture has allowed blacks, who unlike the Thai man, have been Americans for generations, to essentially self-segregate. Consequently, many blacks do not interact within the mainstream culture as fluidly as do whites. This hurts their chances of finding job opportunities, let alone such things as workplace advancements. On the other side of the coin, many white people are not thrilled with the idea of multicultural integrated school, hence, the rise of home schooling.

How about this; we as a society promote assimilation. We advocate that the Thai man, and the African-American woman, assimilate into the larger culture, and in so doing, they bring along elements of their own cultures. The end result; an American culture that has elements from around the world, blended into new, unique creations, and people who can freely interact with each other without cultural hardship. It could be done with a little work. After all, we as a nation are undertaking a mammoth campaign to end smoking. Why not have something similar aimed at becoming a nation with one, unique culture that includes all of us?

All right, there's an opinion for you.