An imaginary conversation about seeing things differently

Don’t you ever wonder about how we see things?

Philosophically?

No, literally.

With our eyes?

No. Well, yes. There are obviously scientific facts about things we see. Colors come from the way the light waves bounce or something like that, and those things are quantifiable, right?

I guess. Science isn’t my forte.

Mine either, but objects do exist and have dimensions and physical attributes, yes?

True.

But our own individual physicality varies slightly.

More than slightly.

I am just talking about the size and shape of our eyes, maybe how speedy our nerves are, that kind of stuff. If humans really share 98% of our DNA with chimps, I am going to stick with “slightly.”

Good point.

Thanks.
So anyway, if I remember correctly, we see because of light bounces off of objects, hitting the rods and cones in our eyes in a certain way and it bounces around in there and eventually the optical nerve transmits the image to our brain which interprets it.

And?

Well, take “red” for instance.

OK. I like red.

Me too. Particularly red shoes.

Who doesn’t?

Exactly. But do we all see red the same way? I mean, there’s a measurable, reproducible spectrum or wavelength of light that makes red…but how do we know that your rods and cones bounce it around your eyeballs and send it to your brain so it looks the same as my red?

Sure it does. If we had to pick it off of a chart, we’d both pick the same one, wouldn’t we?

Because the actual real color is scientific. But is what we see inside our heads the same?

Isn’t it?

I don’t think it is, because it gets sent to our brains and our brains interpret things differently. Look at eye witness testimony. People can see the same event and come up with totally different versions of the same event even if they are coached to watch carefully and remember.

So? Isn’t that different than the actual scientific fact of seeing a color?

Yes, but if we our brains do interpret something as basic as a color differently, what else is different? It just makes me wonder.

Everything makes you wonder.

True enough.

What does it make you wonder about?

It makes me wonder what else there is that we think of as objective that is really subjective? Or maybe not subjective but..individual?

Like what?

Music? Do we hear the same things? Taste the same things?

Does it matter?

I guess not, but it makes me wonder.
I also wonder why it is that water from a tiny little hole in the roof can let so much water in, but rain doesn’t come down the great big hole known as the chimney.

You’re wonder-ful.

Thanks.

No, I mean that you wonder a…uh..I can’t take that back or clarify it without coming across as a dick can I?

Absolutely not.

It doesn’t matter.
You are both wonderful and wondering. I don’t need to retract it.

An imaginary conversation about birthdays

I fucking love birthdays.

Really? No one our age likes birthdays.

Are you saying I am nobody?

What? No! Just that you’re weird.

I am glad we got that cleared up.

Me too. So what is it you like about birthdays?

Everything.

Doesn’t it bother you that it means you’re getting older?

Why should that bother me?

It bothers most people. You know: aging, decrepitude, wrinkles, death, gray hair, illness…

Not in that order, usually.

No.

I’m not a big fan of wrinkles, gray hair and decrepitude. They don’t really bother me much though. Maybe because I have already committed the ultimate beauty sin of being fat.

Uh..

I am, you know.

Uh…

It’s OK. I am aware of it. I’m still cute, though. I think I have fewer wrinkles because of it.

That’s one way of looking at it.

Silver linings, baby, silver linings.

So what is it that makes you such a fan of birthdays?

Are you kidding?

No.

Well, for one thing, my Mom has to bake me a pie if I want one and I can pick any kind I want.

Pie is good.

It is. Also, I usually take time off work and do something fun like a short trip.

Vacations are good.

I know, right? I love vacations!

Anything else?

Of course–people buy me drinks and dinners.

A lot of people?

Quite a few. I am surprisingly popular in mid-November.

It isn’t all that surprising.

It is to me! Oh! And people send me cards, and texts and all kinds of Happy Birthday messages. It’s kind of nice to be the center of attention once a year.
And hugs. I get a lot of hugs.

You like hugs.

I do. I love hugs. And then there are presents. I love to get presents. They don’t even have to be big presents, I just love that people thought of me.

You say you love a lot of things.

Do I?

You do.

I guess I do. That’s good, right? It’s hard to be gloomy when you love everything.

You’re awfully upbeat for a cynic.

I still think most people suck. The ones I don’t love, not MY people. MY people are fantastic.

What else is so great about birthdays? I am still not convinced.

Seriously? Presents, trips, being the center of attention, lots of cards and messages and PIE are not enough to make you a birthday believer? Sometimes I even get to have tailgater birthdays. How can you not like birthdays???

No one bakes me a pie.

You just let me know what flavor.

Really?

Yes. You’ll see. Everything is good with pie.

Can I have whipped cream on it?

Of course. You can have whatever you want on your birthday. Has nobody ever explained this all to you before?

I guess not. I go to work. I go home. I get a few calls. Sometimes people buy me drinks.

See!? Drinks! How can you not like a day where people buy you drinks?

You have a point.

You just need to get over that “getting old” shit and start looking for excuses to celebrate everything.

When did you get so smart?

Haven’t I always been smart?

Yes, but not necessarily wise.

I’ve always been a wise ass.

Yes. That is very true.

Thanks. Let’s celebrate that.

You want to celebrate being a wise ass? When?

Now, duh. Of course now. I shall buy you the celebratory adult beverage of your choice!

No way, it’s almost your birthday. I’ll get the drinks.

See what I mean? Birthdays are fantastic.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Note from Eagle Crest:
Chelle and I tried all weekend to get the Boys to make snow angels. It became apparent on Sunday night that it was not going to happen. So just before 8pm, with a temperature of -2 degrees, Chelle decided that it was up to us. We jumped the fence on the back porch to do it, because that seemed like it would be more fun than just doing it in the easily accessible snow covered areas all around the front of the condo.

And we hugged, held hands, fell on our backs and flapped our arms and legs.

There may have been giggling.

A lot of giggling.

It was fun.

Chelle had never made a snow angel before.

You should always do fun things when you have a chance, especially when you haven’t ever done them before. After all, you might not ever have another chance.

When you are 51, you are fucking wise about this kind of shit.

It doesn’t even matter that we made the worst snow angels ever seen.
Right?

Happy birthday to me!
 
PS
Kelly, as always, was full of good advice today. Here are a few samples.

Golf advice:
Remember the half a hole rule when putting. Use the same amount of speed/force on your putts, but change the length of your swing proportionate to how far you are from the hole

Seriously. Chelle’s golfing just got a million times better.

 
General advice:
Never put brake fluid on your junk.

 
Beauty advice:
If you have dry patches on your skin, Vaseline works great. Arms, legs, whatever. Not on your penis. Unless you happen to have a dry patch on it, but if you do you might need to be on antibiotics or something.

IMG_2277.JPGIMG_2276.PNG

An imaginary conversation about giving up

You know, I am usually pretty stubborn.

I’ve noticed.

This might be a good time for me to give up though.

Really?

Really.

Why?

I am tired.

You should be.

I am.

So you said.

You don’t seem very surprised.

I’m not…

But?

But I don’t know if I believe you.

I don’t know if you should.

You’re sort of fixated.

I always have been.

No, not always.

Pretty much always. I just buried it for a few decades.

Maybe that was for the best.

No. It was definitely NOT for the best. It messed me up.

You seem pretty together to me. I think you exaggerate how fucked up you are.

That is a distinct possibility.

You don’t want to admit that something about you is ordinary.

Ordinary is a four letter word.

Well, face it: this is a very ordinary issue.

I suppose it is.

To be clear, what specifically are you giving up?

Trying to alter the course of things.

Meaning?

I am just going to let go.

Meaning?

I’m going to step back a little.

Uh huh.

What?

No you aren’t.

I didn’t say I was going to do anything drastic. Just let things take their course.

That doesn’t even mean anything.

It doesn’t?

No.

I think it means that I will stop trying to impose what I want on things.

Why shouldn’t you get what you want?

Maybe you can’t always get what you want.

Don’t even quote the Rolling Stones to me.

What? Why? But if you try sometimes…

Shut up.

But you do generally get what you need.

No, you don’t need this.

There isn’t any “this” to it.

Exactly.

All I am saying is that maybe now I am ready to not be so fixated and to just let whatever happens or doesn’t happen just…do that.

If you say so.

Your trust is heartwarming.

When was the last middle of the night message?

Oh, shut up.

Just saying.

So you don’t think I should let go?

No, I do think you should. I just don’t think you will. For one thing, I don’t think you really even want to.

Of course I don’t.

So…why go through the motions?

Because It’s just so stupid.

Something has to change?

I can only change my side of anything.

That is very true.

But you don’t think I will?

I hope you will.

It’s not like I want to.

That is why it seems like a wasted effort.

What do you think I should do?

Nothing. Figure out why you are content to accept nothing.

I’m not. I just…I don’t know what I should do other than try to just…back off. If I say something, I am being dramatic…if I don’t say anything, I am being dramatic.

I’ll cross my fingers for you. It doesn’t seem like your options are good.

No. I don’t want to close a door, but holding the door open by myself is getting old.

You’ll figure it out.

I guess. I did figure one thing out.

What’s that?

I will never get labia reduction surgery.

Uh…okay.

I can’t even believe it is a real thing.

Oh, it is…

What do you suppose would have to happen for a woman to be self conscious about her labia? I mean, I have never had anyone comment on mine at all.

Me either.

Do you suppose some women have better labia than others?

I have no idea. Like you, no one has ever said anything about mine.

No criticism. No compliments.

Exactly.

Well, I will let you know if I get any feedback about mine. If anyone ever sees them again.

Thanks. And I promise I will never get mine altered. I would have to have way more extra money than I do for that to even make it onto a list of things to consider.

Good to hear. I am sure yours are very lovely anyway.

Yours, too.

%d bloggers like this: