Still Figurin' Out Who I Think I Am

This one's about Perseid, the future, and fortune telling.

"Perseid Meteor Shower peaks tonight; it is going to be a spectacular night to watch the sky with no light pollution. We really are in for a great show especially at 2:00am. It's going to be a short night sleeping; we'll rest tomorrow once we arrive at Canyon Village. You'll find this campground close to the breathtaking Grand Canyon of the Yellowstone near the center of the park. It offers stores, restaurants, pay showers, a coin laundry and a sanitary dump station, but no utility hookups. No camp cooking tonight, we are going to try one of the restaurants. What did you see? How did it make you feel? There are lots of videos out there to see this, so I suggest you check it out. I posted two links but there are many others. If you feel inclined compose a poem to share with us at dinner tonight."

Hey yo...look who decided to make an appearance nearly two weeks into the "30-Day Blogging Challenge ON HIATUS" 's summer camping trip. Special thanks to Lyn's a Witchy Woman for holdin' things down this month...so much has happened since the little blog icon on the left side menu started taunting me with how many days it's been since I last posted an entry (21, for all y'all keepin' score at home). It's not that I've been inactive though; just...moody, and not feelin' a lot of expression. Before I start talkin' 'bout Perseid though, let's tick off the list of my accomplishments since I last dropped by, in my old school favorite bulletpoint technique.

I turned 40.

Embarrassed myself in front of my brother's coworker, who was introduced to me as "Harley Davidson, straight from Japan". Thinking my brother was fuckin' around, I bowed and copped a very ugly, stereotypically Asian accent and asked him how he was doin'. Turns out he actually is straight from Japan. Wow did I feel like an ass.

Further embarrassed myself by attempting Run DMC's "Walk This Way" at karaoke with the Japanese man from the above bulletpoint (whose real last name is actually Kawasaki). It was terrible. And of course it was recorded and posted on Facebook. If you're friends with me there, you might've seen it. I know ~Minja~ saw it. And I'm not ashamed of it; it's just that it's sideways, and I haven't found a video-editing program to right-side it...or else I'd put it on YouTube and blow up your computer speakers when you try to play it off your WDC newsfeed.

I installed Windows 10 on a brand new laptop. So far, so good, with only one minor glitch (the touchpad doesn't always wanna work, but I don't use it that often anyway so it doesn't matter, and I know it's a simple fix). Still workin' on uploading all my cds to my iTunes library. That'll take me a good long while. And I still have to get used to typing on a full keyboard again. I tried not to rely on auto-correct too much, but it grew on me.

I entered, started writing for, and subsequently hit a solid brick wall in the "Musicology Anthology"  contest. "Paul's Boutique" , which won't be adapted into a movie anytime soon, is an homage of sorts to the teenage years, under a backdrop of growing up and playing baseball and learning a little about life. And I've learned a lot even now from writing it...like, I'm not a short story writer .

I also entered "Invalid Item" , which happens to me sometimes during my 5am "wake up and take more Tylenol PM" jaunts...I do the things I think about doing but actually don't do, and I do them rather impulsively. And then I posted on the Newsfeed about it, which I don't much remember doing, but luckily my teammate Steev the Friction Wizurd copy/pasted my note to advertise it on his wall that we still needed some people to fill out our roster, and now we're all set. From what I gather, Pointless sounds sorta like Family Feud, but in reverse (and minus the exceptional Steve Harvey). That starts up in a couple of days, and it should be interesting.

So I think that's it...I'm probably leaving out stuff and straight up forgettin' stuff, but I think now I've got the built-in "I'm 40" excuse to match up perfectly with the fact that I actually do forget shit on a much more consistent basis nowadays. Now, where were we?

Ahhh yes, the camping trip. I haven't exactly not been participating; I've read some entries here and there and tried to keep abreast of most situations, but when the first of the month rolled around my head wasn't right   for getting into the adventure. Have we located Dragon is hiding yet? How are the kids makin' out so far? Princess Megan Snow Rose 's ankle is healing. And when Charlie ~ and I aren't curled up drunk in the arms of a similarly inebriated bear  , we're having long chats around the night's dying campfire with Cinn . Notice the three of us aren't fishing either.

I didn't exactly forget about Perseid happening, but it did take Lyn's a Witchy Woman reminding me for it to sink in that maybe I should try and pay attention to it. My problem is that I'm almost always asleep by two in the mornin' (is that an actual saying? Two at night doesn't sound right, but 2am does...two in the morning though...man, I hate those middle times). It's gotta be somethin' special for me to be awake at 2am, and by "special" I mean usually nothin' good happens at 2am. That's when people get shot and dudes get accused of sexual assault and shit. If you're awake at 2am, it's because you forgot to pee before you laid down and your bladder interrupted your dreams like "psst...empty me". So much shadiness happens under the 2am watch that when something cool like lotsa meteor showers go off on a special astrological tangent we're just like "Gawd, I've been through so many drunken shenanigans the last 20 years of 2am's, I think I'mma sit this one out. I'll catch the next one, fifty years from now." I'm not ashamed to admit that that's my luck. I get so used to waiting around, hoping for something spectacular to happen...and when it finally does, I've peaced out already from the exhaustion of basically doing nothing, like fuck this.

And I'll also admit that I don't look up at the stars nearly as much as maybe one should, not that there's any bit of quantifiable math that suggests there's a benefit to it. It's hard where I live to appreciate a good, clear sky when you're surrounded by tall buildings and the people around you make you not wanna look out the window at 'em. When I go home to visit my mom though, I like to have a cigarette on the back deck and just look up...it's definitely more rural out by her, and I swear if it's not cloudy you can see something resembling the formation of the Big Dipper most nights. I could totally be wrong, because I'm not astrologically inclined, but please let me have that one thing if you're gonna give me anything.

I don't have a whole lot more to add about this, unfortunately. I made it through a nice non-camp food dinner that I didn't disrupt by tossing a can of beans all loosey-goosey-like into the fire, and I swear I only wanted to take a nap but that turned into me always missing the cool stuff, like always...and then not being able to fall back asleep because my body isn't used to odd hours and just thinking it made itself through an entire night. Noting the silence of seeming like everyone else was settled, I figured I might as well try to collect my thoughts and try to write something, like I've been itchin' to do lately but not knowing where to begin. All I could manage was a look back to my past, when I thought life was starting to settle down...I just kept reading "The Day the Stars Became Round"  over and over, until I dozed off with the notebook on my chest face-up at our picnic table.

"'The future belongs to those who believe in the beauty of their dreams.' -Eleanor Roosevelt. Do you agree?"

I won't say I agree or disagree, but I'll certainly go along with the notion of beautiful dreams being a component of a healthy future. The trouble I run into is that more often than not, my dreams wouldn't fall into the "Beautiful" section in the Netflix of dreams, ya know what I'm sayin'? I'm more or less at the point now where I'd rather just disable the queue once I fall asleep instead of taking my chances and winding up waking up to something I wish I didn't have to remember.

And I'm not saying that dreaming is bad and you shouldn't do it just because I have bad experiences with it. By all means, dream your lives away, you dreamin' dreamers. Just know where to draw the line between what you want and what you need. Not that you need me to tell you that or that I think you'll listen to me anyway. Figured I might as well just tack another disclaimer onto every famous last piece of advice I give that I don't personally follow. Also, stay in school . Then you don't have to dream as much anyway, and when you do find yourself dreaming you'll have a better chance of cashin' them dreams in, ya heard?

"Have you ever been to a palm reader or fortune teller? If so, what did they tell you? If not, would you be interested in doing it? Do you believe in this sort of thing? Why or why not?"

Like, a legit fortune teller (or as close to one as possible)? Naw man, I ain't that blessed. I mean, it sounds like a nifty idea in theory, and maybe ten or twenty years ago I coulda been talked into it and risked gettin' swindled, but I'm a grown-ass man now. I'm skeptical of everything. I don't need Miss Cleo   with one hand on her crystal ball and the other hand on my wallet tellin' me what I probably should already know, dig?

But I get it. Everyone wants to hear some crazy mystical shit about themselves. In my teens and early twenties, it was like there were two groups of girls: the ones who wanted to own tarot cards, and the ones that couldn't wait to have their palms read because they were convinced they were either famous in a past life or would hopefully marry some rich dude off the tv. And that's not even touchin' all the occultists and flat-fuck scary-ass intimidatin' chicks who always traveled alone under dark clouds of doom and sorcery. Is that, like, some kind of phase girls go through, just like guys either wanna be athletes or rock stars? I realize I'm gender-stereotyping from 1994, but has the world changed that much since then?

I just don't see myself now going for it. You want to pay someone you don't know to hear them "analyze" your future? Send me $20, and I'll make up some wild story that'll make you feel good about losing that cash. And if you wanna know all about your past, well, see a therapist. My insurance covers one, and every three weeks or so I leave thinking I've spent the majority of my forty years on this planet being an asshole. Of all the poor choices I've made in my life, the biggest one I missed on was not getting into the counselling field...them, and tv weatherpeople, don't tell me they don't have the easiest positions in the world, where they can be wrong half the time (or more) and still have job security because weather doesn't stop weatherin' and the crazies don't stop being crazy.

The awesome part of going through my cds is coming across songs I forgot I owned, whether it was on a mix disc or a soundtrack or label sampler, whatever. Sometimes songs just get buried...anyone with a large collection of music- you know what I'm talkin' about. I found this track on a disc I burned years ago...and when I pulled it up on YouTube, man, what a great era of music just based off the recommendations they list on the right side of the screen. I could DJ a crazy 90's prom afterparty just off that list. So good.

"I thought she'd be there holding daisies; she always waits for me.
She thinks she missed the train to Mars. She's out back counting stars."
Lyrics/interpretations.  

I never really had social phobias like I do now, or at least if I did they were very dormant. Some of it stems from two issues that, when combined, shaft and chafe me in ways only people in similar situations can understand: I have an odd name, and I never really pronounce it well...I just kinda mumble it out, like it doesn't sound comfortable being said from the lips of the person it's representin'. I've had forty years of practice with it, and all I've learned how to do in that time is instantly spell my name after introducing myself to someone. Needless to say, I know the emotions and all of these faces   when people fuck up my name. Nine letters between my first and last names. You'd think it'd be easy. Norb Aikin. Nope. The struggle is real...between people trying to pronounce that, and me fighting off the urge to strangle the next one who decides they want to spell it however they want.

An amazing thing happened in my blogging lapse, and it just keeps happening: Donald Trump. Like many Americans who understand that a two-party system is flawed and voting isn't really controlled by people anymore anyway, I'm actually hoping this giant bronzed baby shoe of a man carries his act on all the way through to getting the GOP nod...he's high comedy, man. Well, if you don't mind him pissing off different sides of the population whenever he opens his mouth. He's not mentally stable enough to run a Burger King at this point, let alone a country, and his opinions are absolutely enchantingly disgusting...all things I can say with the clarity of having trod on those metaphorical and actual soles before. Let him sit in his tower and count his money in a safe place, where no one has to be subjected to his ridiculousness once his brand of political chicanery runs its course. Luckily for now though, not only do we have him, but thanks to the magic of the internet we can also imagine how he would've reacted throughout history  . And as an added bonus, we can shade that deeper toward our country's presidency over time, and hear how he would've botched some of the greatest quotes from past leaders  . Oh Mr. Trump, you bastion of batshit crazy aspirations and ideas...don't you go changin' on us and playin' the straight man from here on out just to win favor. You're an entertainer now!

And finally, look, I know I'm not that old, and I'm probably being a big baby when I bitch and moan about it (no really, my body does hurt a lot in places I'm not used to it hurting), but I'm barely two weeks into being 40 and it's no different than 39, or 25, or any other number. It just means on some forms I have to scroll another notch to get to my listed demographic. It hasn't made me any wiser or distinguished (and if neither of those traits has come to me by now, I doubt they will in the next forty years), and I still don't qualify for a senior discount. But I'm old. I feel it. And damn near every single one of these tweets about getting old   is true. If you're over 40, you'll know where they're comin' from. And if you're not...don't say we didn't warn ya.

Anyway, I'm gettin' outta here. I missed you guys, and thanks belatedly for all the birthday love back when it was actually my birthday...but in lieu of all that next time around, let's just treat people like every day is their birthday, ok? Except that douchebag from accounting, because he's a douchebag and probably won't be around long enough to celebrate anyone else's birthday. But yay everyone else! Peace, I finally broke her, and GOODNIGHT NOW!!