I haven’t watched much television on Netflix or elsewhere for several years now. I know I’m missing out on some good stuff and perhaps I’ll find a way to build a couple of hours a day in front of the TV screen. Via Althouse comes information on a Netflix series starring one of my favorites, Ricky Gervais:
The show centers around Tony (Gervais), a middle-aged journalist whose “perfect life” has been reduced to dust since his wife died of cancer. After contemplating taking his own life, he decides instead to live long enough to punish the world by saying and doing whatever he likes from now on. He thinks it’s like a Super Power, but eventually finds out life is more complicated, when everyone around him tries to save the nice guy they used to know.
This description from Gervais really resonated with me:
“At the end of the day, it’s all those little mundane interactions that actually save your life — they’re the variety of life, they stop you from feeling too sorry for yourself. He’s got to take the dog for a walk, he’s got to go to work to make money to get drunk, and after all that, time heals,” Gervais explained to Variety in an interview.
Yeah, that’s what I was getting at (or trying to) in my post on boredom the other day. I’m going through some stuff these past couple of days but my routines do seem to help relieve the stress and mental turmoil. Like today’s walk:
The squiggly lines up top are my morning walk in Alta Vista with Buddy. The long straight line in the middle is the walk with Lucky to the vet for shots. We took a trike back. And finally, I did my Baloy Beach hike. Still to come, this afternoon’s Hash.
I know this is just a passage to a better place.
Crazy I’m crazy for feeling so lonely I’m crazy Crazy for feeling so blue I knew You’d love me as long as you wanted And then some day You’d leave me for somebody new Worry Why do I let myself worry? Wondering What in the world did I do… Oh, crazy For thinking that my love could hold you… I’m crazy for trying And crazy for crying And I’m crazy for loving you
In the beginning there was a trail for the runners. It adds an additional 3 kilometers to the walkers trail.
It joins the walkers trail at the 5km point and the walkers have done 2K by then. So it looks like it will be a 6/9 split which ain’t too bad.
Going to be boring for the runners though. Pretty much all flat, goes through a subdivision, then up the Govic highway and through San Isidro. Well, they want distance so fuck ’em if they don’t like my trail.
Well, I’m still alive so it’s time to pay the piper. Just got word from my accountant that I’m indebted to Uncle Sam again this year. However, since I only worked half the year my tax bill has decreased from over $8000. to only $12. this year. Now that is what I consider good news!
I’m afraid hot season is now upon us. Makes it especially hard to maintain my motivation to get out there and walk. I’m going to wait until later this afternoon to get some steps in, maybe it won’t be so damn unbearable. Almost has me wishing I could be complaining about rainy season instead.
There are other changes on the horizon but I’m going to let them play out before I report about it. Just gotta stay strong in the meantime.
“You can appreciate Schubert if you train yourself. I was the same way when I first listened to him—it bored me silly. It’s only natural for someone your age. In time you’ll appreciate it. People soon get tired of things that aren’t boring, but not of what is boring. Go figure. For me, I might have the leisure to be bored, but not to grow tired of something. Most people can’t distinguish between the two.”
— Haruki Murakami
If you are visiting LTG on a regular basis then chances are you are indeed bored out of your mind. And if you are not bored now you likely will be after reading this post. I’m only half-kidding when I say that people like my blog because it makes them feel better about their own lives.
Anyway, Althouse was blogging about boredom today. She included a link to a long and boring Wikipedia article on boredom. There is also this quiz you can take to discover how easily you get bored. My result was that I have an average propensity to become bored. So nothing to get excited about I suppose.
I’ve been retired now going on one year. Do I find my life boring? Surprisingly, and notwithstanding the drivel I post here, for the most part no, I do not. I have my daily routines and rituals and they pass the time, however comfortably and well*. I wake each morning at 0600, spend some time on the internets, walk the dogs, have breakfast, walk myself, take a nap, try to blog here, take another walk, shower, drink beer/throw darts, then sleep around 10 p.m. Every fucking day of my life. Well, sometimes I’ll travel and do the above in a new location. And I am plotting some international travel in the coming months.
Is that enough? For now it has to be. Could it be better? Hell yes! For example, I’d love to have someone to love and share my life with. But I’m not really able to open myself up to the pain and disappointment that potentially comes with the love thing just yet. As I often remind myself, there are worse things than being alone
This pretty much captures how I feel.
Had a brief and drunken text chat with the last woman I loved yesterday. She told me she has chosen to be happy in life and that “happiness is within”. Well, if that works for her I’m glad. But it smells like bullshit to me. Don’t get me wrong, I am not unhappy. I am content with this life I have chosen. I have all I need to live comfortably and worry-free. Living here is a daily reminder that my first world problems truly are meaningless.
I’m not dead inside quite yet. And I hope to keep it that way!
I can’t control what the people around me do or how they choose to live their life. What I can control is who I let into MY life. Unfortunately, I’ve demonstrated an amazing inability to judge the true nature of another person’s character. So I’m often disappointed and frequently taken advantage of by so-called friends. I know who I am and what is in my heart and I’ll continue to live my life in a manner that in some small way might make a difference. I’ll do unto others not as they’ve done unto me. I’m bound to have some good Karma coming my way eventually.
Man oh man, talk about going off on a tangent. Bored yet?
Let’s get back on track. Facebook reminded me that two years ago I was meeting the U.S. Ambassador to Korea.
And giving the clenched fist salute My Way!
I enjoyed my working life and the intellectual stimulation it provided. Now I have 8+ more hours to fill each day and for the most part I spend them alone. Or with other drunk expats. But although I’m not often mentally challenged, I think I’m staying engaged on some level. The hours I spend hiking are also hours I spend thinking. Or listening to music. Sometimes both at the same time! Nothing boring about that.
Today’s hike. That bow-tie looking thing is where I was searching for that extra kilometer to add to my upcoming Hash trail. I’ve got a small addition on the back now. Perhaps I can add a bit more towards the front. I’ve still got a month to work it out.And in the meantime I’ll still make time to stop and smell the flowers.
I’m a lucky bastard with too much time on his hands.
Sitting on this barstool talking like a damn fool Got the twelve o’clock news blues And I’ve given up hope for the afternoon soaps And a bottle of cold brew Is it any wonder I’m not crazy? Is it any wonder I’m sane at all Well I’m so tired of losing- I got nothing to do and all day to do it I go out cruisin’ but I’ve no place to go and all night to get there Is it any wonder I’m not a criminal? Is it any wonder I’m not in jail? Is it any wonder I’ve got
Too much time on my hands? It’s ticking away with my sanity I’ve got too much time on my hands It’s hard to believe such a calamity I’ve got too much time on my hands And it’s ticking away, ticking away from me Too much time on my hands (It’s t-t-t-t-ticking away) Too much time on my hands (And I don’t know what to do with myself) Too much time on my hands
*when I wrote “however comfortably and well” it felt like something I had read somewhere, maybe in a Hemingway short story. I googled it and came up with nothing. If it’s plagiarism it’s unintentional…
Welp, it looks like I’ve been officially designated the Hare for the Hash on May 13. In preparation for that event I went out this morning to measure the trail I’ve been working on.
This is the short version for us walkers. It incorporates most of “My Bitch”. Still would like to find a seamless way to add another kilometer or so.
As it turns out May 13 is also election day here in the Philippines. That’s significant because Filipinos are not permitted to consume alcohol during elections. The bars here in Barretto are granted a waiver to serve foreigners only, but we have quite a few Filipinas in our kennel. Since our beer is self-serve from ice chests it would be difficult to enforce a no-drinking edict. And that could pose a problem for our “on-home” venue should a Filipina be caught drinking. So one solution is to have the on-home activities done at, well, someone’s home. Heidi has a great house for it but we need to confirm she is willing. My house is Plan B. Stay tuned.
On this day four years ago I was meeting up with Kevin Kim and Young Chun to celebrate the publication of Young’s book The Accidental Citizen-Soldier (and to get my copy autographed of course).
That’s Kevin on the left…
And on this day six years ago promises were being made that were destined to be broken.
Honestly, it still pains me.
Speaking of Kevin Kim, on this day fourteen years ago I was discovering his blog Big Hominid’s Hairy Chasms. And posts like this one have kept me coming back for all these years. Those photos of hiking Namsan really make me homesick for Seoul.
Anyway, that’s the past and my future for better or worse is here in the Philippines. Forward march!
UPDATE: HaHa! This makes FIVE times I’ve used the “On this day” title. Perhaps it’s a sign I’ve been blogging too long. Nah, that can’t be it.
And finally, the first time I used ” On this day” was back on January 25, 2015. I was talking about the excitement that comes with making up some burritos at home. And coincidentally, I was linked to a funny story from Kevin Kim’s blog about his encounter with the Korean National Police. Good stuff.
I’m amazed at how quickly Lucky’s skin condition has improved. He’s growing in a nice new fur coat and his itching and scratching are greatly diminished. I deemed his health good enough to finally relent and allow him to interact some with Buddy.
Lucky is good on a leash and now participates in the 30 minute morning walk ritual with his step-brother Buddy.And they like to roughhouse around. I do get a somewhat nervous because of the size differential. And Buddy tends to play a little rough…But they seem to enjoy each other’s company so I’m glad about that.
For me, it just nice to have some unconditional love in my life. A dog has never broken my heart before…
If there is one thing Uncle Sam excels at, it is collecting his debts. I was reminded of this fact when my daughter sent me a copy of a letter mailed to her address from the Department of the Treasury. It seems the powers that be in my homeland believe I owe them some money. That was shocking news to me since I made it a point to be debt free prior to commencing my second retirement from government service.
My initial reaction was the letter which threatens to withhold up to 25% of my pension check as of June 1st, was that this must be some kind of scam. For instance, the letter does not say to whom and how much I owe or why I’m suddenly indebted to something called “DMSOC-East” in Birmingham, Alabama. I wracked my brain throughout the day trying to figure out why I was being targeted. Of course my first thoughts were that it must be tax related, but I had sent the IRS a hefty $8000. dollar check last April paying my tax obligations in full. I also wondered why whatever the issue with my unknown delinquency may be, I had never been previously contacted to advise me of the mysterious debt. All the letter had to offer in answer to these questions was a 1-800 number I could call.
Well. The first thing I needed to do was to figure out just how in the fuck do I make a call to a toll-free number deep in the heart of Dixie? Once I had obtained some guidance in that regard I needed to wait until my night became working hours back in America the beautiful. On my second attempt (had to figure out how to do the +1 country code on my cell phone keypad) I got a recording with some options. I chose wrong apparently because the robot voice said they couldn’t help with that and immediately hung up. On my next try I was more diligent and chose the “other” option. Whereupon the voice said all agents were busy and would be busy for at least 10 minutes, but to hold the line or otherwise lose my place in the queue. Alrighty then.
In due course a human came on the line and the game was on! He needed to verify that I am who I say I am and after I satisfactorily answered a series of questions he asked me “how can I help you?” I responded please tell me what the heck is going on. Who do I owe and how much? I was advised that the debt was still with a private collection agency and I would have to call them for details. He was able to tell me that my indebtedness was to the Brian Allgood Army Hospital in Seoul, Korea.
Ah! Now I remembered. Just before departing Korea I had all of my prescriptions refilled. The normal process is that my insurance is billed and I’m on the hook for whatever amount is not covered. But for some reason I had never received an invoice for the unpaid balance. I had in fact been diligent about turning in a change of address to the Army Post Office but apparently nothing related to this bill ever got forwarded to my stateside address.
Well, at least I know now that the debt is legit. And I do take some pride in paying what I owe in life–unlike the socialists I’m not looking for a free ride. The agent on the phone was attempting to give me the contact info for the private collection agency and I told him not to bother. I’d prefer to just have the money deducted from the pension check in June. Much less hassle for me that way. The agent indicated there was no downside to my thinking in that regard so I thanked him for his time and we said our goodbyes.
And that constitutes the most excitement I’ve experienced in a good long while. And that is just about all the excitement I need or want. At least until April 15. Which reminds me, I’ve not heard back from my tax preparer. Damn it!
Yes, you read that right. Last night I participated in deflowering a virgin. A Hash virgin that is. Go on, wipe that look of disappointment off your face!
Anyway, given that Leech My Nuggets was the Hare for yesterday’s trail I was pleasantly surprised that the walkers portion at least was not so bad. One major uphill but not too lengthy or overly vertical. And we were in the Calapdayan area where we don’t often Hash. So it was good to have some new views.
We’ll let the pictures (and captions) tell the story:
The trail as seen from Google Earth…There was a police checkpoint on National Highway and given the questionable legality of all of us riding in the back of the Hashmobile, we opted to walk out. Until we got past the cops anyway… ….and THEN us walkers loaded up for the ride out to Calapdayan.NOW we are on-on for real…Who’s that handsome guy at the back of the pack?That’s Cherry (front) the Virgin Hasher with Salty Cum…Where did the trail go?Geez girls, follow me!The valley from whence we came…A view I liked enough to photograph…Heading back down to Baloy Beach……and on-home at Treasure Island for the customary end of trail liquid refreshment.Filipinas on ice is nice!That’s Heidi who completed her 5th run and thus was ripe for naming. I suggested Heidi Ho but alas the group voted for Revolving Whore. (She has a big house in Alta Vista and rents out rooms on Air BnB which I guess was the basis for the name she received.)Double Digits. Myself and Wonder Woman completed our 44th Hash and were honored by Helping Handjob and Salty Cum who have now completed 11 Hashes…And that’s me completing the deflowering process (from behind) on a no longer virgin Hasher Cherry. She seemed to have a good time and claims she will be back next week. We’ll see.
I mentioned Heidi is a neighbor here in Alta Vista. She’s a “rich” Filipina widow (her English husband died last year). I got a tour of her house a few weeks ago with the Wednesday Walkers and it truly is amazing. It features a beautiful rooftop bar and it is huge. In fact, we are considering using it for a future Hash event. Anyway, after the Hash several Hashers said Heidi had invited us all over for tequila shots. I wanted to confirm that myself, but Heidi was nowhere to be found. So against my better judgement we loaded into trikes and off we went. Upon arrival Heidi seemed surprised to see us and said she was heading out to take her kids to dinner. I hate when that happens!
Anyway, I invited the disappointed group down to my much less impressive place for some beer (hoping I did in fact have some in the fridge). They all agreed that was a good plan and we took off walking (it’s about 10 minutes or so). I did in fact have some beer chilled and served up some tortilla chips and salsa. And so the evening was saved!
Going around the room is Bimbo (in the yellow shirt), Salty Cum, Pubic Face, Helping Handjob, Big Dick Lover and Cherry.
Dinner guests last night. On the menu: steak, baby back ribs, corn-on-the-cob, broccoli and garlic bread. Pro tip: Cook the meal before your start drinking. Well, actually I did the ribs in the crockpot so I started them in the morning. My timing was off is all. Some things were getting done (or overdone) in the wrong sequence. Anyway, being a little tipsy goes a long way to making everything taste better I suppose.
I broke down and bought some meat tenderizer. It did seem to help some. I got distracted and “flame broiled” the steaks which didn’t help much I suppose. Still medium on the inside, just a little *ahem* blackened. I had an attentive assistant. Lucky for me!The end result…
I’m no foodie and honestly I’m not all that adventurous when it comes to local cuisine. I almost exclusively eat Western foods when I dine out and of course that’s all I cook at home. So when I came across this guide to Filipino street food I thought maybe it’s time to broaden my horizons:
You really do need to go to the link and read the descriptions of each item to get the, um, full flavor of this cuisine.
And in news from the world of science, this really explains a lot:
Sad but true.
And now it is time for my weekly Hash adventure.
Last week I had the Hashit. Perhaps today I’ll be able to avoid time on the ice.
I got the Hashit, the Subic Hashit
For being stupid on trail today
I have to keep it until I pass it
Won’t someone take my Hashit away…
UPDATE: Well it turns out I used the “What’s Cookin’?” title back in April, 2013. I was cooking steaks that day too. Seems like a lifetime ago now. I guess in a way it was.
Turns out I was a fool to think I could take on the responsibility of two dogs. Oh well, lesson learned. I think the most humane thing to do is take Lucky way up in the hills and let him go. He’s a smart dog, I’m sure he’ll learn to fend for himself. I guess you weren’t so Lucky after all. Sorry!
I remember many years ago I was attending some labor relations training in Memphis, Tennessee. One evening in the hotel bar a couple of freelance prostitutes approached me and a buddy and offered their services. We declined and jokingly pointed across the room to where the instructor of our course was sitting and told them, “he’ll be interested!”.
The next day at the conclusion of the course the instructor called students up one by one for their certificate of completion. And then he said “Is there anyone I missed?” Me and my friend raised our hands. He looked at us and said “this is the first time I’ve ever had students fail my course” then tore up two certificates in front of the astounded group before dismissing the class. When everyone had departed except for us he came over and said those prostitutes wouldn’t leave him alone, even followed him into the hotel elevator. He then gave us our certificates, smiled and said “if you can’t take a joke, fuck you!”
That’s a true story. Unlike the first paragraph. Which you would have to be a fool to believe. Today of all days!
Life continues apace. Yesterday there were 27,000 paces, in large part because I joined up with the Saturday walking group for a hike. I should have known better because those damn Germans ALWAYS seem to pick the hardest possible ascent to the mountaintop. I don’t mind a reasonable uphill with switchbacks even if they’re steep. But a vertical climb just pisses me off somehow. My fitbit says I had 12 minutes of peak heart rate yesterday and I do recall the pounding in my chest while I muttered curses all the way up. Oh well.
What I saw while catching my breath at the top…Later I did a zoom image of my hometown. The air was not particularly clear but I like this shot because it captures both Baloy Beach (at the top) and Barretto beach. If you look closely you can also see all three floating bars.
After we made the climb the rest of the hike was really a piece of cake. Just walked the dirt road along the ridge line and then an easy descent to the beach.
Where we paused for some lunchtime nourishment.And a beach view. Such as it was. Not exactly a postcard setting, but a realistic portrayal of how things are in real life here.
Today I did an uneventful trek on My Bitch. And walked the dogs. You read that right, both dogs. I honestly didn’t think Lucky would make the entire 30 minutes I do with Buddy, but he surprised me. What a trooper. As we walked by the shack where Lucky used to live, a cute young woman came out and asked to take his picture. She said he used to be her dog. Well. Many thoughts raced through my head as she squatted down to get a photo. The thought I didn’t have until after we had moved on was “hey, anytime you want to come visit Lucky at my place you are welcome!”. Damn it.
Oh well, that’s the latest from my so-called life…
I know it is rather cliche to characterize the teenage years as “rebellious”, but when the shoe fits…(ahem). I’m not exactly sure just what triggered me, but it seemed to coincide with my entry into high school.
The scene of some of my “high” crimes and misdemeanors.
As I mentioned in the previous chapter, I was from a working class family in an affluent upper middle class community. This “sin” was exacerbated in my high school which was notorious for its cliques and assignment of status among the students based on social standing. Where did I fit in? Basically nowhere, as I didn’t really meet the demographics of any group (jocks, muscle car racers, scholars, etc). Well, except maybe the stoners, but more on that later. So I was a loner for the most part, although outside of school I would hang with my neighborhood crew.
Most of the kids had fancy new cars courtesy of mommy and daddy. Me? I drove a 1963 Ford pickup during most of those glory days. I even named my vehicle–Redford. Get it? I did have a smokin’ hot girlfriend though!
Ah, Karen Michelle. My first love. Met her in journalism class as a freshman and we had a passionate relationship until she moved away to San Diego just before senior year. Took Karen’s cherry in the back seat of my mom’s 1969 Plymouth Fury when I took her to watch the submarine races at Huntington Beach. I actually continued to see her periodically after she moved, making the two hour drive down I-5 for the weekend when I could get off work and/or had the gas money.
When I wasn’t down south I had a local girlfriend named Gail Weed. It was the best of both worlds, right up until Karen and Gail wound up in the same place at the same time. In the end I lost them both, only then realizing that I was in love with Gail. Sound familiar? Bless her heart, Gail responded to my profession of undying (and exclusive) love going forward with a hearty “fuck off”. That would be the first in a long line of heartbreaks to come over the course of many lifetimes.
At the prom with Karen held aboard the Queen Mary in Long Beach. Thirty years later I saw Karen again at our high school reunion. Took her back to the Queen Mary for dinner and reminiscing. And then we rekindled the old passion for one night. We are still friends on Facebook which is nice.
My rebellion manifested itself in various ways. For one thing, I completely rejected the Protestant faith in which I had been raised. At some point I just became aware of the utter hypocrisy of the Christian church. And once I started questioning the values of the church I found I couldn’t intellectually accept the basic tenets of Christianity. I still do not believe Mary was a virgin or that Christ rose from the grave three days after being crucified. And so ended my budding career as a steel guitarist in my church’s band. Ah well.
I did run cross country my freshman year. I was actually pretty good for a youngster, running the two mile course in under 12 minutes (I think my best time was 11:40 or so). Whatever promise I held as a distance runner was apparently overshadowed by the fact that my hair touched the top of my ears. Coach Hedges (who may have been a drill sergeant at one time) told me to cut my hair or I wouldn’t be allowed to participate in future meets. So I quit the team. And now 50 years later I’m a Harrier once again. Life’s funny, ain’t it?
Academically, I couldn’t be bothered with bullshit like homework or in some cases, attending class on a regular basis. And my grades tended to reflect that.
Well, what can I say? Mere grades don’t reflect the value of a man, right?
I did have success in my Journalism class. In fact, I rose to become editor-in-chief of our high school paper.
The paper had been called “The Scroll” since forever. My fellow staffers and I thought the name old fashioned and we set about changing it. I suggested “Harvest” (mostly because I was a big Neil Young fan) and the staff agreed. And so it was done. Looking back, it is kind of a stupid name, but what hell, right?
Being a writer with the paper gave me another outlet for feeding my desire to “stick it to the man”. I had my own column on the editorial page called “A Few Words On…” Each issue I’d address some controversial topic of interest to me. One I specifically recall because it almost got our adviser fired when he resisted the school principal’s effort to censor it was called “Our Gestapo”. I basically (and probably unfairly) took the security staff to task for their over bearing nature in enforcing the rules.
And I did political stuff as well. Nixon was always a good foil for a know-it-all teenager like me!
I wasn’t always wrong on the issues though. I had editorialized that a California Proposition on the ballot to decriminalize marijuana should be approved.That created a bit of a shitstorm at the time.
Talk about being ahead of your time! California did make pot legal over 40 years later…
Speaking of marijuana…starting at about fifteen years of age I became a bonafide pothead. I smoked dope whenever and wherever I could. And this being Southern Cal in the 1970’s, it was easier to get stoned than to get drunk. Although I did that on occasion as well. Pot was locally grown and relatively cheap at $10 an ounce. I experimented with other drugs as well, like LSD, but really only liked smoking grass. And truth be told, being high a lot of the time sucked whatever motivation I had to work hard in school right out of me. It’s a wonder I managed to graduate.
But I did. It necessitated me taking night classes at the local community college to earn the required number of credits to qualify for this Diploma.Who me? My senior picture. In a final act of defiance I boycotted the graduation ceremony. And now, welcome to the real world!
My criminality wasn’t strictly limited to my use of illegal substances. I was a notorious flaunter of traffic laws, mostly speeding related. And once I stole a car to replace a friend’s car I had drunkenly driven into a brick wall. But I was only arrested once:
On or about July 4, 1973, at 18900 Gothard Street, Huntington Beach, County of Orange, [John McCrarey] did willfully, unlawfully and maliciously disturb the peace and quiet of Mrs. Hal Westley Shirey by offensive conduct, and the use of vulgar, profane, and indecent language, in a loud and boisterous manner, in violation of Section 415 of the Penal Code of California.
My crime was yelling “fuck you pigs” after being ticketed for a bullshit offense. If you are curious about the details, I told the story here.
As a result of that episode I had the final falling out with my father whereupon I moved out of the house and on my own at 17. Good thing I had my own career already.
Graveyard shift at a convenience store making two bucks an hour!
I worked there for several months until the night I was robbed. Pretty scary shit that was. And being the rebel that I was I had failed to make my regular drops into the safe (the rule was never more than $30 in the cash drawer). I probably had close to $100 at the time of the holdup. I guess that raised suspicions at corporate, because they told me to come to the office for a polygraph. As if I was involved with robbing myself! I was a punk, but I wasn’t no Jussie Smollett. Anyway, I told them they could stick the polygraph up their ass and quit.
I then embarked on a hitchhiking trip with a buddy across the Pacific Northwest. We had planned to enter Canada, but the Canadian border guards apparently didn’t like our looks. The pretext they used was we didn’t have enough money with us to be granted entrance. Bullshit! “How much do I need? I’ll wire home and get it.” He looked at me and said “son, you’ll never have enough money to get into Canada”. If you are interested in the details of that sad story, I wrote about it here. Anyway, I’ve never been back to Canada since that attempt, but I always swore then when I go, I’m going to do it at that border crossing.
Seriously Canada? What’s wrong with a fine upstanding young man like me?
Anyway, I came back home and found a better job working day shift in a factory. I also suffered my first bout of major depression and spent weeks planning to commit suicide. Even bought the drugs I planned to use to end my life. When the appointed day arrived I changed my mind for some reason. Best decision of a lifetime! I would not have wanted to miss all the lifetimes that followed that one.
And as fate would have it, near the end of my 19th year an event occurred that was destined to change everything. Stay tuned for Chapter 3.
He’s a rebel and he’ll never ever be any good He’s a rebel ’cause he never ever does what he should But just because he doesn’t do what everybody else does That’s no reason why I can’t give him all my love
It’s always good to get out and see new places and things. Yesterday the Sausage Walkers took a journey to Castillejos for our weekly hike. It’s about a 30 minute trip by Jeepney, just on the other side of Subic town. We had an unusually large group of 14 persons and 1 dog.
We were lucky enough to catch an empty Jeepney and we all rode out together…Exiting the vehicle after our safe arrival in Castillejos…Let’s head for the hills!Sunny and hot but still a good day for a hike.Getting our rocks off, or on as it were…Crossing the creek and the dog was all “fuck that, I’m swimming across…”I kept my feet dry though…The locals enjoying a cooling swim in the ol’ watering hole…A quick rest stop…Then back on the trail…A view from the top…that’s Easter Mountain off in the distance. I’ve photographed it from the Barretto side when I’m walking “My Bitch”…Lunch time. I usually just do cheese and apple but I broke down and bought a great big cinnamon roll at our morning meetup spot, Angel’s Bakery. Starting today I’m back to low carb diet, my big ol’ belly tells me it’s time…We had intended to make a loop (the red) but lost our trail. After a fruitless search, we turned around and walked back from whence we came…Back to the highway, a Jeepney ride to Barretto, and then our customary post hike beers at Cheap Charlies bar.
It was a good day and a good walk. Almost 27,000 steps all told (some of that was not Sausage Walkers related though, our trail came in at 9K).
I’ve yet to find the famous Mating Tree on my hikes. But I’m always on the lookout!
Whenever I need to leave it all behind Or feel the need to get away I find a quiet place, far from the human race Out in the country
Before the breathin’ air is gone Before the sun is just a bright spot in the night-time Out where the rivers like to run I stand alone and take back somethin’ worth rememberin’
I’ll admit, it’s pretty gross petting Lucky with the rampant mange covering his body. But he does really crave being loved so I make it a point to give him some. He really, really wants to come inside the house and be with his new family, including Buddy. I keep telling him “soon, when you are healthy” but of course he doesn’t understand.So for now they just watch each other through the glass…So close, and yet so far…
It’s pretty sweet how Lucky has made himself at home here. Anyone or anything (neighbors and cats) who come near his enclosure get a good barking at. When I come outside to spend a few minutes with him he gets so damned happy and excited. He’s gonna do just fine, I’m sure of it.
Back to the vet for another shot tomorrow and of course his continuing mange treatment and meds here at home. I’ll be so glad when he gets some relief from the constant itching.
A disappointing Hash yesterday. The trail pretty much sucked ass. I stuck with it longer than a lot of folks did, but I finally bailed early too.
Perhaps you can spot the problem. At the top of the photo you see how we walked the length of Baloy Beach–nothing wrong with that. But where we reached the river the Hare had originally intended to have us cross by banka boat. But the boat operators insisted on us paying an inflated foreigner price (aka “skin tax”) and the Hare declined. Instead we circled back to the National Highway and walked all the way out to Matain to reconnect with the intended trail. I Hash to avoid having to do boring and noisy highway hikes. Once on the mountain portion Salty Cum and I were the only ones on trail, and the trail was confusing and not all that well marked. We blazed our way on down near that light colored spot in the middle of the map. So we didn’t really shortcut all that much I suppose. I did take a small tumble and got a scrape and a blood blister to show for it.The best part for me was near the beginning. In all the time I’ve been visiting and living here, I never attempted to climb on the rocks that separate Baloy Beach from Barretto. Now I have. No hay problema!The last photo I took. After leaving the beach it all pretty much sucked.
Eh, well at least I now have the confidence to know my trail will not be the worst one in memory!
Today has been off the rails. Not sure what’s wrong but I couldn’t even get motivated to walk at all. That almost never happens. I’m just chalking it up to my body saying give me a fucking day off. And so I have.
Lucky made his first ever visit to the veterinarian today. The main cause for concern is treatment for his skin condition. Turns out is it Sarcoptic Mange, a condition caused by microscopic mites. My instinct to keep Lucky and Buddy apart was the right one as this form of mange is highly contagious.
I came away with several medications, soaps and shampoos that will hopefully eliminate the mites and allow his fur to regrow. Poor guy is itching and scratching all the time, can’t imagine how miserable that must be. And man oh man, Lucky went nuts when he got his shots today. They wound up having to muzzle him and that was a battle royal in and of itself. Felt sorry for him, but it’s a necessity. He’s back for some additional shots on Thursday.
Chillaxin’ at home after his traumatic experience at the vet. He’s looking pretty rough (ruff?) I know, but he really does seem happy in his new environment (well, why wouldn’t he?). It will be great once he gets his health back in order.Lucky has a tremendous appetite as well. I guess that’s to be expected when you’ve spent your whole life starving. I’m going to fatten him up for sure.
Anyway, it’s gonna take some work to get him squared away but I think he has a pretty sweet demeanor. Well, unless you are sticking needles in his back. Also, Buddy was watching him eat from the other side of the fence and Lucky gave him a “get the fuck away from my food!” snarl. I think Buddy just laughed (if I’m interpreting tail wags correctly) and his expression was “what are you gonna do about it biatch?”. Ah, dogs will be dogs but I’m still pretty sure they’ll get along just fine when the quarantine is over.
In other news I had a great dinner the other night at Mango’s.
Grilled pork chops, mashed taters with gravy, and cole slaw. It was all excellent. Best cole slaw I’ve had in a long, long time. Although I haven’t sampled Kevin Kim’s yet.
Time for me to run, er well, walk. It’s Hash Monday!
Today I acquired/rescued a puppy. I’ve named him Lucky. I mentioned him in this post back in February.
Everyday I would walk by and see him tied up on a short leash, no food or water or shade. And since taking this photo last month his condition has gotten worse and worse. Skinnier and covered in some mange like stuff that is causing him to lose his fur. Heartbreaking.
Marissa asked one of the security guards to find out if the owner (who apparently does maintenance work here in Alta Vista) if he’d be willing to sell the pup for 500 pesos (around $10). The guard later told us the owner said yes, so we paid the money and brought him home this morning.
First thing we did was give him some food. Poor guy was starving! Then Marissa gave him a much needed bath. I’m pretty sure it is the first one he has ever had.
I had previously purchased an enclosure for the back yard and a dog house, thinking I’d use it for Buddy. But Buddy turned out to be mostly an indoor dog.
But for the time being at least it’s where Lucky is going to hang out. I need to get him to the vet on Monday for shots, de-worming, and treatment for that skin condition. Don’t want him infecting Buddy with that shit. Still, compared to a two foot long leash, Lucky is living in luxury. He seems to enjoy his new house! You can see that mange or whatever it is on his head. I hope he is not suffering too much, but I will get it treated as soon as possible.
Buddy is very curious about the new addition to our family, but I’m keeping him away for now. I think they will get along fine though. I can sense that Buddy longs for a canine playmate so this ought to be a good thing for all concerned.
Making a difference, one dog at a time!
Speaking of lucky, I enjoyed looking at photos from the team building trip I took with my staff one year ago. Including this one:
Let’s hope this posed photo is not replicated on one of my daily crossings of the National Highway here in Barretto. Well, I’m getting pretty good at Frogger….
Wow. Two posts in one day! I’m out of control. I better go drink some beer. It’s Saturday night!
You better watch what you say You better watch what you do to me Don’t get carried away Girl, if you can do better than me, go Yeah go, but remember Good love is hard to find Good love is hard to find You got lucky, babe You got lucky, babe, when I found you
You put a hand on my cheek And then you turned your eyes away If you don’t feel complete If I don’t take you all o’ the way, then go Yeah go, but remember Good love is hard to find Good love is hard to find You got lucky, babe You got lucky, babe, when I found you
A commenter on my previous post said something about my walk pace doesn’t add up. I’ve long held the idea that I take 7,000 steps an hour (on flat ground). This is based on the readings from three generations of Fitbit smart watches I’ve worn for the past several years.
I recently downloaded an app to my phone that primarily measures distance traveled. It indicates that I walk right around 5K per hour. My commenter thought I must walk faster than that, as he gets 5K with only 6,000 steps an hour. Hmm. I chalked it up to variances in the way the app and my Fitbit do their calculations. So today I thought I’d try a calibration exercise.
I started with my morning dog walk by syncing the devices (I had to deduct the steps the Fitbit had already recorded as I moved about the house). Anyway, when I returned from Buddy’s exercise my Fitbit said 2.4K in 28 minutes (Buddy poops and pees a lot) and 3100 steps. The fitness app on the phone said 2.1K in 30 minutes (it doesn’t measure steps). So, they aren’t exactly in sync, but not that far off either.
Later this morning I took a 8+ kilometer walk, again on flat ground. My phone app said (yes, it has a woman’s voice updating at each KM) I was averaging a KM every 11.48 minutes. Just slightly better than 5K per hour.
On the day, my Fitbit shows 14K walked in 160 minutes for a total of 18,500 steps. If I’m doing the math right (well, using my calculator phone app) I get this: 115 steps per minute and 6938 steps per hour. It takes me 1320 steps and 11.42 minutes to walk a KM.
So actually both the Fitbit and fitness app are giving me similar measurements. I’m not sure what all this means except I’ve obviously got too much time on my hands!
Sitting on this barstool talking like a damn fool Got the twelve o’clock news blues And I’ve given up hope for the afternoon soaps And a bottle of cold brew Is it any wonder I’m not crazy? Is it any wonder I’m sane at all Well I’m so tired of losing- I got nothing to do and all day to do it I go out cruisin’ but I’ve no place to go and all night to get there Is it any wonder I’m not a criminal? Is it any wonder I’m not in jail? Is it any wonder I’ve got
Too much time on my hands? It’s ticking away with my sanity I’ve got too much time on my hands It’s hard to believe such a calamity I’ve got too much time on my hands And it’s ticking away, ticking away from me
UPDATE: Well, I was also “doing the math” last May as I counted down the days until making the big move to the Philippines. Time flies!
“The smallest minority on earth is the individual. Those who deny individual rights cannot claim to be defenders of minorities.”–Ayn Rand
I thought of this quotation when I read The Big Hominid’s post about the collective loss of a sense of humor amongst many of the fellow travelers on the left. It’s sad really but I remain firmly in the mode of “if you can’t take a joke, fuck you!”
Get over yourselves, bitches!
Now, here’s a funny story for you. Yesterday I’m out walking My Bitch to get an accurate distance check for when I set trail as a Hare. I’m about halfway through my hike cresting a hill and I encounter a couple of hikers on the intersecting path. An odd couple indeed. I mean, I rarely see anyone on trail, and when I do it’s usually a Filipino wielding a machete. I always try to reassure myself it is for whacking bamboo and not my head and thus far I’ve been right about that.
Anyway, this was an older white couple wearing flip-flops. They asked me if this was the way to Baloy Beach. I bit my tongue to avoid saying “you can’t get there from here” although technically that’s correct. Instead I told them I was taking the trail back to Alta Vista subdivision and Baloy is an easy walk from there. So they followed along. The guy was familiar in an “I’ve seen him around in a bar town somewhere” kind of way, although I’d never spoken with him. We talked as we walked and he told me he was a Czechoslovakian, a country that no longer exists. Now he lives half the year in Canada and the other half here. I had assumed the white western woman with him was his spouse but she told me they had met here in the PI last year. I’m not sure who comes to the Philippines to meet an old ugly western woman, but hey, whatever rocks your boat.
I asked them what they were doing on the mountain and was told they had been visiting friends on Rizal Extension and they were told this was a “short cut” back to Baloy. Hmm, well technically it is shorter in distance than walking the road, but that assumes you know where you are going. The couple had been advised to “stay to the left” as they walked to find their way. Same instruction I had been given and it took me like five tries before I could ever successfully find my way. I’m thinking to myself, some friends you got there.
I assured them they were in good hands and I would see them safely to Alta Vista as I had walked this path many times. And then I managed to get us lost. Not sure how that happened, but the trail does tend to take on a different look what with leaves and stuff falling on it. Or maybe I wasn’t paying attention. I felt like an idiot though. Now, I wasn’t “lost lost”, just not on the right trail. And the trail we were on was new to me. And where it came down the mountain (on the opposite side of Alta Vista) it was very steep and treacherous looking (big drop off on one side). My company didn’t have on appropriate hiking footwear either. Plus the woman was complaining about her knee hurting. Damn it, but retreat seemed the best option.
I told them to rest in the shade while I backtracked to look for the right trail. I did find it about half a click away, and went back to fetch the old folks. The gal was moving real slow at this point and taking frequent breaks. I gave her my walking stick to use which seemed to help. About 30 minutes later we arrived at Alta Vista. And in a small miracle, an empty trike was passing by, so they loaded in and headed off to home. What a relief to be rid of them!
So, I downloaded a new measurement app on my phone and it shows my trail at just around 6K. That’s good enough for the walkers. This morning I went out and walked an extended version for the runners that adds an additional 3K. If they don’t like it, too fucking bad.
I also learned that on flat ground I walk right at 5K an hour (59 minutes to be exact). In the hills yesterday I slowed to around 16 minutes per kilometer. So my trail should be just under two hours. That ought to work.
What else? Well, I’m still enjoying views like this from my upstairs patio:
The retirement vista I dreamed about.Much better than my outlook on life when I was living in Anjeong-ri one year ago!
So now it is time for me to head out for the Friday dart league. I may not have everything I want but I have everything I need. Life is good enough for me.
I will hazard a prediction. When you are 80 years old, and in a quiet moment of reflection narrating for only yourself the most personal version of your life story, the telling that will be most compact and meaningful will be the series of choices you have made. In the end, we are our choices. Build yourself a great story. –Jeff Bezos
UPDATE: Well, shit. I just used “Lost and found” as a title back in January. Oh well. At least it was about my journey of discovery on My Bitch.
But anyone can write a poem, even me! Especially a bad one. Well, it’s been a long, long time since I put verses on paper but back in the day I was a poem writing fool. I had cause to be reminded of this fact when I opened “the box of memories” I brought back with me from the last visit to the USA.
An old wine box. But after reading some of the crap inside, it might be more apt to call it a whine box.Photographs, cards and letters, and lots of original words on paper–a journal, some short stories, and some bad poetry. All authored by yours truly back in the early 1970’s. Yep, the contents were still dripping with teenage angst even after all these years.
I was somewhat taken aback at how similar some of those emotions I was expressing back then are to ones I still sometimes experience. And the opposite is true as well, I found my self shaking my head at the sad and petulant young man who fancied himself a writer. Geez, and here I am overcoming that shame by sharing some of those words here with you now. Ha! Finally published after all these years!
Okay, I’m not going to edit or rewrite this crap, but some of it will be excerpted so you’ll get the flavor without having to suffer overmuch. Let’s start with a twofer–a sheet of notebook paper dated December 14, 1972 with these two poems:
The Only Way
Perhaps the best way Is your way Maybe the best belief Is not to believe Maybe the only answer Is no answer And maybe the only time Is this time... And yet, Why can't our love Be the only love?
Alone
Alone in my fantasies Alone with my dreams But when I wake with the dawning One sullen fact remains That I am alone in my love for you--- The sun doesn't shine, it rains.
Well, I warned you. Let’s try this:
I wrote this for my creative writing class in my junior year if I recall correctly. My teacher was a bit of a prick (he called a sonnet I had worked hard on and was proud of “extremely corny”), so this was high praise coming from him. Yeah, I was a full-on anti-war protester back in those days and wrote several Vietnam themed poems. I am not proud of the sentiment expressed in this one. I think it may have been prompted by the My Lai massacre, but it was wrong then and so was I.
Here’s an excerpt from a poem called New Year’s Eve which I assume I wrote on New Year’s Eve. Not sure which New Year’s Eve, but given my history of ill-fated love, it could be just about ANY New Year’s Eve.
You never even took the time To see what you were using And you were shocked when you found out It was you who did the losing
And you really can't help looking back Was it all just another game? You pretend it doesn't matter But you've never felt quite the same
And when it's finally all over Will you look at your life and be sad? Will you remember the people and places And the love you could have had?
I had a typewriter and a hippie mentality back in those days. Geez, this one makes me cringe. And I’m pretty sure the punctuation is all wrong. I’d usually get A’s and B’s on content and D’s on composition. I have no idea why I took to calling myself John Mark McCrarey II. I’m the first and only. I guess I thought it looked cool. Geez.
Alright, I’ve tortured you just about enough I suppose. But before you go, let me share a short essay that just so happens to be the oldest thing in the box, written in my sophomore English class on October 22, 1970. It’s called: Love? Hah!
People are really fools but nobody ever seems to notice this, not even me, until recently. A couple of days ago a friend of mine came up to me and said, “John, I’m in love with Joyce.” I held back from laughing out of friendship, but inside I was thinking “you’re just as dumb as the rest of them.”
Not many people realize there’s no love in the world anymore. Why? Well, for one thing, nobody seems to have time for love in a modern society. Yeah, a lot of people say they’re in love, but they are only fooling themselves. Love is only in the mind. People like to think they are in in love, I guess it makes them happy. I’m not knocking love, how can I? There’s no such thing!
I was only in love once and that’s how I found out about the whole phony thing. It doesn’t make any difference though; people will still foolishly go on searching for something they will never find, something that doesn’t exist, something they call love. Hah!
Hard to believe I was so cynical about love at the tender age of fifteen. Hmm, the more things change, the more they remain the same.
