RANDOM THOUGHTS
It All Makes Sense Now
(or so I like to think)
The author playing in a band before Disco brought his adventure to a halt.A significant aspect of my long-term plan is that I am going to die. This is not regrettable in any way, but reminds me to jot down my observations in case they could be of use to someone.
I was born at a young age in North Bay, Ontario, on September 20, 1952. It was unseasonably warm that day, with a high of 27.8° Celsius (reported as 82° in those days). My parents had been in a childless marriage for four years at that time and raised me as an only child ... much to the chagrin of the three siblings who were to appear later.
The Family of Origin
My mom was from Yonkers, New York. She had worked as a telephone operator before becoming a housewife, but always dreamed of being the singer in a Glenn Miller-style orchestra. My dad was an electrical inspector at the provincial utilities commission and served as Most Worshipful Brother. He was a lover of words and might have been a great teacher, but neither of them went past high school or ever advanced quite into the middle class.My brother wants you to know he is queer and survived decades of trauma. My younger sister supported the tobacco industry for decades without ever once inhaling or being addicted. My youngest sister is a horse whisperer and a superb parent. This is the family from which I emerged in the 1970s to play in a band.
The author’s band “Parnell” in Sarnia, Ontario in 1975.From Chords to Classrooms
Although I did not play well or look good on stage, figuring out the chords and harmonies made me useful. I met a few girls on the road (mostly librarians) and made enough money to support my music habit. However, the arrival of Disco in the 1980s made it viable for club owners to simply hire DJs. Only the best musicians survived, and I was not one of them.Luckily, I knew enough about electronics to help a local television manufacturer move into computer products. That project lasted three years, after which I finally went to college for a degree in philosophy and a "case method" MBA. Unsure what to do next, and unwilling to risk clients by becoming their ADHD-addled lawyer, I did odd jobs until discovering teaching at a DeVry school in 1994.
Here was showmanship ... standing at the front of the room with a well-prepared presentation and every eye on me ... but where knowing stuff was a plus! This was so satisfying that I returned to school for a proper doctorate at York University. That gained me entrance into the lucrative world of America, just in time for the September 11 attacks to make America reactionary again.
My research wasn’t good enough to earn tenure, but I got great teaching positions in downtown Brooklyn, at Penn State, and the University of Minnesota (from which I retired in 2016). Now I live in Duluth, at the Western tip of the Great Lakes.
Sunrise during the Equinox at Duluth, Minnesota.Observations from the Field
So, what have I learned in all this?Rich people - whom I was raised to think are just selfish bastards - turn out to be smart, very hard-working, and concerned to be kind neighbors and friends.
The popular kids are not necessarily airheads.
Hoping for a big lottery win is not what “waiting for your ship to come in” means.
Much of what we believed in my family just anesthetized us from our lack of ambition and, hence, success ... often involving some form of sex. Turns out, there is more to life.
Sunsets, unlike orgies, leave us satisfied instead of aching for more.
The time we spend figuring out shortcuts to avoid our responsibilities might better be spent trimming the lawn or helping a neighbor. Savings really do compound fantastically, even if the dollars do not quite look after themselves.
Final Proclamations
Our performative lawn signs help no one except local union printing shops.Our opinions are albatrosses, primarily used to manipulate us.
Most people mean well and are just as confused and afraid as we are.
Don’t put off until tomorrow what you can put off altogether; if it’s not important, don’t get involved at all.
You must break a few eggs to make an omelette, and you cannot unscramble them; don’t even try.
When the cat’s away ... let the mice cook. We all need to blow off a little steam sometimes. Just let it go.
Two heads are indeed better than one and too many cooks spoil the broth.
What we learn from history is that we don’t learn from history.
There but for the grace of God ... and all that.
And yes, the grass always looks greener on the other side of the fence.
I’m just here to document the view from my side of the fence before the sun goes down.