Ghosts of Summer

It’s this time of year - when summer surrenders its all-encompassing warmth and lingering sunsets that paint the sky with vivid hues - to autumn, with its inevitable decay of all that’s alive and green and vibrant.  But for me, it is more than a date on a calendar, or the return of children to school.  It is bidding good-bye to a friend who I know I will not see again for a long time.

And like a good friend, it becomes harder and harder each time to part ways.

If we liken the seasons to the stages of our lives, then summer would represent when we are typically at our strongest, our most robust.  We teem with energy and optimism and hope.

As my birthday is in the summer, and many of our milestones coincide with the anniversary of our birth it follows that many of my fonder memories lie in those months: getting my driver’s license, buying alcohol (legally) for the first time, officially becoming an “adult”.  By fate or happenstance, it was also during summer that I experienced many other things for the first time, most of which are best left to the reader’s imagination.

It will forever evoke memories, of late, late evenings which last until the morning dew arrives, to warm, embracing breezes and ocean waves which swell and crash onto sandy beaches.  Of wispy clothing, lightweight and easily donned and shed.  Of early Seventies hard rock music emanating from an 8-track tape player, and skinny-dipping, and lying on blankets in an open field with a cacophony of crickets in the distance.  There was a feeling of security, as if summer would wrap you in an ethereal blanket of warmth.

And now it’s gone.

For me, summer giving way to autumn is like the barkeep that comes over and somberly tells you it’s “last call” and you don’t have to go home but you can’t stay there.  But there’s nowhere else you want to go. 

 
Except back to summer.

America the Distracted

Okay, so I was thinking, there’s this… wait, that’s my phone.  Okay, my team’s up two nothing in the first, good.  But anyway, I was- the door.  Who’s at the door?  Oh no, it’s the Lawn Rangers again.  How many times do you have to shout obscenities in Mandarin out the window before they get the message?  I’ll just duck in here until they’re… Dang, my phone again.  Oh, it’s just a video of a Panda playing a banjo.

Where was I?

Here’s the thing: Is it just me, or have we lost like 75% of our attention span?  I mean, you can’t even have a conversation without the other person donning that faraway gaze two minutes in.  My last attempt went something like this:

Me:  Hey, what’s up?

Them:  Nuthin.

Me:  Nothing huh?

Them:  Yep.

Me:  Really? Nothing at all?

Them:  Have you seen that video of that Panda playing a banjo?

I can’t remember the last time I saw anyone focus on anything for more than a few minutes, unless it was binge-watching the latest flavor-of-the-week Netflix release, or immersed in some video game.  Engage in conversation? Pooh-pooh the thought.  Having a barbeque?  Better collect the phones at the door.  Trying to organize a neighborhood clean-up day at the local park?  Good luck with that.  Unless there’s Wi-Fi.

No, we have – through conditioning, apathy, or some combination of the two – pretty much lost our ability to think about one thing for more than fifteen minutes, twenty tops.  Yet we are captivated by the most trivial, inane, and immaterial of shiny objects; it’s like junk food for the brain. 

A series of tornados tears through the Midwest sucking a few hundred people – and a handful of tractors - up into the vortex, but that’s soon forgotten when some reality show chucklehead tearfully reveals she was forced to eat lima beans as a child.  Life-changing events are occurring all around us, often right on our doorstep, but social media is abuzz over a couple of celebrity’s Twitter feud.

Some have suggested that we’re being manipulated into focusing on some things, to distract us from others.  And, they’re probably right - to some degree.  But, we can only ascribe so much blame to others when we are ultimately responsible for the choices we make in where to invest our time, energy, and emotions.

So, that’s it.  In closing, I’d just like to say- WHOA! A METAPOD JUST SPAWNED LIKE 600 YARDS FROM HERE!  Gotta run!

 

Stay focused out there.

How to be That Guy (or Gal)

If you know at least as many people as there are flavors of TCBY yogurt, there’s a good chance you know “that guy” (or gal).  You likely grimace audibly upon their arrival, and sigh in relief as they leave.  But, maybe – just maybe - you’ve wondered what it would be like to take a walk on the wild side and become one of them.  If so, I have some tips which may come in handy:

Don’t ever put your phone down

Whether at the drive-thru at Whammy Burger, or about to give the Best Man speech at your college buddy’s wedding, you make sure that phone is slapped upside your big, goofy head - or your nose is buried in it.  People giving you that irritated look?  Too bad.  Exaggerated throat-clearing from every direction?  Ignore it.  Don’t you put that phone down for anything short of a good tasering.

Get louder with every drink

Out for a few brews with the guys?  Well you grab that volume control and yank it clockwise with every round, until by evening’s end you’re louder than an Orca whale with a toothache slamming head-first into a jetty during mating season.

Know everything about everything

No matter the topic, you’ve been there, done that, and bought the proverbial t-shirt.  Friend having potty-training issues with her youngest?  You look her right in the eye and let her know in no uncertain terms, she’s doing it all wrong.  Co-worker planning a camping trip?  Well you make indubitably sure everyone knows you wrote the book on camping.  From the best insect repellent to the correct way to pitch a tent on a slope, you are The King of Camping.

Be habitually late

Look, no one actually expects you to be on time anyway.  So you show up at 10:47 when you were supposed to be there at 9?  Nothing says “my time is valuable, yours not so much” like being a few minutes late.  Or an hour.  Or two.

Tell the same anecdotes repeatedly

If you’re not absolutely positive everyone within earshot has heard about you rolling your Volkswagen Golf during Spring Break, you relate the experience in excruciating detail, with particular emphasis on the sensation of being inverted, and how you required 16 stitches on your left forearm.  And how you still have the rear-view mirror in a drawer somewhere.  Or maybe it’s in a closet.

Write pompous “how to” articles

Insert slow clap emoticon here.