Lost Ambition -- The Auctioneer's HEP Guy

It's been forever since I've been to an auction. I just feel like I don't need more stuff and somehow I've had the discipline to stick to it. But a decent auction sale can be fun, if you got all the time in the world and don't mind waiting till they come to what you want.

The best fun I've had at auctions was when I was a kid. We used to go to sales on people's farms, and back then kids had the run of the place. We'd be climbing in the barns, swinging from the rafters, getting stuck down in the cracks and crevices of the hay in the mow, etc. If only the adults back then knew! But, as an aside, back then no one cared about liability issues all that much; this was before lawyers could advertise on TV.

We had some favorite auctioneers back then from here in town. I think the son is still alive, at least last time I heard. Although he'd be probably 75 or 80 now, the son and his old dad, once the auctioneer of the family till the son took that spot. You probably know where that put the dad; he became the HEP guy; I frankly don't know if the son was the HEP guy when he was a kid, but probably. We loved these guys.

I even have some auctioneer semi-shirttail relation, and one guy I've known around 50 years whom we used to go to church with. I still see him once in a while. He had cancer in 2001, the same time as my dad. They even sat in easy chairs next to each other getting chemo. But whereas it killed Dad -- they were about the same age -- this other guy is still going strong. And doing his auctions. I went to one of his auctions where it was the place next door to his home! They sold beefburgers right out of their own garage, which doesn't happen often.

His HEP guy -- I think he was a guy I also knew, but can't remember. I do know that there's my semi-shirttail relation who's an auctioneer, and it really could've been him, the HEP guy for him that day. I think they get together, being old church relation also, and help each other out as much as they can. Different, no doubt, from the HEP guys in the big city, although I'm sure they get that HEP guy jive going no matter who they are and who the auctioneer is.

I suppose I ought to clear up the terminology. I don't know if they call them HEP guys where you are. The HEP guy is the head second banana to the main auctioneer, who's in charge of scanning the crowd for bidders. When he sees one, when he sees action, he yells "HEP!", being a slurred way of saying "YES!" or "YEP!" You can also hear them say "HUP!," "YUP!," and other variations, depending on how carried away they get.

What I prefer seeing, and there's no guarantee you're going to see it, is an auctioneer who's shorter and maybe squat, and a HEP guy who's taller, maybe a beanpole. His skinniness and being crazy gangly makes for some comedic stretching, pointing, peering over folks, and looking down on the auctioneer. Who, being the boss, looks up and gives the HEP guy faux dirty looks and just generally questions his abilities as a man. Wow, this is taking me back, the delights of seeing these guys chiding one another.

I remember this one HEP guy. He had a real lazy character, like he almost couldn't be bothered to sell the item. "This is a TV, we think it works. It worked last time they watched it," leading to the auctioneer rolling his eyes and looking disgusted. "It worked last time they watched it," he repeats, like Ollie Hardy, before getting the first dollar bid, at which point the skinny HEP guy really comes to life and starts working the crowd.

Auctioneers always look for a bid about $10 more than the first bid's likely to be. The HEP guy stands there moving his fingers back and forth, soliciting. But they often have to work it down to a dollar, which isn't always that exciting. This one auctioneer was trying to get a decent opening bid on a desk, but just couldn't, leading him to complain, plaintively, "What's wrong with my little desk?" I about cried. The HEP guy looked hangdog too and moved his hands, and I believe they eventually sold that little desk for $25, a decent price. "HEP! HEP! HEP!"

What I'd really like to see, and frankly never have seen, is a HEP guy with an inferiority complex. Like "Always a bridesmaid, never a bride," that kind of "Whoa is me" defeatist attitude. Maybe he comes to the sale a little tipsy, always wishing he might-ever could've moved his lips like the auctioneer, but nothing's ever good enough. Always the second banana. Then he acts out and finally chews out the auctioneer for having the plum job while "Here I stand, forever the HEP guy, always the HEP guy..." Always with the ambition, but always losing out to this, that, and the other auctioneers.

I've been to lots of auctions, but I've never seen one spoiled like that by drama. Incredible discipline.

The King Of Group Dynamics

I'm taking personal inventory, thinking of my many good qualities. I'm not what you'd call famous, by any stretch. I tend to be able to walk the streets or go to restaurants without people coming up to me for favors. That's good.

But still, the more people who know and respect you, the better. Even though I'm not famous, I am basically known for two things: 1) Writing this blog; and, 2) Being the King of Group Dynamics. Now, lest you think I'm kidding around, I'm not. The fact is, you're at my blog, and I'm the guy who writes it. And the additional fact is, as far as I know, no one else has claimed the mantle of King of Group Dynamics, so I'm it.

Really, if anyone has a more legitimate claim to the title of King of Group Dynamics, I'd love to meet him. But I'm confident there isn't anyone.

Someone might say, what legitimacy do I have to the title? It's a fair enough question, and of course I wouldn't have asked it if I didn't have a good answer. If you look through my posts, I've been writing about Group Dynamics on and off for the last few years. And not only that, but I've been cited in a couple of textbooks (albeit undergraduate) for my "3 Rs of Group Dynamics."

I can't remember precisely how I came up with the 3 Rs. They just came to me, I guess. I knew them, I'm going to say instinctively just based on my dealings with people. So in that sense I was using the 3Rs before I even knew they technically could exist as an expressed concept. But one day -- several years ago -- I needed to do something, some kind of meeting with youth, and I thought, I need to really know what I'm doing or these little bastards will eat me alive!

So I sketched them out, what would become the famous (in certain textbooks) "3 Rs of Group Dynamics." Just as an aside, I really like the expression, because it makes it so definite and authoritative. It doesn't say, "Among the many other Rs of Group Dynamics, I've extracted just three" or "I have my 3 Rs and some other guy has his 3 Rs, and one set of 3 Rs is just as good as any other." It says, "These are the 3Rs of Group Dynamics, and if anyone thinks otherwise, he's an idiot." I almost said asshole but I went with idiot just to be nice.

In case you forgot what the 3 Rs are, you could look it up in my archives, or you could check at your local university bookstore for one of the textbooks, or I could just tell you again. They are: 1) aRrange, 2) Reconnoiter, 3) Ruminate. I've always been a little sensitive about number one, since it obviously doesn't begin with an R. But it's just like aRithmetic in the original 3 Rs. The big difference is that sometimes you see it written 'Rithmetic, but it'd be tough to call my R 'Range. With 'Rithmetic, it's unambiguous that it refers to arithmetic, but 'Range might mean something like "ranging around the room," and that'd be only half accurate.

Getting back to the example of the youth event. I needed to aRrange the room, the environment, so the little bastards wouldn't run roughshod over me. The only Group Dynamics we would've had would've been disastrous. Reconnoitering means paying close attention to what is happening, because you're structuring and guiding the Group Dynamics at play in the moment. You want your purposes to be fulfilled. And you Ruminate both during the moment, which is always in an interplay with Reconnoitering, and later, bringing forth our understandings after the fact. It's amazing, I know, how Ruminating now guides aRranging later! I love the symmetry there!

Confidential to textbook publishers: I know by law you don't have to pay me when you quote the 3 Rs. But don't you think you have at least a moral obligation to throw me a few bucks? Especially with what you charge for the books?

Sri Masturbananda -- The Wood Manhood Affair

The spiritual realm continues to reverberate with the news of Brother Unsettled's transformation into a dead tree and his sudden decay.

No one can quite believe it, except of course our all-wise master, Sri Masturbanda. He clearly saw Unsettled's karma and many struggles and had to know something like this would happen. There's no way I personally could've foreseen it, that's for sure, since I've never heard of such a thing before. So I'm thinking, Live and learn.

The problem was Unsettled's disturbing response to Masturbananda's teachings, leading to Master giving him the name Unsettled. Maybe at some level he didn't think himself worthy. I hope it's something like that. That would explain his austerities, and how he couldn't quite get into the work as it was taught.

As I've explained a time or two, Master's teachings are meant to lead us into the experience of oneness with the Cosmic Father and Mother. But since we're so ego-bound we have a hard time making the higher connection. For the most part, it's only in devoting ourselves to the practice of Masturbananda's teachings -- driving ourselves to climactic ecstasy -- that we generally have those highest glimpses of the Divine. Yes, it's seconds at a time, but how precious those are! (We understand there is a correlate experience for women, but precisely how it works remains a mystery.)

Whatever Unsettled's basic problem was, he couldn't quite accept and practice the devotions. He would sit morose and take in the teaching, but then when all were dismissed for personal practice, he'd be out walking by the river or in the forest. I was eating a Twinkie over by the fence one day, hoping the extra calories would give me that much more oomph where it counts, and saw him walking by all hangdog and occasionally slapping himself silly, unfortunately on the face.

Of course you'll remember I have a secondary expertise in group dynamics, so I was very aware of the tension between Masturbananda and Unsettled, more from the latter's side since Master has pretty much risen above the selfish will. Master is merciful, but there's an aspect of mercy that allows the errant one to go his way. I could see the various dynamics at play and it broke my heart. I came that close to sneaking into Unsettled's room and hanging some pinups on his wall. The very least I could do was keep an eye on him.

Unsettled was drifting away, and we were at our wit's end on what to do. But "Each man to his work" was what the other chelas (disciples) always said, so we would quickly retire to our quarters. Master would smile on our eagerness to get to the work, knowing our momentary fellowship with the Divine was at hand, and quite literally so.

But where was Brother Unsettled at these blessed times? Off in the forest. Now, what I'm going to say to you is shocking and utterly personal. I don't want any of this information getting to Unsettled's family. In keeping an eye on him, I trailed him a few times. Lest anyone think I was being unfaithful to the work, let me say I wasn't; I cut off the bottom of a pants pocket, so I was able to do two things at once.

What I saw on those occasions was something I never expected, not in a million incarnations. Brother Unsettled was abusing his manhood, but not in the prescribed manner. He was rubbing it against the chain link fence, splintery boards, and trees. He even stole a cheese grater from the ashram kitchen! Even from a distance I could see it was a gnarly mess. But there wasn't any blood, meaning this had been his habit for some time. It appeared to be toughened, scabbed or calloused over. A few glimpses of such a horrendous sight, and I'll admit it, I felt myself shrivel up to nothing. So that's what he was doing!

Friends, we're dealing with cosmic, spiritual, transcendental realities. And those in the know, know. I was startled to look across the way and see Sri Masturbananda also observing this terror. He intercepted me on the way back and told me it was too late for Unsettled. He was too far gone, and even then was being negatively transformed. Because of all the whacking against and rubbing against tree bark, day after day, he completely turned to wood, which of course is halfway to petrification, had he been able to take that next step.

Pictured above is Brother Unsettled's preserved wooden manhood, somewhat shrunken from its original size, being now about three inches. In this display, as an honor to his memory, we have surrounded it with other pieces of wood, commemorating his days alone in the forest.

The story obviously has a sad ending, but there is one bright spot. Found near Unsettled's broken wooden remains was a piece of wood that had apparently caught his eye, and very likely gave him what little pleasure in life he was able to enjoy. It is the hope of the brothers of the ashram that he experienced the Divine in whatever seconds of release he was able to experience with this yoni-shaped piece of wood.

Body Language With The Pink Professor

Sometimes you just know it's right.

Every once in a while, if you're lucky -- maybe just once in your life -- you find you're completely in sync, sympatico, with another person. She or he gives you a look and you know what it means. Then you return the same look, or maybe you mix it up with an entirely different look, and the meaning again is clear.

I guess I really stumbled on to something back in September when I visited the Roadhouse bikers bar on a daring lark. Because I met someone that night who turned out to be very special to me. I really didn't go there to get lucky. Why would I? I refuse to touch anything if I don't know where it's been. But over the last few months, you know, with a little eye contact here, a pat on the shoulder there, a tender moment or two, a few huge belly laughs, a knowing glance across the room, a deepening trust, some parallels in our interests with enough divergences to keep it interesting, and even a bumping of heads a couple times, things have developed nicely.

In the meantime, I've learned the Pink Professor's given name, which I need to keep confidential for the time being. For all the things he's not paranoid about, of course there has to be something he is, and the internet is one of them. When I first met him, in fact, I needed to talk about him only in hypothetical terms because I didn't have the clearance to even declare him as an actual person. And I honored that. But things have advanced on for us ... now he knows my name and I know his!

He asked me if I wanted to come over to his place, which I knew would probably be desirable on multiple levels. We might have a couple drinks, sit on the couch, spend some time looking at books, watch Rachel Maddow, whom we both love, enjoy some crackers and cheese, listen to music, and talk. So I've been over a time or two, and he's super cool. We're getting closer all the time, which is a real joy to me. That was part of the whole thing about me renouncing violence the other day, something he encouraged.

Last night I was over at his place. And I tried something a little different when I got there. I immediately put my finger to my lips when he opened the door, and he got the message. That's how sympatico we are. Of course what I was trying to say was, 'Let's not say anything, OK? Let's just enjoy some peace and quiet.' He put his hands up, as if to say, 'I'm amenable to anything you suggest. It's cool with me.' I put my hand to my chest, indicating myself, and motioned toward the couch, which he understood. He directed me over and he took the easy chair on the other side of the coffee table.

The Pink Professor lifted his right hand and dropped it in an inquiring way, as if to ask, 'So what's going on?' I put both my hands up in the gesture that says, 'Quite a bit. I'm overwhelmed, you know, the holidays..." He smiled and made a sweeping gesture upwards, as if to say, "Santa Claus will be here before you know it and it'll all be over!" I wiped my forehead, as if to say, "I hope you're right!"

We sat and visited like that for a while. Then I picked up a pillow and hugged it tight to myself and closed my eyes. He must've read my mind, because when I opened my eyes, he was standing there and pointed to the couch. I touched the seat and he sat next to me. He patted my leg, then went to get the drinks and crackers and cheese and returned. I fed him a cracker ... and he reciprocated. Plus, we clinked glasses.

The Pink Professor and I had a nice quiet evening in. I leaned back on the couch, reached over and got the pillow, as if to say, 'We're in for the evening. I'm one old slipper and you're the other.' I opened one eye and looked at him, and opened my mouth, as if to say, 'Eh?' He laughed and nodded, as if to say, 'We're definitely two old slippers!'

To make a long story short, we didn't go to the Roadhouse, leaving them -- I don't know -- probably at their wits' end.

Deeply Ingrained Patterns Of Industrial Behavior

Everyone here knows I'm fascinated with certain scholarly pursuits, among them the lifestyle sciences, human environmental science, and group dynamics. I was charting out some of this over a year ago as a lifestyle coach. That's a great thing to call yourself. It sounds great, and it's a completely unregulated field.

You might remember my post a little over a year ago sketching out the "Three Rs of Intentional Group Dynamics": 1) aRrange, 2) Reconnoiter, and, 3) Ruminate. Since then, I've had the interesting experience of seeing both my name and the "Three Rs" in a couple of textbooks (alas, for undergrads). It's interesting, but they don't pay you when you're quoted in textbooks. So that's what I learned from textbooks in the last year!

The "Three Rs," as stated above, are meant for the intentional study or guiding of group dynamics. Obviously, "aRrange" is all about intentionality, the careful arranging in advance of spatial conditions depending on your purpose. You want chairs in the right place, knives put away, etc. But reconnoitering and ruminating are more general steps valuable for any group dynamics experience, being more easily done on the fly than aRranging. But you can aRrange somewhat on the fly, depending, again, on your purpose, and the exigencies of the situation.

I don't want to give away too many trade secrets, but I'm actually pretty good at aRranging on the fly. Let's say you walk into a room of people. The group dynamic's already in motion. But anything you do, like a pebble in a pond, is going to have a ripple effect. You can still do very subtle things to aRrange. Everyone's chair might be angled to the left, angle yours to the right. Everyone might be very quiet, you yawn loudly. There's a thousand ways to stir the pot and subtly aRrange things. The element of surprise is your friend, with the goal of having a lovely time of reconnoitering, then later ruminating.

I love getting together with my fellow residential industrialists in small groups or individually. Doing so over the last few months has been a real experience, showing me some of the deeply ingrained patterns of human behavior in an industrial setting. I thought it'd be fun to mention just a few of the common types and how they relate. You can see if these match up with your experience.

THE EXECUTIVE FOREMAN -- The executive foreman is the guy who never works on the lines or in the plant. He's the foreman of foremen. He doesn't have much to say in the hall, but you can tell he loves the attention of everyone looking at him as he passes. But he's so used to it, it barely registers on his features. The peons aren't exactly afraid of him. They're more afraid of their own foreman getting in trouble with the exec, then taking it out on them. The executive foreman is known for keeping his seething temper under wraps except for when he has a foreman in his office and the door's closed. I love reconnoitering and ruminating them. They always think you're observing someone else. It never occurs to them that they're under surveillance. But I've visited with them, pulling the curtains to get it dim and pull my chair in close to theirs (aRranging), and you ought to see the dynamics! Like big blubbering babies or sinners with a priest. Much sadder than you'd think. Then I ruminate about them with the foremen after hours over drinks. For them, it's non-stop entertainment and laughs.

THE FOREMAN -- There's few people in the factory as personally insecure as the foreman, so it's a great release for them to laugh about the execs over drinks. But my own opinion is they drink way too much. Yet the average guy thinks a foreman has it made. But they're insecure because they've been picked off the line, being promoted, and now they're directly responsible for everyone else's performance. They're at the mercy of the weakest link. So their insecurity's always showing itself, like if people have to go to the bathroom and they have to fill in. Because what if two people have to go to the bathroom? They can't stop the line. So they might be running back and forth, and with desperation comes carelessness. This is where I've seen foremen lose a finger. Group dynamics with a bunch of foremen is great fun, after hours, because they're always drunk. And they'll tell you anything you want to know.

THE LUNCH ROOM LADY -- No one has a better job than the lunch room lady. Her personality's always one for kidding around. She's heard it all and is hardened. She usually has a deep, tough voice. She laughs with gusto. She'll jokingly overcharge you at the cash register, saying a sandwich and coffee are $65.00 or even $1,000! She has cute nicknames for most of the guys, Easy Street, Easy Money, and one I heard for a guy named Les, Worth-less. She's kind of a go-between for people throughout the factory, since the breaks are staggered, so she's always relaying messages. But you can have a bad lunch lady, one who casually drops gossip about who your girlfriend was talking to at the last break, etc., and that's where you get some real factory fights ... I got a couple of these hotheads together in the parking lot one night, thinking I'd get their "feelings" in a group therapy-kind of session. But I ended up refereeing the bloodiest fight I've ever seen. It was very interesting.

THE PEONS -- The peon is a broad type, of course. Ranging from the old faithfuls to the young guys who can't make it a week. The happiest peon is the guy who gets his job and stays at it for years. Everyone knows he's weighing down that position and doing well. He doesn't want to be foreman or executive foreman. He's got a wife at home, he's not out drinking his paycheck.

The mid-happiest peon is the one who's good at what he does but is always looking at his options, maybe wanting to bid on something easier. He's got an in with the foreman -- he's heard some confessions at the bar and knows the value of good information. And in addition, because he's good at his work, and can hold his pee till scheduled breaks, he'll move up in the company.

The saddest peon -- this one is a toss-up. You've got the ones who aren't good at what they do, who need help, who are sickly or need to use the bathroom too much. They're the guys who get a reputation for inefficiency or an inability to improve. The other saddest peon would have to be those young guys who don't want to be there at all. You can't tell them a thing. They don't know the value of a job, etc. They talk back because they don't care. They're jealous about their girlfriends. And, of course, they always have tattoos.

Group dynamics with the old faithfuls is boring, since they're sober and strictly faithful to their spouse. The mid-happy ones do some drinking, and, just like trying to move up on the job, they're also sowing their wild oats after hours. So there's some good scuttlebutt. The saddest ones are so easy it's ridiculous. For the inefficient ones they'll blubber on your shoulder. And the others don't care. But be careful, they'll pull a switchblade on you if you pry too deeply. Stay up to date on your tetanus shots.

The whole factory is a one big group dynamics laboratory. And I love it! It's more or less already aRranged for you, just waiting for you to step in, to Reconnoiter, then Ruminate to your heart's content!

The King Dines Out

The King for the Day dines out, New York strip and shrimp, a meal fit for a me.

I survey the restaurant, part of my kingdom, staffed with skillful lords and saucy wenches.

The meal over, I reflect back on this day of royalty. Being "King for the Day" has been a great experience.

Huzzah to one and all!

The King For The Day Serves Himself

The "King for the Day" -- me -- luxuriates in his castle, brooking no dissent, heeding no clamor.

I issue an edict, like the law of the Medes and Persians that cannot be overturned, that no one shall be served today but myself alone.

Upon my divan, I tend to whatever psychic issues I have, allowing in only positive thoughts, that I may rule my kingdom in well-being.

The flags are flying, a white and gray field with a B&W picture of a little old lady in the exact center. How proud, how inspiring.

In my regal robe, I do a few squats and bends. I touch my nose. A jump to the left, my knees tight, a pelvic thrust nearly drives me insane.

I exist today for myself alone. I am so happy in my castle.

And I am so happy to have named myself "King for the Day," an honor I take gladly but do not bear lightly.

The King In His Castle

I'm luxuriating in it.

I'm alive, happy, and chipper. I'm grateful for the honor of having named myself "King for the Day." It's a title that I can live with. As to what I'll be tomorrow, I'll worry about that if today ends.

I'm a king in my own castle!

Outside are the multitudes, storming the gates, seeking favors and blessings. To them I say, Go away, come again some other day.

Your problems are not my problems for the remainder of the day. I will attend to my own comfort.

If you're upset about something, get over it. If you're deep in grief about some psychic flaw, cheer up, it could pass. If you're down on yourself, sleep it off for the rest of the day. Drink some chamomile tea.

As for me, I'm stretched out on my divan. I'm on break. Today is the day that I rule and reign!

Dare I Declare Myself King For The Day?

I am "King for the Day" -- a good mental luxury that self-esteem teachers and lifestyle science coaches should enjoy occasionally.

It's like a rest stop along the long, lonely highway of helping people with their incessant needs.

It's a time to restock, renew, refresh yourself -- myself! -- so that I'm not completely sapped by the persistence of the multitudes.

I just peeked out on the lawn. They're out there. They hate to be denied even one day, but that's their problem ... added to their others!

For today -- Can I have just one day? -- I will look out for myself, not others. I will be inwardly focused on Number One.

I don't name myself "King for the Day" EVERYDAY, after all. Just once in a while, hardly ever, but today is one of those days.

So please stand back, take a number, be patient. Your day will come. Your problems will be dealt with in turn. Today is MY day.

Just between you and me, assuming you're a helper as well, they're never going to get it anyway. So it doesn't matter if we take a day off.

I know I'm going to lose a few followers by being so frank. But that's OK. There's plenty of fish in the sea.

I need to take care of matters closer to home -- in here. And to that end I will strive. Today, one day at least, as "King for the Day."

I am ... King for the Day!

King For The Day

Like I was saying, my focus is so often outward, tending to the needs of others. This is generally true of teachers of lifestyle science, self-esteem, pride, confidence, group dynamics, spirituality, and wisdom; we're just so driven to help that we put others ahead of ourselves.

But of course we can't do that all the time or there won't be anything here at home left to give! Grandma was my first wisdom coach and she used to tell me the story of Old Mother Hubbard, who, if memory served, often checked her cupboards to make sure they were bare. I can't go through life like that.

So, for today only, at least, I'm cutting all others loose. Others can sink or swim on their own for one day. Or drift in the open waters if they're lucky enough to have a floating conveyance device of some sort. Or cool their heels in the waiting room. Or take a number and get in line, with some self-regulating system of substitution or the honor system in case they need to go to the bathroom, and be patient until the window or door opens again and I'm able to see them.

Today I'm naming myself "King for the Day," and I'm giving all my focus to myself, lifting up my virtues and adding to them with both intense study and leisure time. I'm studying myself, not with the need to apply theories and established teachings to my own psyche, but simply to be. To relax and to let the insights check into themselves for a change.

Let's divide the world the way it really is, OK? And just be frank. There's the needy multitudes and there's the helping few. The needy multitudes are never going to go away. Maybe we'll help one or two and lift them from their doldrums. But ultimately, in our lifetimes anyway, they're never going to get it. To help them is to put a bandage on cancer. Helping them may be our mission and livelihood, but it's always two steps forward, three steps back. In other words, they can wait till tomorrow. Because the problems they have today will still be there.

The second group are the helping few. And we who are among that group need to help ourselves occasionally, recognizing that we're up here on a higher plane, and can stay here if we don't give it up. So it's important once in a while to do what I'm doing, and I recommend it to the other helpers out there: Keep your own self-esteem levels high, maintain your confidence, be happy yourself in your own skin, etc. See, I'm even helping the helpers! That's how hard it is to pull away and name yourself "King for the Day"!

OK, so now I am officially "King for the Day." It's time for me to take care of myself, to celebrate myself alone. I'm a mental dynamo. I have the dynamism that it takes to excel. All systems are go. My inner being is purring along. There's no sputtering. I can take stock and see I've got what it takes. I was designed to be a success. My thoughts are well honed. When I search, I find. I can barely suppress my happiness. I think it and it's done. You can't touch this. Life hasn't passed me by.

As "King for the Day" I'm just going to peek out the window, just raise one of the blinds ever so slightly. Oh! Just doing that got their hopes up! There was a clamor even over something so slight. A few of the very attentive ones up front saw it and passed the word. And now the ones in back think the message is that the doors are about to open. So they're pressing ahead, making the ones in the middle very confused as to what's going on, because they thought they had the message right, and irritating the ones up front, who knew it was only a blind being cracked. I saw someone's drink get sloshed around.

Bring it back in, "King for the Day." You've got more in your little pinky than they have in their entire-- Quit thinking of them! It's you today. You, me alone. I will stand exalted. I will take a mental dip in some of the world's highest wisdom, which I already know, not by complete memory but in its essence. I've been over it enough! The whole focus is right here, indicating the head. As above, so below. There's not one thing missing. There's a perfect circle of elders. Their crowns are golden. The glorified middle is perfection. It is known in its essence as very large, gargantuan, or midsized, or very small, as miniscule, or as not even seen. But its glory radiates everything, which I can see, not here at the forehead like a movie, but here, back, as something seem without looking.

They're brushing up against the door, the many. They don't want to be put off. The screen door makes pounds the door frame with the slightest push. Must put them out of mind! For today, at least! I'd love to tell them, Please stand back, push back! But it'd only give them hope.

My Mind Is Set On You

The lifestyle sciences, spirituality, group dynamics, self-esteem -- teaching and coaching -- are my personal forte, what I'm known for.

I'm happy to say I'm a confident person, well-adjusted and centered, and interesting, with a lot of self-esteem myself.

I make it my daily business to do what I can to help others. My mind is set on others, their needs and pursuits. My mind is set on YOU.

I got up today and took personal inventory. That's a common experience for me. Like the carpenter checking his toolbox before setting out.

The carpenter admires his hammer, his nails, his apron. Anyone with self-esteem and confidence admires what he or she has in their toolbox.

When I look at myself, I also like what I see. It makes me happy to be a well-adjusted person with many stunning talents and abilities.

Right now I'm giving myself much credit for being so adept at describing exactly what's going on inside my mind. It translates well.

I am justified in having high self-esteem, because what I have is something valuable and good. I'm in an obviously enviable position.

My mind is working at peak capacity. Perhaps it will never get any better than this. But I'm not a machine. It just naturally works so well.

I'm usually a very private person about these matters, but I know I have a lot to offer to those I meet. Thank you for sharing my world.

I do have one complaint I'd like to air: I think herbal tea tastes funky.

I Got My Mind Set On You

Today I've got my mind set on you.

Sometimes I reread my stuff and I see a bad pattern, that I'm very focused on myself. It's all me, me, me. What I'm thinking, stewing over, upset about, dreaming about, and what's best for me.

But as a self-esteem teacher/coach, lifestyle science teacher/coach, group dynamics explorer, investigator, and expert, and spirituality teacher/coach, of course my focus needs to be on the people I'm here to help, you. Less personal hocus pocus, more focus!

I guess I've always been that way, even though I've always had the desire to use my talents for others. One, what else am I going to do with them? Take just the self-esteem part of my resume. I've got self-esteem fine, but a teacher and coach of it needs others to teach. So I'm outwardly driven right there. And the other things take the same course, lifestyle sciences, group dynamics (a group in its obvious nature being more than one), and teaching and coaching spirituality.

But it all has to start with me. If I haven't got it, then the rest is of no use. So of course I take a personal inventory pretty often. I'm taking one right now. I got up and the first thing I did was to make sure I was awake. I've walked in my sleep before. The problem with getting up and making sure I'm awake is that I've done it before, then later found out I was only dreaming. That's wild. I'm sure I'm awake, then I wake up only to find I wasn't!

Once I'm awake, and reasonably sure of it, I press on. What kind of mood am I in? Cheerful and happy? Sad and morose? Or something in between? Because that tells me a lot. What is my thinking going to be like? A lot of this I can actually overcome. I have ways to brighten my mood if it's down, and of course it's easy to make myself sadder if I feel that I'm too happy. Because having the right mood for me is important. It's like adjusting the mental thermostat. I want it in a good, comfortable range.

I've really had to work at it to become proficient in so many fields. But the work is not the same as what other experts do, who do a lot of reading in their fields, do small group work with an adviser, write papers, case studies, and verbatims, then receive a certificate and official recognition. I have no respect for those people. My mind wasn't meant to be tampered with by group think and orthodoxy. I believe I can do very well on my own, thank you very much, and so I stick quite a bit to intuition and personal pursuits. Yes, I do read, so I'm not completely opposed to outside help. But I try to find like-minded people who bolster what I already believe.

My personal inventory complete, it's time to have a bagel and a cup of herbal tea, then see what the rest of the day brings. I'm feeling happy and optimistic. And I'm hoping to devote some of my attention to you, what you might need.

A Date With Lemaperu

I wrote about my sit down with Lemuel, the old horse keeper at the grange. That was early afternoon yesterday.

Then late afternoon, early evening, I stepped outside to see how summer was going, and there in my path I saw a gift basket from a bed and bath store with a gift card from the Olive Garden. Hmm, strange coincidence, wouldn't you say? Since this is exactly what I gave the guys in the trees along the road going toward the grange. Somebody must've been shaken down! And now they're being used by the Grange Brotherhood for what? to mock me in some way?! These were my first thoughts.

But I was pleasantly surprised and very much pleased to discover it wasn't that way at all. And that this was sent or put there by Lemuel and his wife. I don't know these people, of course -- Lemuel by sight, and his wife is probably one of the matrons. But according to the card there's at least three people in his family, including a daughter, Lemaperu. Obviously named after her dad and if Lemuel's wife turns out to be Peru, then I would say the name must be a combination of both. Like when Sam and Antha named their daughter Samantha.

What a nice gesture this is! Under the card there was a note that made it even more delightful, that they are inviting me out to their place on Thursday night for dinner. I can see where this is going and I like it a lot. Lemuel and Peru (if that's her name) are probably looking for a mate for Lemaperu and want to fix us up. That'd be OK with me. I've been single long enough and there's no prospects.

As for having to go out and find a mate on your own, I've never been a big fan of that custom. I like the old ways, where families arrange these things for you. Then you just lay in your bed with a sheet covering you, writhing there, waiting for her to show up as quickly as possible. For this silk is always nice, like with a nice southerly breeze pushing the curtains. A record playing something, music. Maybe a bottle of bubbly if you drink. Like that.

I was always afraid I'd end up with nobody. And that's the way it's been so far. I used to have this thought that when I became of age that I'd go uptown and stand by the electric company on this one particular corner and ask women passing by if they wanted to marry me. But then the electric company moved just about the time I became of age, so I was essentially lost. What now? And as it turned out I never married.

I've had many flings in my mind, I should confess, so I haven't been entirely shut out. I've followed a few in my car, so I definitely know where they live. Unless they've moved, because I'm not keeping track of these things with any kind of ongoing dedication. It's mostly in the spring, when a man's fancies turn to the things of romance. Those are the times you most want to keep your eye out and follow them home.

And now -- this is amazing -- one has followed me home.

Honey, we've never met. Perhaps on the dance floor, I didn't get your name. Excuse me, miss, are these your shorts hanging on the line? I might know you. If my instincts are honed. We shall see where it leads, perhaps we'll date, then marry, then alternately dwell in your father's and my grandmother's home.

The imagination runs wild, as is its function.

But I must slow down. And if I'm going to have dinner with them not forget my head. I need to lead with my head. Every group dynamics, human environmental sciences, lifestyle science, pavlovian trick I can think of! When it's love, it's love. But everything else needs help.

Lemuel's Number One On Google (Tweets)

Crazy thought. Irate customer to waitress: "I'm not paying for this second fork!"

My article "A Sit Down With Lemuel," which I just wrote, is ALREADY number one on Google if you search for "Sit Down With Lemuel"! Amazing!

Lemuel is a really nice guy, who I had the privilege of getting to know this morning. He trains horses to kill people, for a good purpose.

At first he came at me with a gun. But I talked him down with "The 3 R's" of group dynamics. I specialize in human environmental science.

I'm going to be scarce here today. Having conquered both Lemuel AND Google, I'm going to unwind with a well deserved nap.

A Sit Down With Lemuel

The other day I specified the 3 R's of group dynamics, which "R" of course, 1 aRrange; 2 Reconnoiter; 3 Ruminate.

I like to say if you're not aRranging things, things are being aRranged for you. You must be proactive but low-key. People don't really notice. They just think you're being helpful.

As for Reconnoitering, this is another way of saying Keep your eyes open, but also to be deviously aware. It's also something that you have to be very proactive about. And out of the 3 R's -- and this doesn't just go for group dynamics but for all the human environmental sciences -- I think this is the most enjoyable. Because you're using all your senses, engaging your subjects while observing them.

Sometimes with reconnoitering, I know, the observer fears he or she might tamper with the subject too much, but it depends on what you're trying to achieve. Because some are going for knowledge for knowledge's sake, such as to chart general behavior, and, say, you wouldn't want to have a table there saying you're charting general behavior! Just like if you wanted candid photos you wouldn't say Smile and say cheese.

In a lot of my engagements with people I'm not looking for objective information, of course, because the engagements are primarily social, and I can't step back behind a one way mirror. Believe me, I'd love to! If I could live in a house or skyscraper that was full of one way mirrors, I'd move in a heartbeat. Then give me 30-40 assistants to massage data, and maybe one or two to massage me, and we'd have a great time. We'd be looking for secrets, charting secrets, doing psychological experiments till we were blue in the face. Fun stuff, too, like college students shocking unwitting victims, to prove something about original sin.

But as it is, I'm flying solo. And I don't really call my forays experiments as such. I'm doing what I do to make it to the next level. To get the understanding to give me a happier tomorrow. And, let's say it helps free the country and lessens rural paranoia, bridges some divides and opens up a free flow of trade, not to mention the sharing of ideas, etc., that'll be good too. The third R -- Ruminating -- is in this to some extent.

But let's return to Reconnoitering. I decided to do some reconnoitering of the grange complex. I know things are relaxed at certain times, like Sundays. I don't know where the rural people all go on Sunday morning, so I'm just guessing. The thought occurred to me that they bury themselves in a box of soil from their ancestral land, then close the lid and lay there to recharge. Or it could be they're in church. Either way, the morning is relaxed. There weren't any of the black hooded, black veiled guys in trees, leaving the country vulnerable to interlopers.

I drove out and parked in the same place as usual. Everything looked deserted. The grove, the field, the grange itself. Some of the farmers' daughters shorts were hung on a clothes line. I decided to saunter over and take a closer look. My verdict: Very interesting. My further verdict: Who says Reconnoitering isn't the most interesting R? It's where you get to use all your senses.

After some lengthy reverie in that vicinity, the gentle breezes helping my reverie immensely, I next decided to check out the barn. The door wasn't locked, but that didn't seem unusual, since it's just a barn. I opened the door a crack and didn't see anyone. So I went in. Soon I could hear some noises. It was the horses rustling around, eating, snorting, neighing. I thought of the old joke that horses are nothing but neighsayers, which brought a smile to my lips, playing across my features, enlightening my eyes, and perhaps flaring my nostrils with delight.

My joy was suddenly interrupted by a call from down the other end. I saw a man step from the shadows with a gun and ask me what I wanted. It was Lemuel, the horses' keeper, who, it turns out, lives in a small house behind the barn. From where he stood, with the door behind me open, and the morning sun streaming in, I must have looked like a silhouette. Bad aRranging, but I was caught unaware!

So using my best group dynamics tone (what I call the old We're all in this together tone), I said, "So there you are! I'm glad I ran into you!" That immediately disarmed him because now he knew I wasn't just sneaking around but was looking for him. Then a bit of flattery, "These horses are beautiful. You do a heck of a job with them!" Then some commisserating. I immediately sat down on a barrel, fanned myself with my hand, and said I was still a little tired from Friday night, and that I knew he must be too.

In a few seconds we were like close friends. I pulled over another barrel -- careful not to have him between me and the sun [aRranging] -- and we had a good old fashioned sit down. I was careful to keep my head at a lower level than his.

He told me his story, his love for animals at an early age, the revulsion he'd always felt at immorality, the need for people to go to church, how society is a complete waste, and so on. I nudged him a little -- verbally -- and asked why he wasn't at church. His answer astounded me, "A game toe," one of the exact same things I suffer with, and what I have to thank for my disability benefits. We had that in common, so we were totally on the same page. Same foot too, the right, and even the same toe, the big toe!

The things he said about morality and immorality, I really, really resonated with. And how society is a complete waste. It was all right on as far as I was concerned. (Meaning that's the story he got, since a lot of Reconnoitering is nothing but strategic agreeing with people.) Several times I trumped him, because people like that too; it lets them know you're really paying attention, plus, it lets them know you respect the progress they've made in life and your optimism for them to take it further. Like if he's giving an anecdote about some terrible thing -- let's say the ravages of rock music on religion's popularity -- I have a worse one.

We got on the subject of horses, which of course is his real pride. I buttered him up like a Thanksgiving turkey. Each of these horses he trained. It's his signal they go by when they kick some immoral person to death. It turns out he used to train animals for the circus but quit when a monkey bit the big toe on his right foot. So that's where he got the game toe! Interesting. But why'd he quit? Because he felt like such a failure at the time and swore he'd never again work with animals. Then he moved to this area -- back ages ago -- was tested himself like the others are, passed the test, and eventually got the job from the old guy before him who died, etc., and he's been at it ever since.

He was happy to meet me, he said, and said he was impressed how I passed a very difficult orgy test a couple weeks ago. Somehow I knew better than to dare touch my zipper. He complimented me on my great discipline -- my morality -- and said he knew I was a rare breed. My intuition told me he was sizing me up to take over his job with the horses, just like he got it from the old guy before him, but I didn't say anything about it.

We parted as close friends. Lemuel. A nice guy indeed.

Now I'm back home to Ruminate, which, in part, you've been privileged to witness.

If You See A Red Dog Running Free

I woke up today in the greatest mood, with a song that I heard yesterday running through my mind. It's on repeat mode because it's the only thing I can think of.

The song is "Abergavenny," by Shannon. I have a 45 rpm record of it and it's also on an LP. I love it, stuff like this, "Taking a trip up to Abergavenny, Hoping the weather is fine, If you should see a red dog running free, Well, you know he's mine." And it's also got some great stuff about "Paradise people, fine by me." So, wherever Abergavenny is, "I've got to get there and fast!"

I love that "red dog running free" line. I take my dog for a walk and she used to run free. But now we have a roaming cop in the area all the time, who I call Deputy Dawgcatcher. And he's constantly on the lookout for vicious curs tasting freedom. My dog was running free one time and I saw Deputy Dawgcatcher coming into the area, so I have a deal with my dog, when I give out a high pitched shriek that only she can hear, that means "Come." Then we're walking along, my dog on her leash, and we crossed paths with Deputy D and he pointed out to me some other guy over there whose dog was running free. He's got to cite him.

Anyway, we don't want dogs running free that are going to kill us. But most wouldn't!

So I'm having a great morning, in the greatest mood, with the greatest song running through my head. If you know the record, it has that marching band in there. It's very nice.

Speaking of bands, tonight's the Friday night grange dance, Johnny Hotshot's band, the works, the grange people, the horses, matrons, farmers' daughters, black hooded Grange Brotherhood. I'm definitely going -- especially as everything's loosening up very nicely for me. I'm fitting right in, making some decent alliances, etc.

There are always ways of dealing with people to your best advantage. Put on a good face. Listen to happy music. Get yourself stoked up about your own qualities. See yourself divinely led, divinely inspired. Know you've got the entire divinity right there in your heart. Crap, it isn't rocket science, it's better. It's the secrets of the universe in a one inch cube right behind your navel. With the spiritual superhighway leading right by, with several on and off ramps to your brain. People look at you and they don't know what hit 'em.

Then you've got all the instincts it takes to arrange things, chairs, tables, gift baskets, flowers, smiling, touching shoulders, commisserating, strategic yielding, other people's wisdom taking your breath away...

That's the way I'm going tonight, with gift baskets and gift cards. A modest investment in gift baskets and gift cards will pay off handsomely. Wait and see!

But as for this morning:

Sunshine forever, lovely weather
Don't you wish you could be.....
Ah, taking a trip up to Abergavenny
Hoping the weather is fine
If you should see a red dog running free
Well, you know he's mine!

----------------------

"Abergavenny" music and lyrics by Jack Geller & Frere Manston, performed by Shannon, aka Marty Wilde, 1968 recording.

The Country Strikes Back

Another few days has passed. Time really flies when it's sped up. Now I can see why someone could live to be 104, like Grandma has. Because she's really only living every other day. So if she's only 52 in the actual passage of time, she's younger than I! A few more days of this time warp and it might turn out that I am somehow my grandmother's father. But I'll leave that worry for another day. If there's a paternity fight you'll be among the first to know.

My worry today is on some of the reactionaries among the country folk, who may be a little reluctant to submit to my ideas of bringing them and the city folk together. I did confer with some of the higher ups, in addition to numerous underlings. Each had a small but vocal cadre of people who are proving hard to sway. They want to protect their old ways, they say, but it could be they're just stubborn, hard to convince because they're also simply stupid. That's always something to take into consideration.

But when an immovable object meets an irresistible force something eventually's got to give. And it ain't gonna be me. I'll step up the expertise if that's what they want. Every group dynamics trick, not to mention the various tricks of human environmental science and the lifestyle sciences. I've been doing this since kindergarten. I saw the angles, like how my desk should be set in relation to the teacher's desk to make sure she noticed me. And the way my blanket should be oriented in relation to the other kids' to make it stand out. But some teachers were stupid too, and so along the way I got a few dings on my report card for being needy, clingy, etc. You have them in every group of people.

One of the big tricks I have for the country folks is what I call the art of commisseration. But commisserating with people is very time consuming, because to do it to maximum profit you have to do it individually or, at most, with two. That means getting them alone, like during a break, finding out some of their grievances, then piling on with, "Oh, yeah! I thought I was the only one who felt that way!" And occasionally catching my breath at some grievance they've stated. You look in their eye with a look that says "That's profound" and touch their shoulder, and immediately use your body language to lead them back to the group. What you're saying is two things: 1) I couldn't agree more; 2) We need to lead this group together in seeing things our way. They'll thank us.

So if these cretins give me any guff -- and it seems that's what some of them are up to -- I'll be commisserating fast and furious. Then when their guard's down, wham! They'll be spinning dizzy in their own dust, with no choice but to rejoin the group on my terms. Because in the meantime, I've arranged chairs, desks, sofas, bulletin boards, every piece of furniture. And when I present, those who are in most agreement with me, they'll all be subtly rewarded with better lighting, better ability to hear, fewer reflections from the sun through the windows, etc. Anyone left at the perimeter or in the inferior seating will have to move up to those least in agreement with them if they want the advantages. And so forth.

But I hate to make this a seminar in scientific manipulation. But I notice you're not complaining. And there are some very good reasons for that. But we shall go on...

I went to the second Friday grange dance a couple days ago, and there's another one tomorrow. Of course I was much more trusted at the second dance than at the first. I saw the whole set up of the orgies, all that, trying to ensnare folks who were clueless. I saw the horses kicking a few young men to death. I saw the dressing room for the farmers' daughters. And lots of other stuff. So, a few more weeks of this and I'll own the dance. And maybe before we're through I can test out some group dynamics and science on these horses in their barns.

A Friendly Vibe (Tweets 08-12-2009)

I'm devious when it comes to group dynamics, human environmental science, and lifestyle science. It's like going thru life with five aces!

Put on a few earth tone threads, blow dry my hair, sit to their left, and engage them with fascination for their lives, I can get anything.

It's this kind of cold scheming that will bring new life and happiness to our rural areas, the promise of a "New Tomorrow, New Today" for all!

I will convey to the Brotherhood a friendly vibe, and teach them we should make city folk comfortable, not run them through with pitchforks.

If you see my lips coming down the street, please take your lips and cross to the other side. Because, my darling, our lips must never meet.

New Tomorrow, New Today

Several days have passed. I've been in touch with several people from the country, including one I trust completely, Cousin Roto. I always wondered why he didn't invite me out to his place more often, and he confirmed to me that with changing times, the country had become a much more paranoid place, as they struggled to hold their own against what they took to be the encroaching moves of the city.

A lot of the pieces fell in place during our discussions. And in addition to visiting with Roto, who may very well come out of this sitting pretty, being related to me, I conferred with some of the underlings from the Grange Brotherhood, who wish to remain nameless for the present time. That fact alone shows the paranoia is running thick and deep out there. And they have other grievances, such things as there being very little movement in the ranks. Apparently once a tree sitter, always a tree sitter. So if I get the opportunity, I assured them I would grease the skids once in a while. I said this with a wink, and they got the idea.

I hate to say I'm making inroads, because I'm as a superstitious as they come about counting chickens. But I feel like I'm miles ahead from several days ago, the last dance now being a couple weeks ago. I sat and stewed, seeking guidance from within. Then I decided if the world was passing me by anyway, I may as well put forth an effort. What's the worst that could happen? That the world would continue passing me by? You can probably tell by my tone that I'm alive and kickin'. That's true!

Quite frankly I'm thinking we can make the country a showplace, something that will be the envy of the city. In limited ways, perhaps, we can open up vast areas of our great countryside and invite city folk out to it. I'm envisioning some loosening up of the paranoia -- not all the way, of course, just enough to make things better -- with the idea, at least, that there can be some exchange of ideas, even perhaps a free flow of trade.

The city has been dying for new blood. And the city could use our crops. As it is now, with the paranoia, our farmers have used government subsidies to feed their families. Yet they've continued to plant crops, not as something to sell and that might feed the world, but to serve as better hiding places, outposts to guard against encroachment. And with paranoia, it's all fed on itself, to the point that most people don't even know the country is there anymore!

Amid this flurry of activity, I've come up with a new motto for the country. And if I have the opportunity to serve, I want it to be on all our stationery, fliers, TV ads, to be on T-shirts, etc. The motto is "New Tomorrow, New Today." I think it really hits the spot, because city folk, to the extent that they think of country folk at all, relegate them to yesterday. But this motto shows that we'll be thinking of tomorrow (future), while renewing the present moment (today). What could be friendlier sounding than that?

Along with the motto, I'll be seeking the help of design experts, graphics artists, to come up with a lively graphic scheme, which I'm envisioning as something like the sun about 20% over the horizon and perhaps we can work in a weather vane somewhere. Drawn in the current style of such things as informally yet as lively as possible, something playful yet serious, something that shows we're open for business and willing to engage. I love it!

Then down the road -- who knows when? With time sped up it could be tomorrow, but I hope not, because I need to prepare for this stuff sometime -- I want to teach the country folk to embrace their lifestyle. It might be like that commercial where the family in the old truck takes their produce to Kansas City for the farmers' market. Birdseye? Don't be ashamed of your old battle axe truck. Paint it and go for the charm factor. City folk love pride, which is why they make their buildings so tall. Then they go up there and look out over the country with binoculars to see if the country is also proud. And so far all they've been seeing is a bunch of black hooded guys in trees, flashing signals that interlopers are within 10 miles. That's no good.

With my design sense -- impeccable -- and my knowledge of group dynamics -- flawless -- and my abilities to convey the finer points of human environmental science, or as I like to call it, "Lifestyle Science -- Taking Life From Theory To Practice" -- outstanding -- there's really nothing that the country can't achieve!

I'll be conferring with Roto on this, and some of the Brotherhood underlings promised to get me some connections higher up, so we'll go from there. Speaking of lifestyle science, I'm thinking if I wear earth tone clothes that'll make them comfortable, and if I make sure to start out sitting to their right (like they're driving), then over time shift myself over to the power position, they won't know what hit them...

Right now I'm on top of the world, the Country World and the City World. I'm literally pumping my fist as I type this! Try it sometime!

"New Tomorrow, New Today!" So great!

The Dance Of Doom

The Dance of Doom? Gosh, I hope not. My intuition told me to say say, so in this case I hope it's wrong. Unless the doom is for someone else, because I have the confidence that I'm going to be unscathed.

The grange is kind of weird, but it's just their thing. They're a social group and social groups have their own ways. They want to protect their values and have a predictable way of life. Nothing wrong with that since it's all quite normal. Personally, I like a little more individualism -- being eccentric means being out of the center -- and do like more some unpredictable associations, whether mentally, spiritually, or socially. But I live and let live.

I know I've been going on this week about grange assassins, and I can't remember all that I said. Some of it I was kidding around. Because part of living and letting live is that I live, and part of my life is to kid around. So, just as an aside to any grange assassins who may be thinking about taking me out on Friday night, let's just forget about it. You're cool, you're admirable, you've got it going on, so do I. We all do.

And all that business about their daughters being informants up and down the line, and separating the human wheat and the chaff by apparent immoral means, and the slander against them and their horses (I admit it), that their horses are trained assassins as well, trained to do the bidding of their evil masters, being signaled with something as slight as a twitch, it was all just a misunderstanding. Upon considered reflection, I realize now that horses can't be trained to do anything.

In fact, horses are so stupid we don't even use them. We only reference them as to how much brute strength they have. Like with my lawn mower. It has a 3.5 horsepower engine. That means my lawn mower is 3½ times as strong as the average horse. And it's probably 3½ times smarter as well, since it's man made.

Maybe I'll put my lawn mower in the trunk of my car and take it. Then if one of these assassin horses tries anything, I'll have someone with me who's 3½ times stronger. It's well known horses don't like lawn mowers. Why? Because horses like grass and lawn mowers like grass. They're competing for precious resources.

If it weren't for horse races there'd barely be any horses, because we'd have no reason to keep them around. Which means we'll probably always have horses, because, whether they're 3½ stronger or not, they're usually a lot slower, so lawnmower races never caught on.

Anyway, I'm still planning to go to the dance. The grange people haven't bothered me all these years. They're good people. Stay out of their way and they'll stay out of yours. They just don't want anyone messing around with their old ways. And if they're ever very forward on enforcing their desires, it's just the same old reactionary instincts that other aggressive people prone to violence act on. They don't mean anything by it, they just can't help it.

I could do a whole thing on the group dynamics of tribal people. They do a lot of jumping around, shouting, face painting, etc., unconsciously of course, to dissipate their violent rage. You see a big fire with a missionary in a kettle and all these demons leaping around it. To them it's just group therapy.

We in civilized society do the same thing, as is easily seen even in the daily news with what the Republicans are up to. You know, they say Republicans don't like to dance. It's not that they don't like it and wouldn't try it if their instincts were channeled that way with some guidance. But at this point, they find blood lust a lot more satisfying. And the whole overly blown racist bent, just to cite one example of their behavior, helps reinforce group cohesion.

So whether it's the savages of a foreign land or the savages of our own beloved America, it's all the same. You get at the root of human behavior and you wish you were born a horse! Then at least you can live, move, and breathe unconsciously and be happy. Still, not as happy as the lawnmower, which has plenty of food and isn't burdened with the pressures of sentience. If I had it to do over again I don't know that I would.

The grange people have their dances for many of the same reasons, to sum up. And my own theory is that's what gets them worked up enough that we have more grange people. That is, it's all part of their mating ritual. And therein is the key to why the dance could very well be "The Dance of Doom" for someone who comes into their camp, dancing, chasing the farmers' daughters, and yet not wanting to adhere to their ways. One of the elders twitches his nose, a horse recognizes the signal. Suddenly the last sound you hear is "hee haw," just before being kicked to death.