Resolution: To Be a Better Person

It's the day for New Year's resolutions. I make them and I keep them. The one I've made most often, for years, is to be a better person. And it's been good to see my growth and how I've excelled. I'm pretty proud of it.

Looking back on my achievement, and thinking ahead after making the same resolution today, I know it would be a lot easier if I didn't have everyone else dragging me down. That's been the continual problem, but it's something I've worked on without much complaint.

The key thing is to be aware of what's going on around me, to be ever vigilant, and to avoid them as much as seems decent. You probably understand, I want my focus to be on my own progress and not on the nuisance of them dragging me down. They've been very persistent!

I'd hate to begin listing the situations where I've seen it, because that would practically be all I'd have time for. The short version of it is this: they've dragged me down in every way you can imagine, and it happens essentially everywhere. Yes, I've gotten the acclaim, the popularity, but it's always been coupled with a terrible envy, so oppressive. I'd say it's the psychological equivalent of terrorism, if they get their hooks firmly in me.

It's strange to think of it, but I was much better at avoiding them as a kid than I am as an adult. I was very sneaky as a kid, keeping my attributes under wraps. I was practically invisible. If anyone saw me, I was like a shadow, best discerned in hindsight, "Did you just see someone go by?" "I thought I did, but I didn't wanna say anything." They were freaked out, hair standing on end, the whole bit, in awe in the truest sense of the word. I was the only one not awed, since I knew it was me.

Then as I got older, and life had more consequences, it was tougher to fly under the radar. The police being always on the lookout for the truly sneaky, mostly adults, I had to put those days behind me. Which of course meant being fully exposed to the public eye. Internally, I rebelled, but outwardly I conformed.

Despite it all, I became a pretty good person. And kept making and keeping my resolution. Perhaps it was some family gene in earlier days that let me escape people more who sought to drag me down. Now, though, in old age, with my genes under greater stress, I feel more vulnerability. And so there's always -- literally always -- someone trying to drag me down. And often succeeding. Terrible burden...

But my resolution is true, and I reiterate it, that I might be a better person, in every way. Smarter, healthier, friendlier, more helpful, more understanding, being more open to people and their personal situations, as far as would be profitable to them. May I be more together within myself, with God, and the community.

Drive for Pride -- Self Image

There it is, the chart I made in the '80s for a college psych class, on the subject of Self Images. Reading through it, it still jibes with my current thinking. I don't know if others have made progress since then. If so, good for them. I'm personally happy I got it right the first time, and to see how mightily it's stood the test of time.

This is the chart I was referring to yesterday in my post "The Forlorn Duck.". Now you can visualize where I said I was on the Ladder side, at "Healthy Below Average." That's where I started, being in a funk, the funk dinging my self image. Then I more or less changed my mind on a dime and was able to stomp -- physically and mentally -- my way up a few rungs to "Healthy Average." Pretty good, huh? Still, that's a little low for me, not bragging, because I generally run midway between "Healthy Average" and "As Good As You Can Get."

I'm happy to say that I've never fallen completely off the Ladder in my life. I can understand people who have, though. Because there's been those rare occasions when I've glimpsed the Scaffold from afar, which scared me straight back up the Ladder. True statement. I've always been someone deriving tremendous benefits from fear of every kind. I've avoided so many life-crushing setbacks in my life, thanks to fear. And now the pattern's so set that even if I lost my mind completely, I'd probably still have enough fear in me -- deep-seated, in a groove -- that I'd be safe and free. No incarceration or confinement for me!

OK, let's take a look at the Scaffold side of things. You start seeing the Scaffold side when you're at the bottom of the Ladder. There's a signpost near the Ladder's bottom that reads, "Very Unhealthy -- I beg you, try your best! Do not go down any further." Wow, that brings back a lot of memories I'd just as soon forget! Because I am personally the guy who posted that warning. True. I was right there, with the Scaffold side in view, with two ways to go, down further then across to doom or back up!

You can guess which I chose. And this is how I did it, like it went in "The Forlorn Duck," and similar to clapping and believing in Peter Pan/Tinkerbell, I simply rallied and stomped my way back up one single rung. Putting me in the "Hope" region but still so low as to almost have No Hope. I took off my mental belt and strapped myself to the side of the Ladder, gasping and shaking with something like delirium tremens, until I settled down. Then I carefully unhooked the belt and clawed very carefully up most of one rung, at which point I rebelted and rested another hour. After that I gave it my all and finished the rung. Finally, I was safe enough to sleep in place and progressively make my way back up over the next few days. Four days later I was home in time for breakfast.

Anyway, back to the Scaffold side, for those brave enough to take a look... When you go up a scaffold, you're going to your doom. That's why the worst self image states are toward the top, leading to some curious descriptors: When you make it to the top you've hit rock bottom. But when you go down, you're mentally ascending. The truth being, In this realm, nothing is what it seems. Let me clarify that by saying, In this realm, there is such a lack of possibility and hope that all of it is more or less diffuse; there are differences, of course, between the high bottom and the low rock bottom top, but when things are 100% hopeless, to you those distinctions lack meaning. Obviously, though, we still use them clinically for quantifying a person's self image or lack thereof.

I've probably known a person or two who've been at Absolute Rock Bottom (ARB). But, as you can guess, they tend to be people you turn from almost immediately, lest they suck you in. Still, it would have to be an interesting state, except to them they seem unaware of their state and certainly unable to describe it. There's such lifelessness, it's scary. Most professional helpers I've known who've had a likely ARB case generally stick them in a freezer till a cure is discovered. Then 100% of those soon suffer freezer burn, and, worse, die.

The only sure cure is to avoid the Scaffold all together. If you can't manage that, then, whether it's your own fault or someone else's, you really should have tried harder to manage it. Seeing, though, a case in which you didn't, there's no reason to talk of cures now. Maybe something like going to a castle, being laid out on a lift gurney, and being raised out a domed tower, and being repeatedly struck by lightning -- and having had someone qualified to prepare the wires and apparatus in particular ways -- might do the trick. But that's a lot to depend on, especially since most insurance plans don't cover it, and, anyway, the odds of success are worse than winning the lottery without playing.

In your own personal "Drive for Pride," you need to tend often to your self image. It's easier to regress, naturally, like a coach potato, but it's much more satisfying to make progress, and, having made progress, to maintain your good position in life.

The Forlorn Duck

If I may be so bold, Hello! -- Please don't hit me, I didn't mean anything by it. Please excuse the mood; it's getting kind of severe, this skittishness. . . . The thing is, I've been doing some fairly intense work on my identity, looking for certain aspects of my personality to put forward. I feel like I've sunk a lot in recent weeks -- I don't know why -- A lot of my former confidence and even joy have gone missing.

My self image right now's at its lowest. And the more I do -- the old stuff I used to do for maximum happiness -- doesn't have the same kick as before. I go to bed sad. I wake up in the night sad. And of course I greet the brand new day, pulling open the curtains to see the new day's sun, in a totally sad way. I've become what I never dreamed I'd be, The Forlorn Duck. That's what I'm calling myself, "FD" for short.

So if you've never liked me before -- it wouldn't be so hard to believe -- please like me now. This Forlorn Duck stuff is worse than you'd think. It's so bad, it's like the experts say, It's hard to get out of it. So part of me says, "Just give up and give in. Be the Forlorn Duck." Part of me counsels resistance, "Put up a good effort of resistance." Then the old me, the confident me, checks in before quickly checking out again, with this, "Stand your ground as the strong confident person you used to be. Gotta run!" My old me apparently doesn't know much about counseling. He needs to hang around a while and do some validating.

I go places, and I see other Forlorn Ducks, by the way not to be confused with Hangdogs or Sourpusses, although I don't want to get sidetracked on technicalities. I see all of them, but it's the Forlorn Ducks I'm interested in now. The biggest problem with Forlorn Ducks is our vulnerability to every little thing. If you know anything about "The Ladder of Easily Helpable Self Images", a chart which I'll scan and post if I can find it, then you know Forlorn Ducks tend to flock in the "Healthy below average" range.

Looking at it that way, it's not as discouraging as it could be. I really think I might be able to overcome enough of it to work my way into "Healthy average." Again, if you like me, then maybe give me even a little encouragement, and I just might make it. And here's something. Even if you don't like me, and don't give me encouragement, I might be able to convince myself that you would have if you knew me better. That theoretical statement could be enough to raise me a few rungs. (I don't know where the Ladder chart is right now; I'd love to double check it.)

I suppose while I'm in this FD funk I should learn as much about it as I can. I'm big into the science of self images and all. I believe this is true, that FD-types, while not desiring contact with other FDs, must have something like a DNA override, an internal attractor/reacher-outer, for mutual protection. And that's why I'm suddenly surrounded by FDs. I need to get out of this quickly, lest the override sticks in place. There's another reason for you to like me. I need your heartfelt consideration, but as I've seen in anguished Facebook pleas for liking, I know that only 2% of the non-FD population will respond. Thinking of that -- 2% is basically low -- it's hard to be encouraged. Yet I am still heartened that it's not less than zero, for where there's 2%, there's hope.

This is horrible! I just need to get a grip! I am more, much more than a Forlorn Duck! What's this? I feel something ... Muscles are returning to my arms? My shoulders and jaws are suddenly squaring up? My solar plexus is starting to flicker, then shine? My feet are widening? I'm standing solid? Yes -- what is this? -- I'm standing solid! One foot up, one down, one up, one down! I'm stomping! I'm stomping again, me! Stomping again! Stomping victoriously! Now I'm turning, twisting, moving in a circular motion, like a human tornado, a powerful whirling humanado, picking up steam and ... emitting a lot of wind. With confidence again! I'm moving with confidence! More, more, more! Pointing my index finger, like John Travolta in the '70s, with all negativity falling away like dominoes, all of it collapsing in a gigantic heap!

The Forlorn Duck has passed away! With this simple exercise, writing up an inventory, that's all it took. I'm already up a rung on the Ladder, all the way to "Healthy average"! With super strength, alive and kicking ... meaning, now I am able once again to help others ... with a renewed push toward healthy self images for all demanded of me! ... We're on the verge, my friends, of a new Drive for Pride!*

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*Drive for Pride was a major self-help series of this blog in 2009-2010, for those with a failing memory.

Grandma Slump Takes Ukraine By Storm

Look at the global reach of my blog this week. (For the graphic, I dropped off all the countries after Germany who aren't keeping up. But they were United Kingdom (7), Malaysia (5), Romania (4), Sweden (3), United Arab Emirates (2), and Canada (2).

What's precisely wrong with Canada, I don't know. Don't they have the internet up there? 2, that's barely one per province. They have provinces up there. They're very provincial. I could go up and teach them a few proverbs, see if they could prove themselves, and dump a little provender on the ground, anything to provoke them. Wake up!

The United Arab Emirates, I'm not sure what that even is. Is that the name of a country? It sounds like a subdivision of a country or a sports team. I suppose they're very into oil. I remember my dad teaching me how to change oil in the car. Over there, it's probably a dime a gallon, so it doesn't cost much for the kids to have someone else do it.

Sweden. I like the Swedes. I knew some Swedes, they made a big deal of the fact that they still knew Swedish after all these years. There was this one old guy, 90-something, and his wife would tell me, "Pete's talking the Swede!" I couldn't understand a thing. And one day I found a bunch of Swedish books. Tried to sell them on eBay but no one wanted them. If only I'd had these three visitors back then!

Romania and Malaysia, I think they're doing very good at 4 and 5. Because the last time I consciously visited a Romanian or Malaysian site, I can't remember when it might've been.

The United Kingdom, they're tied with Germany at 7. I'm a little more disappointed with the UK, which is why I clipped them from the graphic. After all, we share the same language, and I've listened to music from England (the Beatles, Stones, probably others). They need to step it up and read my stuff, or, who knows, I might turn on them, too.

That brings us to the big boys. Russia and Ukraine. Look at that, 13 and 77 from the Ukraine all by itself! Obviously something happened, because I don't remember any spike like that from there before. The thing is, I'm just guessing, one of my posts must have been linked on one of their sites. I can't figure it out, but I've had a number of traffic sources that appear to be Russian gambling sites. And the traffic is all centered on one post of mine from 2009, "Sternness Meets Creampuffness."

I had to look the post over, because I forgot what it was about. It had to do with self-esteem and personal pride, bringing forth strength in your personality. I used wrestling/rasslin' imagery, with Sternness facing Creampuffness (psychological states) and beating the crap, or cream, out of Creampuffness. So my guess is, these Ukrainians are visiting gambling sites that have something to do with wrestling matches, and in there somewhere, this post got linked.

It's still a good message, so I hope they're lingering long enough to be encouraged. Bring forth the stronger sides of your personality, and, seriously, don't let Creampuffness get the upper hand.

Vigor Vivus -- I Command The World

It's quite a confession, to hear me confess that, yes, I have my moments of doubt and fear. Today, my friends -- yea, even today -- I was feeling at odds with life and its limits. I was looking down. And when I say I was looking down, I mean I was sitting in a chair, my legs sort of spread, and my head literally hung low. But, as it always goes, I can't look down very long without feeling self conscious about it. Then I start picturing how I must look, and whether it would make a compelling, soul-tugging photograph if a true artist (besides myself) were on the scene to document it.

You can see what's happening there. That's the beginning of awareness, the beginning of turning the thing around. I can't be down for a few minutes -- hours, tops -- without finding myself and my way up in an instant. As I sat stewing, then coming to this realization, two words came to my mind with an incredible force, and you probably know what those two words were: VIGOR VIVUS. I've written extensively about Vigor Vivus, as you can read at this link.

That's the way it works. The mind rises up and conquers. The heart overflows with Vigor Vivus, overcoming Rigor Mortis without mercy and sending it packing. Permit me, if you will -- it might do you some good -- to describe the physical sensation of Vigor Vivus taking my side, what happens mentally and spiritually. I envision the dynamism of the term itself, with the VVs almost flashing before my eyes, not up here in the immediate awareness, but somewhere deeper, a more essential center. Of course, there's nothing about the literal letters, but the spirit of the thing is obviously spells itself out in a way I'm familiar with.

It's the flash of memory that makes the difference, as well as the commitments I've made to myself and my philosophy. Past is prologue. If it's done me a ton of good in the past -- to overcome the despondent, dessicated, withered spirit of Rigor Mortis -- then I'm not about to turn my back on it now. That's my testimony and that's my trust. Life is too good for me to wither up and blow away. I shall not be despondent for long; the spirit's working overtime in me.

OK, so there I am, in the chair, envisioning the dynamism of the term itself, with the spirit of the thing rising up in me, and this becomes a process, a physical force, that builds on itself. The more you experience it, the more you must experience it, if you will just get out of your own way. Suddenly the hands clench. The eyes open wide.

It's like a professional wrestler when he's had enough being pounded. It thrills me to say it! Up till now, he's been in a scissors lock, the other guy's had him in a vise grip. Then the other guy has him in a sleeper hold and is busy rubbing his temples till they're raw. Then the other guy's pounding him with a folding chair. Finally, he's going for the motorcycle chain in his trunks, and this is going to be it, when our wrestler suddenly comes to. He flashes with the awareness of his true strength. He sees his predicament and quickly turns it around. He's up! He makes a few quick stomps around the ring, they alternate several crisscrosses in the ring, then there's a killer clothesline and a quick pin! His hands are over his head! He's victorious! The crowd goes wild!

The truth of the matter is this: I command the world through the spirit of Vigor Vivus, another term for the abundance of life that is at the heart of life itself. If you don't know it, try it. You, too, can command the world. The problem for so many of us is that we allow the spirit of Rigor Mortis -- death while we live -- to prevail. Because in general we don't know, so we can't prevail. We may think it's theoretically possible. If we were to pray, meditate, and whip ourselves till we were black and blue, maybe five years, 10 years, then we might be one inch closer to fulfillment...

No! The fulfillment is now, here and now. Through the power of this great philosophy, Vigor Vivus. Consider yourself alive today, now. Vigor Vivus is the opposite of Rigor Mortis, meaning life in abundance. The term describes life in its essential greatness, as life indeed.

Let the spirit of life rise up in you and you shall prevail. Turn from Rigor Mortis immediately, here and now, then never go back.

Vigor Vivus At The Dentist

Something's apparently off with my karma, necessitating two trips to the dentist in less than two weeks. Thankfully, barring a smack to the mouth from some jealous boyfriend or girlfriend, my next appointment isn't till January.

My last appointment was an ordinary cleaning. The teeth in the picture aren't actually mine. I wish they were. But I'm old and my teeth are not good. But I keep up the good fight by going to the dentist. It's unfortunate I didn't have that same resolve for close to 20 years, a big gap of time in which a lot of bad things can happen.

Now, though, I'm regular, and I'm doing what I can to keep things patched up, so there was the cleaning a couple weeks ago, then a few fillings today. Four to be exact. I went in thinking it was going to be two, so right away I saw the opportunity for a bad mood before me. But I pushed it aside, feeling that it wouldn't do any good. If the dentist wanted to do four instead of two, so be it.

It's the next bit that has to be the most excruciating and the most fascinating. I have to be honest, I hate the whole process of sitting there with the wedge between the back teeth, the mirror, the fingers, the drills, the suction, and whatever else there may be, in my mouth. Oh yes, the syringes! I hate them either most of all or equal to the drills.

I have this thing about the spiritual life that it's supposed to be very close and real, so I'm halfway depending on that to get me through. But it also causes me anxiety, because I'm also halfway afraid that I'm going to have a major spiritual melt-up -- from the base of the spine to the top of the head -- go nuts, and end up with a drill sticking out my eye, or a syringe. Because of the intensity of those things, and the fact that there's no telling what buttons they might be pushing, in addition to what my psychology is suggesting. When it comes to chakras, they're subtle, but I think that about anything you imagine can have a true aspect to it. It's dangerous.

So I have that going on -- and my other thing is the great philosophy of Vigor Vivus versus Rigor Mortis. In fact, I use my philosophy of Vigor Vivus not just in conjunction with the spiritual life but also as a safeguard against it interfering with the dentist's work and my safety. Because, and I probably don't have to tell you, the thought behind Vigor Vivus is more of an earthy, everyman philosophy, so it's more helpful in our day to day affairs. It can guide us in everything, from business to dating.

Just to catch everyone up, I have multiple posts on Vigor Vivus versus Rigor Mortis. The basic thing about VV and RM is that they are ways of thinking that ultimately have to do with your quality of life. VV is that boisterous sense of abundance welling up inside, most in line with nature at its fundamental level, and with it you have confidence, boldness, self esteem, and other similar qualities. Its opposite, RM, is what guides a lot of people's thinking -- too many! -- and that's akin to being dead while you're alive. You're drawn up, tight, lacking confidence, dreading the day, pessimistic, and, really, not giving yourself credit for anything. There's no real sense to RM, but it's an easy snare to fall into.

Like I said, Vigor Vivus is more in line with nature, but there's many reasons why we don't walk in it. One, I guess, we seem to think we've gone beyond nature! How about that?! Two, we're not looking on the bright side, we have bad habits in our thinking, and it gets worse the longer we dwell in it. That's the place of Rigor Mortis, giving our life and opportunity over to death. I know how it goes, because like most people, I've been there plenty of times in my life. And sitting in the chair at the dentist, with the wedge in your mouth, the suction making me gag, and all the rest, I know Rigor Mortis still has a few suggestions for me!

But my response is to consciously choose Vigor Vivus. I say to myself, "Vigor Vivus will be my way!" I remind myself who I am, the life of abundance I know, etc., and I try to enjoy even those moments in the dentist's chair as much as I can. I think about the needle going in -- and of course the pain is deadened, but still you can sometimes sense the flow of liquid and you know any little move could be dangerous -- and I remind myself, This also is an experience in life! And it's intense, and very concentrated! Vivid, even! Sure, I want to be out of this chair and in my car going home, but I choose to experience this as part of my good life as well!

Oh, one of the fillings was on a wisdom tooth. And the Cosmic Father/Mother in His/Her infinite wisdom chose not to put a hatch on each side of our face. So they're hard to get to. Then He/She chose the placement of these teeth to be right in line with the bones leading to our ears, meaning the drill sounds like it's going to come through the back side of your eardrum. I'm thrashing about with my legs while keeping my mouth perfectly still, I'm as uncomfortable as can be, it's crazy time, but I'm reminding myself ... Vigor Vivus, Vigor Vivus, Vigor Vivus...

After it's all said and done, I stand up and thank the team -- the dentist and the able assistants -- for a job well done. There's high fives all around, and plans to do it all again someday. I get the bill, start to mutter, then repeat internally, "Vigor Vivus, Vigor Vivus..." and gladly pay it.

Sir Sneezealot's Many Kids

Much of the success we have in life comes from the thrust we have. Thrust is that compelling force, that, whether it's forced on you or forced from you, makes you move, and makes things happen. If you've ever had an uncle who literally kicked your ass, you know what I mean. When he said clean the shop, you hopped to, but without the thrust you might have remained inert.

Speaking for myself, and countless others who suffer like me, I have a little mental thrust. It's the equivalent of kicking yourself in the ass, but there's no bruises. My mind says "Do this" and "Do that" -- it's the normal drudgery of responsibility -- and I hop to and get it done. But whether it's physical force exerted on you or an inner force, the result is the same, thrust and accomplishment.

So far, so good. But what if you're a guy like Sir Sneezealot, whose body provides the thrust, even if it happens to be at inopportune times? (His real name is something else, but he got the moniker Sir Sneezealot from the women he knew. Once you've burnt X number of women, they bruit it around among themselves, and next thing you know you've got a bad reputation and maybe a weird nickname.)

Sir Sneezealot had a problem with sneezing even before he was old enough to be called Sir. When he was a kid. It plagued him, all the random sneezes being a nuisance as a child, a youth, a teen, an early adult, and so on. His mom hated it, for sure, and was the first woman he offended, when, because of all his sneezing and thrust, she was changing diapers all day long. He also had problems with other boys, like in the shower after gym class, sneezing and peeing across the room like a rainbow. The thrust of youth!

I'm describing problems, there's no other word for it. School dances, normally a time of fun and innocence, were ruined for Sir Sneezealot. He'd be dancing, then a sneeze came, and he'd be pushed awkwardly into his date. If there's a whole gym full of kids, one kid bumps another, and before long a fight breaks out. But he tried his best in his teen years, and that's also when he really got his yen for girls.

I said it was a time of innocence, which is of course a lie, such as the time he and a young gal were behind the curtain on the school stage. He sneezed, the curtain flared out, and it practically killed her from embarrassment when everyone saw her blouse hanging off. She yanked the curtain from its upper moorings to cover herself and ran from the building, dragging with super strength that 200 pound train. She finally collapsed from exhaustion three miles away. What a struggle! Behind her, she left gardens devastated and picket fences collapsed. And yet -- it was hard to see it at the time -- she was one of the lucky ones...

Because Sir Sneezealot went on. Anyone with that much thrust can't be held back. And it was kind of exciting -- he liked it, he loved it -- all the serendipity that comes because of a problem he couldn't help anyway. He would let it come as it would, and even time to time accentuate it by sniffing pepper or staring at the sun. Ways like that that make ordinary people sneeze, to him were like gasoline on the fire, the eruption being so massive, there's no calculating how many kids he fathered.

He'd be on a date, and let's just say things would get amorous and out of hand. This is what happens to the rest of us without a sneezing problem. Just think how crazy it would be: You're gauging everything in a relationship as it progresses, and the heat of the moment is now, and a sudden sneezing attack comes on, with all that thrust, and you end up with triplets. And protection isn't actually protection, because it's designed for people with normal thrust. You name the protection and I'll tell you why it's no good; his thrust was always just that much stronger. He'd shred it! For him, the floodgates were always open!

OK, friends, I'm trying to be discreet about his dates -- whose daughters they were, etc. -- but the bottom line is, this guy fathered roughly every sixth kid in the county. He was like Screamin' Jay Hawkins, but more of a local guy. Then after a number of years, he had to move away because ... people hated his guts, especially women and their fathers.

They would hear tell of him, but if he's not sneezing during the meal, the movie, the late night drinks, or the preliminaries on the couch, what makes you think it's him? Then, suddenly, KERCHOO!, and they're picking out wallpaper for the nursery.

Ladies, and dads, Sir Sneezealot is still out there ... somewhere.

Tough Love To The Rescue

We need to know how to handle people. If they're always throwing tantrums to get their way, that's no good. The best response is tough love.

Well-paid psychologists tell us that if we give in too much, we're just setting ourselves up for a sad life of more of the same. Common sense suggests this is true.

I heard of a case where the husband and wife each enjoyed bacon pretty much equally, with the husband enjoying it just a little more, certainly more than he should, as it turned out. They would eat at about the same pace, but he just a little faster, enough so that he'd be done with his bacon first.

After a while, he started looking at her remaining bacon, which soon became such an appraising stare that it was clear he had more on his mind than her pleasure alone. The fact of the matter is, he wanted his wife's bacon and wasn't ashamed to say so. She innocently gave in only once, then on other days he threw one tantrum after another to get his way.

Finally, the wife had enough, and having heard of tough love, she put her foot down. "No! It's my bacon and you're not getting any more!" Tough love! See how it works?

The same thing goes for children. If they always get their way, pretty soon there is no other way. They've got to have what they want when they want it, be it some particular food, toy, or, in these modern times, a phone, a video game, or pet. It's hard to say no to the little leeches, and that's what you think of them, because they're insatiable, at your throat for more, more, more! You just have to put an end to it: Tough love to the rescue! That's how it works. Let 'em suffer!

Speaking of pets, it even carries over to animals. They're like the husband in the story, their big thing is always food. I've had this problem with my dog Underbrush. I've been merciful and kind, giving her some little scrap, then she comes to expect it, to the point that she's sitting on the floor by my chair looking up. Then she's got her paws on the chair. Then she's managed to work a bib around her neck. At last, she's growling and baring her fangs, as if to say, "I'll take the whole plate and you take the scrap!" So much for mercy and kindness! I finally had to put an end to it, and with firmness. "No! You're not getting any more! That's it!" Tough love to the rescue! (Of course I don't go ballistic on the dog, this is just overstated to make my point; I still give her little scraps, thanks to those longing eyes.)

Then we have relations in the community. It might be your minister, a bartender, or a waitress you tip. If you're not doing exactly what you did before, or more, it makes them crazy. It's even true with your doctor. Maybe you're old and maybe he's a Medicare cheat. He comes to depend on all the extra x-rays and shots. That's how he's able to restore yet another collectable car. You go along with it for a long time because you don't want to make your doctor mad. (They're only half as bad as mechanics.) You don't know what he might do to you.

But if you want any peace whatsoever, after a while you need to cut him off. With tough love. "I recommend these ten x-rays, these five surgeries, and another twelve shots." By now, you've had enough. "No! No more x-rays, no more surgeries, and no more shots! That's it!" Tough love to the rescue! Of course you die next week, but you made your point.

The Will To Live

I'm a qualifier. I qualify virtually everything, see? For me there are no absolutes, or very few. I seldom make absolute statements except ones that are the same old toss-off lines that nearly everyone makes, like, "That was the worst meal I ever had," or some such drastic judgment like that.

But I'm going out on a limb here, having given the matter thought for about five minutes, to say that everything we do manifests the will to live. Let's get suicide out of the way at the top. Does suicide show the will to live? Yes, but it shows a drastic unhappiness with the way life is going at this time. Escape seems better, with the will to live (a happier life) behind it.

Knowing I have the will to live in everything really helps me, because I never have to consider giving up. It's what I'm saying now, at least, but I believe I'll keep right on saying it. For my purposes, in certain circumstances giving up on "heroic measures" isn't really giving up, but is the will to live a quality life, so that you can have an awareness of death's approach. You're going to be dead a long time, you may as well be there when it happens!

Going down the road, I see the will to live all the time. The traffic gets thicker and tighter, my palms are sweaty on the steering wheel, but the mental computer is keeping track of all the lanes, the relative speeds and reliability of the drivers nearby, etc. If you could bring all your natural skills with angles and the movements of all the coordinates around you to math class, practically all of us would be geniuses. Except in actual math classes they're not teaching the will to live, they're teaching formulas without any stated purpose; they should be teaching the will to live.

Let's think of something from the movies we've all seen, guys in rockets or spaceships. They're ramping up to the moment of ignition, they're going through the final checklists, the soundtrack is building in intensity, then the camera lingers on the intensity of the guy's face. It makes you proud to be a human being, proud, in fact, because you're imagining yourself in his seat. Then there's a tougher situation in space. The soundtrack has a kind of whine to it, telling us that all systems are working in the most concentrated harmony, it's overpowering, and we see his face again, and we know, that's the center. If you overdubbed a shout of "THE WILL TO LIVE" over the whine, you wouldn't be too far off. He can handle the challenge or die trying.

Now let's think of one of those intense scenes, like where the G forces are working on him. He's strapped in and his face is jiggling back and forth like crazy. He's Crazy Guggenheim when he's not singing. He's thinking two things, "I hope my face doesn't freeze like this" and "The will to live." Even if the machine is too damned big, or too uncontrollable, he's going to do everything in his power for that will to prevail. "Main thrusters off," "Cool your jets," "Roger, Houston," they're saying everything but "The will to live," but it's there.

Whatever it is, school, sports, sex, you've got the will to live at the center of it. It drives us relentlessly. It gives significance to our actions. Sex is one of the weirdest drives we have -- you may be firing blanks, or falling way short of the mark because you're the only one there. No matter, the drive is squarely rooted in the will to live, even when it doesn't make the least bit of difference. It's hard to keep your eyes off the relevant parts of other people's bodies because the will is always there. You can't tell yourself "I'm a brick" and just be attracted to bricks, because you always know better.

With school, it seems to me if everyone was completely on top of this truth -- the will to live -- there'd be no end to our excellence. And sports as well, even though it shows up more often there because it's more intense than school as school is presently done. Kids are yawning when they go through the door. If their little faces were jiggling like in the spaceship, something concentrated like that, there'd be no stopping them.

I can imagine myself being invited to a big convention center, to the central banquet of the event, to give the keynote address on "The Will to Live." Of course by then I would have thought of the subject more than five minutes. I would have brought in some killer illustrations, some good icebreaker lines, the works. But still, sitting there waiting to be introduced, I wouldn't be wolfing down my food, because I'd be a little bit queasy, hoping I was going to get it right. I'm always that way, because that's the will to live ... always there.

Calling Attention To Yourself

This is just my opinion, but I think it's the way to live: I think it's good to call attention to yourself. And I also think you want to, but maybe you don't realize the rest of us want that for you, too!

Believe it or not, you don't have to jump up and shout to call attention to yourself. It can be done many different ways. You can sit quietly in the corner, absorbed in your own thoughts, and eventually someone will wonder about the quiet person in the corner. He's a man of mystery, how intriguing, or she's a femme fatale, a French phrase that's intriguing all by itself. Or you can jump and shout, or just short of that, be an engaging and obviously dynamic person, and you'll receive attention.

You can just use what Mother Nature gave you, your smile. The way you brush your hair. A walk of confidence. Boldness. Joie de vivre! How is it all the French I know are the intriguing bits?

I know there's lots of people out and about, on the street, who are trying their best to call attention to themselves, all the while appearing to be self-absorbed and cagey. And I'm willing to give it to them, watching them for a good long while, sometimes till they're out of sight, or even tipping down my glasses if they're too close.

Since they want attention, why not give it to them? If someone then looks at me, like, "What are you staring at, four eyes?" I have pull off some little line from the top of my head and say it with insouciance, like, "I love your look." Or I might just give a quick two thumbs up and go back to my reading. If you're in a situation like that, maybe giving more attention than might be socially acceptable, just go back to your reading and keep a knowing grin on your face, glancing up once in a while as if to say, "You still here?"

Do you need to be on top of fashion to legitimately call attention to yourself? No. I can't imagine saying yes to that, of course, because what is fashion? Someone else's idea of what's hot. What's hot is who you are. The other stuff just accentuates it, and it does not -- I repeat, it does not have to be quote-unquote fashionable. Any old garbage can be very sweet. I saw a guy downtown just today, true story, who had a raggedy shirt with a big tear on the back, a gaping hole, but with the way he was going across the street, the confidence he had, and the full Vigor Vivus of life, I fanned myself all the way home, "Tres chic!"

When it comes to fashion, or not fashion, since I don't really know what fashion even is, I love a disparate look, a little of this, a little of that, where it looks like it came out of five different drawers. Anything with boots is hot, but I'm leaving cowboy boots out of that, because they always draw the feet in for too much of an instep and tend to push the hips out so there's a bowlegged look even if you've never ridden a horse. Multiple colors is nice, striped socks, a lot of black, some coloring in the hair is sweet and a guaranteed attention-getter, comme il faut. Or go the opposite way, something that is so simple, like it came from just one drawer, a darling little chemise, is fantastic! Je t'aime! Je t'aime!

Then there's attention-getting that has nothing to do with clothes. Such as striving in every way to get people to notice you because you're great, or you're a genius, or for some other positive inner reason you have. This is where friends come in very handy. Because it's obviously a lot easier to do the things that call attention to yourself if you have a group around. Let's say you have a boisterous, charming laugh. If you're just boisterously laughing to yourself all by yourself, that's not usually a good look. That would be negative attention. But if the group is in motion, en rapport, and there's a harmoniousness all around that is pleasant to see, and you're standing out, your boisterous, charming laugh coming up over the obviously well-engaged group, that knocks me out. And it knocks out everyone else, too. Just be aware, this is a tough thing to fake; it's got to be real.

I go around town and I see a lot of folks with sorrowful countenances. I think the problem is, we all want attention, but we're not all good at getting it. Be encouraged, the rest of us are dying to give it to you, you just need to be bold and put yourself forward. You're a lot cooler than you think, mon petit chéri ou ma petite chérie!

Late To The Party

I'm forever late to the party. Consider these sad occasions:

BIRTHDAY PARTY AS A KID -- I'm thinking of a birthday party I went to as a kid. It was out in the country, and it just so happened I was late. They were already whooping it up and no one could be inconvenienced to search the house for one more party favor. Some of the other kids wanted to get on with it, so I felt shunned. I left the house crying, went out to the pigpen and started poking at the pigs with a stick, then I started walking home. I just saw the kid in June whose birthday it was back then and he said his biggest memory of me was poking pigs with sticks. I said my biggest memory of him was how he put the names of various fruits as the capitals of states on a 5th grade test, Apples being the capital of California. He said he didn't remember that, and I said I didn't remember the pigs.

MAKE-OUT PARTY AS TEEN -- There were some kids getting together, also out in the country, as it turned out. I had some trouble getting my ride out there because Dad worked late. I was a little embarrassed to go anyway because my clothes were always hand-me-downs and I was the oldest kid. Meaning these were from my uncle one generation back. I looked pathetic in bib overalls. By the time I got there they had the candles going and everyone was paired off, kissing and feeling each other up on the couches. One guy came out and rubbed it in, "There's a knothole on the tree outside." I thought, "What's he think I am, a woodpecker?" Coincidental with this, I never married.

POLITICAL PARTY AS YOUNG ADULT -- They lowered the voting age to 18, but I was still looking for a girl as good as that tree, so I didn't get politically involved right away. Once I did, the other young adults my age had already been voting for four years. Making them experienced in the ways of government. Still, I wanted to fit in, so I started espousing a socialist agenda, which turned out to be passe by then. "We're not 18 anymore! The proletariat can kiss our ass!" one young Republican said. I looked out the window and saw some angry young men walking en masse down the street. I went out and joined the environmental movement, becoming a tree-hugger.

COCKTAIL PARTY AS OLDER ADULT -- I was working at a crummy job. I know, a job is a job, but that doesn't mean the other older adults respect you. A lot of the guys in my town were industrial magnates, with wives with gowns cut low like Jayne Mansfield. They had long cigarette holders and seldom smiled, a totally dismissive look. So I didn't get into the whole cocktail party scene early on. It pays to be early, to set the standard. If you're late, you have to measure up. A guy I knew in high school, who later became my boss, and since he always punched my arm in high school he was still a mean SOB, insisted I come with him to the cocktail party. "You can scrub these toilets later!" So we went, him and his empty cocktail glass, me and my brush and bucket.

NURSING HOME HALLOWEEN PARTY -- One great thing about being in a nursing home is they don't expect much out of you. If you reach up and knock over a pitcher of orange juice, they don't scold you. You just sit in your chair and stare and it's all the same to them. Another great thing is they have party after party, for every holiday. They decorate the bulletin board with holiday art so you're always well-oriented as to what time of the year it is. It turned out this one time it was fall. They came in with a big sheet and told me we were going to the Halloween party. They obviously wanted me to be a ghost. The problem was, all the other old folks were residents before me, so my room was at the very end of the hall, meaning I was the last one wheeled into the party. A couple guys looked at me, then slumped their heads. It didn't even register that I was late.

Put Me Over The Top

I've always got personal goals, a lot of stuff that probably doesn't matter in The Grand Scheme of Things, but it always matters right now.

It's been that way forever, now that I think of it. Like the personal goal of running faster than the other kids in 4th grade. That's one that doesn't matter much now, but it was a big deal back then. How about this, always trying to beat your time? I don't do much timing of myself because I don't want to have to be thinking about it the next time. But I just glanced at the clock, so I'll be thinking about it now.

What's the next mountain I need to climb, in a figurative sense? Will I make it over the top? And once I made it, will I just see higher mountains in my way? It seems scary. But it helps to have confidence that you can face whatever is out there. The past is prologue, and I've kicked ass so far, so to speak.

But that's Grand Scheme stuff. I've been thinking of the idea of putting me over the top in terms of trivial stuff. Like on Twitter. I see a lot of people, let's say they've got 590 followers, wanting that extra 10 to make it 600. Pretty trivial, especially when you consider what it's worth to have Twitter followers; I wouldn't say it's less than zero, but very close. Still, when you're close to a goal, oh, you want to be put over the top.

A thousand this, or two thousand, whether it's dollars or dimes, it's never enough, got to press on for more!

You know how money always evaporates? I think about that. Say I have a thousand dollars. You have to spend a hundred for something, that's 10% gone, a pretty good chunk. But if it's only a hundred gone, you're lucky, because it's more likely to be three hundred or more. If you're like me, it's the truth that your expenses always rise to match your income.

That's useful for mowing my lawn. Because I start thinking: This lawn is money, and I've just mowed 10% of it. It's a psychological trick that seems to make the job go faster, as I watch my "money" evaporate. Then, going along with the put me over the top theme, I'm thinking, I hope the gas doesn't run out, I don't want to have to stop and fill the tank, whatever's left, please put me over the top, let's get this job done!

Teens Reject Rigor Mortis

Rejection never felt so good! But today it was heavenly, as I personally witnessed a roomful of teenagers reject the Rigor Mortis lifestyle for that of Vigor Vivus.

I was nervous going in, knowing I had the truth but not knowing how they would respond. The way I remember teenagers -- and maybe it's mostly my imagination -- they're a bunch of idiots who will reject anything good for them in favor of the detrimental. But I was pleasantly surprised to see them give rapt attention to my teachings and celebrated the good choices they made.

This was a Sunday School class, I should say that going in, because of course in Sunday School you're going to get the kids who are more likely to seek the good. They're not just hanging around on street corners, cigarettes rolled up in their T-shirt sleeve, spitting in gutters, and breaking windows. They've already got enough idealism in them that you can have hope for the future, not like the kids I've seen standing in front of the tattoo shop, one leg up against the building, sunken chests, bloodshot eyes, dumb grins, yellow fingers, who run like scared cats any time an adult approaches them.

If it weren't for the Vigor Vivus lifestyle -- the life of confidence, optimism, believing in yourself and higher things, and rejecting the difficulties of the Rigor Mortis way -- I might very well find myself filled with despair, I'm sure I would. If you can overcome that, you're miles ahead of the rest. Of course I still have a great deal of sense. If it were a matter of trapping some of these teenagers at the tattoo shop and trying to deprogram them, I'd naturally want to use every means of preventing the spread of infectious disease. They'd have to be clinically deloused and scanned with one of those black lights that reveals germs.

Fortunately, the kids at church have been raised in a more proper way. Their parents aren't wolves in the forest, running wild and fighting over a piece of raw meat. They're not ferreting through public ashtrays looking for half-smoked ciggies. They're not rocking ATMs. Instead, they're responsible, taking care of their families, budgeting, and shunning evil. That's the way I was raised, and, look, I turned out pretty darned good, if I do say so myself. I shudder when I think how it might've been if I'd been raised by these losers, I'd definitely be living the Rigor Mortis lifestyle. I'd probably be in prison, where I would belong.

But we're trying to turn out good kids. It's the best thing. It's the only Vigor Vivus choice!

So today my report is that Sunday School went great. I opened with the thing about the zombies, staggering around in Rigor Mortis, and I explained, like I said I would, that there are a lot of "dead men walking." I used the example of Adam and Eve, just like I said I would, and we were off. All that, of course, constitutes Rigor Mortis, springing out of the choices we make and what we settle for. I got them to name names, too, kids they knew from school or the neighborhood who are into Rigor Mortis. I jostled their memory by specifically mentioning the tattoo shop, as above, and that brought out a few knowing chuckles.

It was at this point that a couple of boys in the back thought they would do some cutting up. They used some phrases and language that indicated that they thought that lifestyle was pretty cool. I looked out and saw some other smiles and knew that if I didn't stanch it right there, the others would slide off the deep end. I looked at them with a stern look, yet one that was filled with compassion; I had direct eye contact, and that always makes a recalcitrant little squirt squirm. No smile, just a compassionate sternness. I said that was the way of death, the way of Rigor Mortis, but we have a better option, which, to get them on my side I said, "Most of you are following it, even if you don't realize it," the way of Vigor Vivus. A little praise primes the pump.

Not to rehash every single point, I made the points about Vigor Vivus from my blog, and held up some pictures of well-known athletes. While not endorsing everything about their lifestyles -- especially Tiger Woods -- I said there were indicators, sometimes fleeting, of Vigor Vivus in their lives. Such as the confidence to get things done, the wherewithal to stick to a task, the alertness, drive, optimism, etc. You can see I'm excited, that's why I'm going for all the synonyms I can think of. Word of advice, Don't get me started! LOL!

The class settled down immediately after that one disruption, and I went from one victory to another with them, receiving commitments from each one that they'd practice the Vigor Vivus way. And for that, I'm very thankful.

How About You? -- They say life doesn't come with instructions. That's not true. The instructions are written clearly in our hearts, even if not in words. There is the way of death and there is the way of life. Death is an end, an end that we can submit to all along the way. That's the way of Rigor Mortis, which hardens us, slows us down, and in the end literally stiffens us to the point that we are no good, we are dead. So many people have chosen that way, not just teenagers, even old timers like me.

But the way of life is also before us. And we can submit, rather, share in, the way of life all along the way as well. That is the way of Vigor Vivus, which keeps us supple, allows us to advance, to progress, and all along the way to raise our good cheer to levels that increase, eventually beyond anything we had imagined. We are alive, alive, alive -- fully alive. That is something we can choose, too. That is something you can choose today, to live ... the Vigor Vivus way!

Teen Talk: Rigor Mortis Vs. Vigor Vivus

It's Saturday night and I'm feverishly working on a little talk they asked me to give tomorrow. Of course I mean at church. I told Pastor Wadd about Vigor Vivus, which he hadn't heard of before. I wrote about it a few days ago, and I guess he doesn't read my blog.

He thought it sounded like kind of a weird word. I told him I've been spelling it as two words, but he thought it still sounded weird. Then I sketched it out as simply as I could, that it's the opposite of Rigor Mortis. Rigor Mortis and Vigor Vivus have been butting heads forever, even if there hasn't always been a term for it. He was curious to hear more, probably figuring he can give it a sexual spin, since that's his ministry specialty, addressing sexual addictions.

Anyway, I kept it all non-sexual, telling him that the way I've been conceiving it, it has to do with a person's attitudes, whether they're living a Rigor Mortis lifestyle, or, with attention to themselves and their possibilities, they're living the Vigor Vivus way. Of course I also gave it a religious spin especially for him, that God gave Adam and Eve the Vigor Vivus lifestyle to live, but they ate the forbidden fruit, God told them they would surely die, and that's very similar to the Rigor Mortis way.

He loved it, and I hate to be presumptuous, but wouldn't it be wild and fantastic if he did incorporate a RM vs. VV theme in his teaching and counseling, whether having to do with sexual addictions or not? Since he's a man of the cloth, it might go all the way up to the mega churches, then demand will be so high that I'll be doing satellite hookup meetings with churches all around the globe, coming out in my $1,000 suits, chatting up the audience, and changing lives with this simple, yet profound, message. Then I'll make money on all my books, "The Vigor Vivus Life," "More of the Vigor Vivus Life," "Viva Vigor Vivus," and so forth.

It turns out he loved it so much that he asked me to come talk to one of the teen Sunday School classes tomorrow. So that's why I'm working feverishly tonight, trying to work up a talk that interesting enough to keep them quiet, and relevant enough to their way of thinking that they'll listen ... and apply it to themselves.

I'm really kind of nervous about it. I'd much rather talk to the old folks' class, because I know they'd definitely be quiet, and of course they'd compliment me profusely, since that's the way it always goes with them. They're happy with anything if you offer it in a cheerful, friendly way, which is the only way I know. Or I could present it to the younger adults, whose brains are fully developed after 25, so they would sit still and be nice about it. And they're the ones who would really need it, since the demands of life are so much greater. Rigor Mortis might be their constant choice, like it is with anyone so stressed out that they feel they need an energy drink. You don't need an energy drink! You need Vigor Vivus! See, I'm excited about it!

But to do it for a roomful of teenagers...oy vey. You might not know this, but if there's just one cut-up in the class, most of the others will rebel. It's only the two or three who've done extracurricular activities who are semi-mature enough to be good. I remember being a teenager, and, more importantly, I've been privy to the ways of teenagers even in church. Why do you think this opportunity opened up for me so easily? Because the regular teacher has sent out the word that if there's anything else they might do, accept it without question, because he needs a break. He's probably drinking to calm himself. He needs the Vigor Vivus teaching, because he's obviously dwelling in a Rigor Mortis state of mind.

What, though, can I say to the little hellions? If they hear words like Rigor Mortis and Vigor Vivus, being idiots whose brains aren't even 10% developed yet, they're going to go blank, then they'll cover their tracks with cutting up. But those are the words I have to use. So, just thinking out loud here, I'll speak of Rigor Mortis as the ways of "a dead man walking." They'd like that image, the staggering of a zombie, which I might even do as an icebreaker. I can put my hands out like a zombie. Then Vigor Vivus, I can speak of it like a guy getting ready to ride a hot air balloon, or drive in the Indy 500, or pump iron. He's a man who lives on the edge, who went for all the gusto and has lived to tell about it.

As for popular references -- that's always important for teenagers, to let them know you're hip to their culture -- naturally I'll have my cellphone there for them to see and examine. And maybe when I'm looking for something, I can accidentally pull my iPod out of my pocket, "Oh, there's my iPod, I've been downloading an awful lot of cool MP3s. It's getting heavier all the time!" Among my other gadgets, I have a portable scanner, a camera, and at least 500 of the best CDs of the '50s, '60s, and '70s. I really do, but I kid. I also have some from the last few years, Natasha Bedenfield, Daniel Powter, Gwen Stefani, and Rihanna, although not her new one. And Lady Antebellum, I have that one.

But much more importantly, I have the timeless teachings of Vivor Vivus, using your willpower and stimulated awareness to live life to the fullest, thwarting and destroying the works of Rigor Mortis. Plus I'll throw in a few things about the Lord, the piece about Adam and Eve, and I think it'll go great.

Rigor Mortis Vs. Vigor Vivus

Man suffers the death.

Death comes on us, after stalking us from the time we're born. That's the death that results from the failure of systems, the hardening of arteries, the clogging of conduits, the wasting away of vital tissues, muscles, sinews, and nerves, not to mention the skeleton.

With death, if you've ever seen it in action, you've got the full complacency of inactivity, a complete cessation of movement and functions. You wouldn't know to look at it that anything was going on. The only thing that is going on, so far as I know, is what would result from gravity or just the natural consequences of liquids and tissues giving way. All of it has to go somewhere.

To the naked eye, though, you're as still as you've ever been. To the observer looking down, you think nothing could be that still. A fan blowing overhead might disturb some loose hair but that's about it. Any other movement is strictly imaginary, unless, again, there's something internal giving way, which I've never witnessed. I have heard of movements, freaky, of course, but very harmless. It's like a neglected house settling. Eventually it all caves in.

Rigor mortis doesn't just happen; it has to get there somehow.

But this isn't a scientific tract on death and the hardening up of what once was soft and supple. I'm thinking instead of the death we have in life, being bunched up, tightened up, wound up, and inactive, shrunk up from the life that's truly within and all around us. Rigor mortis is a good term for it, with the opposite being what I shall call vigor vivus. I suffer and enjoy a little of each, respectively, but I want the balance to tip more toward the vigor vivus side.

Vigor vivus. What would that be? A pun? Actual Latin, maybe pidgin Latin, simply made up, I don't know. I wouldn't worry about it. You can easily see what it implies. You've got rigor and you've got vigor. Mortis is death, literal or otherwise, rigorously present -- nothing is stricter! -- and just to come up with something sort of similar, we're throwing out vivus. Like vivacious, viva, Vivian Vance, viaduct, valor, Vlasic pickles, Vlad the Impaler, etc.

So I can be sitting in a rigor mortis posture, waiting for or mentally hastening on the hardening of my mental, spiritual, psychological, and even physical arteries and channels. Or I can be demonstrating that there's more to me than giving up and falling apart, with vigor vivus. Taking life by the nuts and not letting go. Sending up the flag of life and saluting it. Everyone's got the rights of first refusal if you have any life and sentience at all. So why refuse?

If you haven't got goals, get some! If you're not up and with it, you're dying. Get up, get going! Vivus is for the viving, so vive with all your might! That's the best revenge, to vive vell...

Today, I vill practice vigor vivus!

My Relentless Pursuit Of Excellence

I'm charging ahead, always 100 mph, always full blast, always giving it my all, as I relentlessly pursue excellence in every area of my life.

I've always been one to excel if I set my mind to it. It's a quality that I guess came from my upbringing, then my own personal dogged determination that it cannot be otherwise. If I set a goal, then, by God, I'm going to achieve it.

Would you say I have personal confidence? Yes, I have personal confidence and lots of it!

Tonight, right this minute, as I think on these things -- looking back over my life as it's been and ahead as I believe it will be -- I'm actually quite psyched. It's a peak experience, although of course I'm used to those. Still, being one to ever pursue excellence, every peak experience is still a real kick.

I will confess sometimes I'm down. I was down just yesterday. It was raining, I'd had had a major tiff with a friend, then we went out for buffalo wings and everything turned around. Not only were we fairly cordial, but a couple guys came in drunk and were refused service. They put up something of a stink and that gave us something to smile about and discuss. We even shared a nice personal moment with the waiter. And everything was good again.

Excellence is like that, it's never far away. That's one of the reasons I'm generally so optimistic, because the wheel's always going to be turning my way sooner or later.

Now, in what areas of my life do I see excellence. In virtually every area! But to be specific, if I had to narrow it down to a few of my favorite areas, I would mention my intellect. Am I the smartest guy in the world, the country, the state, the county, or even my block? No, I'll admit it, I'm probably not. But if there's ever anything I need to know, I know how to look it up. Or if it's something that I can't look up, like a tough math problem (and I face very few of those), I'm smart enough just to move on and forget it.

I was also at the library yesterday, after the chicken wings. It gave me time to take a few books off the shelf and look through them. Doing so I was able reflect that I was smart enough to read some things that interested me. And I went away -- like it or not -- with a few more facts in my mind than I went in with. And given enough time, I'd be able to tell you exactly what they were.

Another area of excellence that I'm proud of is my ability to be on good terms with others. Let's say I see you somewhere, I'll go, "Hey!", like I'm really glad to see you, and maybe I am. Or a waiter speaks to me and I'm as friendly as can be, especially if it's something juicy, like a couple of drunks. Or if I see someone at the store, someone at church, wherever. I see folks in church and I'm a very nice guy. Maybe I don't go out of my way to greet everyone, and maybe I'd just as soon stick to myself and greet no one (at times), but when push comes to shove I paste a big old smile on my face and appear to be very pleasant.

Then of course it goes without saying, I pursue excellence on this blog. It's my life (touching my heart). My readers are rock solid, the best people on earth, and I want to give them my best everyday. (By the way, I went to a CD store where they have a sign on the door, "Through these doors enter the best people on earth, our customers." But then they have empty cases in the racks and the CDs behind the counters. Who knew the "best people on earth" were thieves?)

As for me and this blog, I get up every morning, do the things that make for a morning, as for anyone, then I do something different. I have a little one man editorial board meeting. I call the meeting to order, then brainstorm some ideas for the day's blog. The idea phase is usually done by 10:00, taking an hour. Then I chart it out, some preliminary sketching of an outline between 10 and 11. Between 11 and noon, it's a matter of hammering out some definite paragraphs, like the first and second ones, just so I can see how the flow's likely to go. At noon, I break for lunch. Then the afternoon is spent in deep prayer, interrupted only by any witticisms that occur to me. I choose a graphic and work on it if I need to. Then I knock off till around 7 p.m., when I get the blog entry written and posted. That's the pursuit of excellence, and it pays off! I think all told I've made $101 from Google ads in the last three years.

The pursuit of excellence has always been one of the marks of my life. They taught it to me growing up, and I kept the lessons fresh, uppermost in my mind, all the way up to this very day ... and beyond!

You too can look for and achieve excellence. Just take me as an example and do your best to pattern your life after me. You may not succeed all at once; few people do. But if you stick to it, and if you don't give up easily, the victory will be yours. Excellence will be the mark of your life as well!

The Everlasting Pride Of Residential Industrialism

This is really something to be proud of. I'm so proud to be part of the incredible Residential Industrial Movement (RIM).

We've had something great going on since the beginning, but now, in these recent days, as we consolidate our gains and establish ourselves as part of the industrial mainstream, it's something everyone's recognizing and admiring. We've come a long way!

It's been very fun for me to see the progress and the way the RIM has come into its own. As the philosophical father of the whole thing, of course I'm busting with pride. Seeing the factories, the workers, the finished products on the line, the trucks pulling out, and supply trucks pulling in -- it's a beautiful thing.

As far as I can tell, it's always going to be this way, or better! The enemy's incursions -- the Major Industrial Powers (MIP) -- have subsided greatly, thanks to the ways we've shaken up their business model. I knew it! High production far outstripping demand would keep prices dirt cheap and leave the other guys scrambling. They treated me like crap, but now the shoe's on the other foot.

As we go on from victory to victory, making strides, making gains, from here on out, let us never forget the feeling we have right now. We've reached the top of the mountain, you know? We've not only seen the Promised Land, we've entered it, and, check it, you don't always get a twofer like that! And that's where we will stay!

Now, I know you don't need another "pep talk" from me. But please indulge a proud papa. Plus, you were the ones who gave me the impressive (though undeserved, I must aver) title of "Super Brain." Surely, you can allow me a little speech, if I promise to keep it short, and I do! We're family, whether we know each other or not. When I go to a town and see a RIM facility, a factory in someone's backyard, even if I've never been there before, I know I'm home!

Anyway, what I want to say is: The future is bright! We're not turning back now! And this is something you're a part of. And that's the way it should be. And you can be proud of that, because we've all done it together. It wasn't just one guy, not even me, who did it all. I built my factory, you built yours. We all did our own thing, and it's been good.

Keep it up, OK? If you're making disposable diapers, you're lucky. Because kids are always going to have to go, sooner or later. If you're making wheels for hospital beds, that's great. Because health care is cutting edge stuff. If you make vats, you're doing something remarkable. We always need a vat to put stuff that otherwise would just be spilled on the floor. Or if you're like me, specializing in tires and electricity, of course there's a market for tires. Cars, trucks, playground swings. The point is, we need you! Keep it up!

My pride for what the RIM has accomplished in just a few short months is great. My heart is overwhelmed. I'm emotional. It's never been better than this! But we're looking for even greater things ahead!

Super Brain ... over and out!

I Fillet The Industrial Powers

All kidding aside, I'm really in a bad mood tonight.

As you probably know very well, I'm something of a life coach on topics like self-esteem, personal pride, and confidence. I've long been a student of the various lifestyle sciences, etc., as well as a teacher. When I'm a student, I'm hoping my teachers will go easy on me. When I'm a teacher, I go tough on my students. My big aim is to master everything, thus dispensing with all teachers, giving me a free shot at the others.

OK, I'm all that ... self-esteem, pride, confidence, lifestyle sciences, human environmental studies, and so forth ... but tonight it's strictly a case of "Physician, Heal Thyself," in that I am hitting bottom ... personally, emotionally, psychologically. I'm overwrought, wrung out, and really feeling crabby.

This is a dangerous place for me, psychically. Because I know as well as anyone the psychic price that goes along with moods, acting out, and lashing out. They used to say at the local Ford dealer, "It only takes a minute to get a better deal," and I know it only takes a minute to bottom out. Having to do with my emotional life and not in buying cars. Except buying cars would make anyone mad.

All along -- the last month and more -- I've had it in for the industrial powers. They've made me periodically blow my top. It hasn't been a good ride for me in terms of taking care of myself, even if the sacrifices I've made for the sake of the world and my own town have been my privilege. There are those times I've gotten the job done, and I've felt a corresponding pride -- Who wouldn't? Then there have been those other times when I've felt a certain frustration and have bottomed out. My mood swings would make an interesting horror film.

So, tonight, I need to work through some of these feelings, which I know are spurred on by the industrial powers, those blasted industrialists, and all my concerns over the industrial section of my own town and other cities.

Today, driving along, I saw a road called "Industrial Lane"! I was thinking, "Good grief, isn't it enough that we give these filthy industrialists access to great tracts of our precious land -- any picture from space proves that real estate on the earth is a finite commodity -- but do we also have to name our streets after them?!" Industrial Park, Industrial Lane, Industrial Drive, etc., there's no telling where it will end!

Also driving along today, I was in a smaller town, much smaller than the one I've grown used to. And there was a railroad track, and there was some dinky wannabe industrial section. It was small, yet it still took up a good chunk of the very small town. I could only shake my head ... as well as let my anger simmer, smolder, and it finally erupted, resulting at me shaking my head in sorrow.

And so it goes. The world goes on, rolls on on its merry way, oblivious to the danger, the very clear and present danger. A few of us know ... too few ... and of those, how many of us are getting downright mad? I for one am.

I think of the fat cats, sitting in their offices, just sitting there with a cigar and a smile on their face. They hate me and I hate them. My hatred is pure. I would love to lash out and fillet them. Dress them down, like a big moose hanging in a tree.

No One Likes A Grump -- It's A Great Day

I could just sit here and complain, thinking over some of the more complicated things of my life. But no one likes a grump or a complainer, so I may as well just claim something different for myself, joy. And say it's a great day regardless of what else may be going on.

I was reminding myself of this yesterday in the middle of a crisis, Enjoy yourself, enjoy it. It's a thought that comes to me when things are going wrong. Like stuff no one can help, like if we have an enormous blizzard. Of course it's going to complicate everyone's life, but enjoy it. There's plenty of interesting things about it.

The same thing is true about having a busy schedule and hoping you can do justice to all of it. Or even make it, the basic accomplishments plus actual survival from the strain. If I'm looking at a schedule like that, I'm thinking many things. Like, What can I get done in advance? How can I make it work out? Should I go through it simply dreading it? Or should I put myself into it with a different attitude, one of happiness?

Today is a day for me where there's a few things to be done. But I know the next few weeks are going to be crazy. I could sketch it out, make a chart even, even though there's unforeseeable things. The things I can foresee I can chart, then knock a few of those things off with some quick effort. And everything else will be that much easier.

My first thought on the unforeseeable is Oh No! But it's always going to be that way, so there's no use wishing your life away, wishing yourself through it. Instead, step through it, and do your best, and have a sense of joy along the way.

Life is fun ... even when it's not.

Everyone's Energy Radiating Everywhere

I was looking at some old pictures of us -- including me -- today from years ago. For a while there it looked like we let people take pictures of us without acting self-conscious, shy, and ugly. (That's not me in the picture).

The big insight I had -- and I get this insight once in a while, so it's not new -- is how beautiful we were back then. I mean gorgeous beautiful. I'm looking at some pictures of me (not included at the website here) and I am stunned at how great I look. It's amazing.

But then, we think we get old and ugly, old and hideous, etc. And suddenly we're very self-conscious and shy, saying, "Please don't take my picture."

The insight mentioned above isn't just how beautiful we were back then, but how beautiful we must be now, if we would only realize it. Look at it this way: Back then we weren't walking around saying how beautiful we were. We weren't. In fact we were thinking others were so much better looking than us. We had an inferiority complex. Or we felt like 'if this was different' or 'that was different,' then we'd be content. In other words, we were thinking back then just like we're thinking now!

And what we ought to have been thinking then is how beautiful we are. And what we ought to be thinking now is how beautiful we are. It's a simple truth, and it is a truth. We were beautiful, gorgeous then. And if we could only believe it, we're beautiful and gorgeous now.

I would love to collect people if I could. If somehow you could latch on to them without hurting or hindering them and keep a copy of them in a big jar, maybe like the City of Kandor from Superman comics, that'd be great. Or you've got a big file of them, where no one gets hurt, no one suffers, and everyone lives happily as their beautiful selves. Because I guess I love people more than I usually think I do.

It's sometimes tough to be around people, though, because they have their own thing and they're off on it. You've got to keep your distance. You can't go up and say weird things like "I'd love to collect you." Or they'd send someone over to collect you, in a nice big file at the county jail!

Wouldn't it be great to be able to tell people how utterly beautiful they are?! I think it would. I saw a stunning couple yesterday at a function. And another guy went up and told them how "sharp a couple" they were. I thought, Hmm, that's probably not appropriate, but he was utterly right. This couple looked like a million bucks. I wanted to say something like that myself. Like "You two are DROP DEAD STUNNING," but I kept my lip zipped, since our typical thing is not to comment on people's appearance.

And everyone's got it. Even the craggiest, craziest looking person, has something intrinsically wonderful about them. Like me, or like I sometimes imagine I look. I have problems with my appearance. The big danger is to take a picture of me now, then look at it in 20 years and have to say, "Wow! I was beautiful back then!"

It happens. You're beautiful right now.

Note on the Photo: I don't know this young lady. This is a picture I got at an antique store. So in a very mild, limited way, I do collect people. It's quite a photo, I think. The room is so spartan and elementary. She's apparently dressed for Easter, with the bonnet. But she reminds me of Little Bo Peep. Another weird aspect of the picture is how she seems to meld right into the couch.