A Merman I Should Turn To Be

 

Part 29 of 31

They Found Another Body

“Tommy, you must stop chasing that minnow this very instant!” Takes me back, way back, to a time when my family tried an underwater lifestyle. It was popular a few decades ago, and was a kind of natural reaction — seems foolish now — after we first heard we are made up mostly of water. Of course we could never breathe under water, so we sucked breath from about $4,000 worth of air tanks. Think of Jimi Hendrix’s 1983 (A Merman I Should Turn to Be), about living and breathing under water; that was the last edge of the movement. When a guy famously died trying it, but he was stupid and wanted to show his "faith" by wearing cement boots in the attempt.

By comparison my own family took only baby steps in the attempt. Because we were hyper-realists even then. Yes, we might be on the cutting edge in one sense, but we had enough reserve to let someone else give the cement boots a go. So instead we opened an aquarium store and sat there studying fish, memorizing all their moves and seeing if we could discern their secret in having water for air. It actually is beautiful, all the goings on in an aquarium. But there’s a few downers. Even fish die, so they obviously haven't perfected the breathing technique either. They were floating. And they get diseases just like we do. And occasionally jump out. You’d think a fish would be smart enough not to do that. Unless they were just doing the opposite of us, trying to live out here.

The whole thing went by the wayside when a few more people drowned. The breathing wasn't working out. But the basic problem was it was just the local river, a thick dirty quagmire. Whereas water runs free in its channel most of the time, other places have big concrete blocks and lots of mud. You dive into a muddy patch with a concrete block two feet from the surface, it’s going to hurt your head. We’d be gathering upstream for dinner, and suddenly there was an empty spot at the pier. “Swim upstream and see where your brother is.” I did that and didn't find him. “Swim downstream and see where your brother is.” Off I went downstream. Then I came back and there he was, hovering lifelessly behind the concrete block. Kind of ruined the meal. My dad pushed away from the table in outrage, “Those goddamned concrete blocks! They’re ruining my appetite!”

And you can’t disagree with that. The solution turned out to be as simple as this: Stay out of the dirty river and forget the concrete blocks. And if you’re going to live underwater, do it the smart way. Put plastic over the windows of your house, have everything vacuum-sealed to not let water in and not let water out. The water being clear as a bell, no one gets lost. The air spigots worked fine, and you get so much air in the water, the breathing’s great. And it’s pretty too, the wavy patterns you see. Man, the patterns! For instance, if you were looking at one of my Mom’s “Mona Lisa” paintings -- She collected Mona Lisa prints and had them in every room -- you really saw it's true: Mona Lisa’s smile is particularly lifelike in a house full of water!

Our happy family in today’s graphic shows the quality of life we can ultimately expect when someday at long last we’re finally out of the dirty filthy air that everyone else seems to think is so good. It's not good. It’s crap compared to water. To me water's the ticket, water. The whole scene. And along with that, immorality. The whole scene's my cup of tea.

Rex's Tiny Swimming Pool

Part 2 of 30 -- Psycho Squad

One of the common causes of mental malaise -- the feeling of it, no secret to anyone -- has to do with the things we own, possessions and status. And that's nothing to mess with. Ask anyone. I know because I've lived, been there and learned. You look out on the world and see others more prosperous than yourself and wish you had it as good. In this case, this guy's hopeless feelings were as obvious as anything: a heavy dose of envy, jealousy that he didn't have a swimming pool like his neighbors.

I grew up in an average town, and guess what, the neighbors across the road had their own swimming pool! And there was my family. When we wanted to swim, we had to do it in farm ponds (with relatives) or the state park that had an average beach. But one time I did get to swim in their pool, a really fun experience. All these decades later, it's no longer there; it's been filled in and is just a lawn. With the neighbors gone, who knows where, probably heaven. Proving the old adage, You can't take it with you. Unless they actually did, since, again, it's not there any more.

Anyway, we know people tend to get anxious if they worry too much about things: What's wrong with me? Why can't I have nice things? With enough thinking like that their eyes glaze over and they're not quite with it. I'd guess all of us have suffered it at least mildly. You just can't allow it to get too strong a hold on you because then you can't be happy. Instead, if you're always able to look on the bright side, the things of your life, what you do have, that helps. Compared to lots of people in the world, you're miles ahead! I said to this guy, "You've got a tub, Rex! OK, it's not a swimming pool, but it's the next best thing, a little pool." A personal pool. Certainly a guy can bathe in a tub. Plus, I bet he's even got a bathtub somewhere; in the bathroom going by educated guesses.

All Rex needed to do was step back and realize how great he had it. But in the people-business -- in the Psycho Squad we do lump Pool Envy with the broader condition of General Envy as at least proto-psychotic behavior. And if you think that's weird, I had to help a guy once with Lunch Meat Envy. How can anyone have that? you wonder. Yeah, that is weird; I ate so much lunch meat as a kid I'd go ballistic if anyone even suggested it. My team wrestled me to the ground once when I merely saw a lunch meat sandwich. The only way they could bring me out of the delirium was rubbing cheese under my nose.

I didn't rub it in with Rex in this case. Just coaxed him along, assuring him I was there to help. "Go put on some trunks. We'll warm the water and I bet you'll be thankful after all for what you've got, a pretty nice tub! You know, Rex, they don't have tubs as nice as this in Pakistan..." Rex soaked for 20 minutes, smiling the whole time, a happy ending for all.

Everything I Know I Learned in Motel Lobbies

You know how I'm always working to expand my knowledge, particularly having to do with the human race. It helps me keep my keen edge in understanding, which translates into bigger bucks in my field, the group dynamics racket. More and more I'm getting the recognition I deserve as the "King of Group Dynamics," which, you might easily guess, isn't automatic. You forever have to prove yourself more insightful than the next idiot.

Recently a sociology professor friend of mine -- himself scratching and clawing his way to the top, and hoping to stay there -- told me, "Everything I know I learned in motel lobbies." Of course I knew better than to take that literally. No doubt you can learn a lot in motel lobbies, but it has to be an exaggeration, right? Or did he mean it? He didn't learn anything somewhere else? I had to test it for myself.

So the other day I took up residence on one of the couches in a motel lobby. Right away I learned a thing or two about motel staff and their suspicions. These couches are sat on about five minutes a week, when some weary traveler is arriving to check in or after they've carried their bags back out. No one sits on them for hours at a time. But there I was, holding a newspaper, peering over and around it.

I was focused on their everyday demeanor. Motel staff, in addition to being suspicious, are passive/aggressive to the max. They checked on me a few times, trying to discern why I was there, all the while calling me "Sir" and going through various superficial bowing and scraping. Maybe I owned the whole chain, like on Undercover Boss. They didn't know. Their bowing and scraping would've been sufficient to afford them plausible deniability if they were accused of being rude to a guest.

Getting past that, I took in some people-watching, as I said, wanting to learn about the human race. One of the biggest reasons I didn't major in sociology myself was I'm no fan of scientific rigor; the dean said my admission paper showed I was too anecdotal. Hence this extraneous anecdote about the dean in an article on motel lobbies.

Editor's note: This is my normal cutoff length for a post, so I'm going long. If you haven't got time to read the whole thing, I advise that you only read the second half. It's more on-topic than the above.

My learnings in the motel lobby:

-- People live forever in the motel. I've been here for hours and there hasn't been one fatality. But the pool's still empty.

-- About 2/3 of the men here are with women not their wives. I have nothing to base this on except my nature is even more suspicious than that of the motel staff. There's no doubt in my mind that adultery's been rampant ever since they got rid of the paper registry book. But can infidelity be that high? Of course it can, if my hunch is right.

-- All types of men are here. Big men, little, long hair, short hair, greasers, regular guys, professional men, amateurs. But all the women are clean-looking and nice, indicating hanky panky, married couples tending to resemble one another.

-- People take full advantage of free continental breakfasts. But they're quite patient when they're waiting for the waffle griddle. At an early hour feeding frenzies just aren't cool. I know around 2 p.m. the same creatures will be red hot with road rage, which might be why the griddles aren't out afternoons.

-- People multitask. I've seen several guys walk by carrying four or five suitcases. Their own, and likely their illicit girlfriend's.

-- The average motel guest seems to plan well. With four suitcases, that's a no-brainer. That said, some marketing genius put in a vending machine for toothpaste at $4 an ounce tube. I haven't seen anyone using it, so I'd say it's losing money. I say sell it for a buck and make it up on volume.

-- I'm really noticing that motel staff over-thank and over-Sir and over-Ma'am the guests. They really are worried about Undercover Boss! Come on, staff, we're not convinced you're such extremely nice people. We know you're punching holes in the wall as soon as we leave. Then charging our card.

-- The Number 1 thing motels are suspicious of is non-guests sneaking in the pool. Probably mostly driven by insurance and liability issues. Then because they'd have to stay working long after their shift if someone drowned. From the inquests I've been part of, they're usually quite lengthy.

-- As an aside, I've learned that if you wear a light blue smock under your shirt, then switch, you can meet guests in the hall as they're departing and ask them to leave the door open for cleaning. Then you can shower and sleep for three or four hours before the actual cleaning folks get here.

-- Some guy just drowned, quite the commotion, a great time for me to sneak out of this room unseen.

And so I proved it true. I didn't know anything before. Like my friend, literally everything I know I learned in motel lobbies.

What If I Had to Save the Kitesurfer?

The other day in my endless peregrinations in life, a fifty cent word meaning travels, I found myself down at the lake. I had a full tank of gas, so I threw caution to the wind.

Speaking of wind, it was the windiest day the world has ever seen. At least where I was. I'm actually convinced that I was somehow led to the headwaters of wind, the treasury of wind not yet released.

But I wasn't the only one. There was another. A mysterious figure, whom, as far as I knew, was an immortal, possibly the overseer of the treasury, out testing his wares. I crouched behind a bush, although no doubt he saw me on one of his bold flights.

His method of flight, however, was one of worldly origins -- kitesurfing -- so I was able to relax on that account and return to my fully-exposed car. His truck was just up the hill a piece.

There I was, then, completely free to watch this fabulous spectacle, the daring young man on the flying board and kite. I was this close to losing myself in wonder, when -- in my mentality I quickly crashed to earth. I thought, trying to hide the resentment with a false smile: "He's so fit, so athletic, so carefree, at such peace and oneness with his equipment and the elements. And so strong in the arms -- a strength I've never known -- to withstand 45 mph winds driving and pulling him. Awesome! He flies like a bird, probably 40 feet in the air and sees the kite drop toward the water. What masterful coordination not to fall flat on his----- face, while pulling it to bring the kite above himself once again! A young man marvelous in every way! And solitary, with confidence that he can do anything and remain safe. Probably.

"Then here I sit, weak in the arms, a pain in my legs, a touch of despondency, and afraid of my own shadow. Hell," I thought, "When have I ever done anything? I used to go sledding, which was how to broke my arm. I also broke my leg in a teeter-totter incident. It's been all downhill since then. I might yet take up knitting -- these days the old gender standards are relaxed, especially as more and more men like me look for tried and true activities that won't overtax their failing bodies. Plus, the newer plastic knitting needles are invaluable for safety, I hear."

My self-pitying reverie was broken as the kitesurfer flew over my car, then cut an amazing turn and back-flip to return to the lake. The Wright brothers could've used him!

My reverie picked up again about that time. I started worrying, "He's out here by himself. Not another person in the area but me. What if he has trouble and needs rescued? If he's out there 100 feet, with these waves to boot, I wouldn't be able to swim that far. I tried one of those 12 foot endless wave pools and about drowned." I saw enough -- and definitely worried enough -- so I left.

Born To Sin -- A Swimming Pool Right Outside

This one is hot ... I'm still shaking, a bit, sitting here at home. I'm thinking, Wow! this guy actually lives there! Lucky dog, that's for sure! The view outside my window hasn't changed in years, certainly not for the better. I've had a good view of the garage since the '70s, that's the biggest thing.

But this guy ... whoa! He's a guy from church. It just so happened he needed a ride today, and you know me, Mr. Volunteer. There was a column in the paper one day where they asked if you ever volunteer. I felt guilty, then a month later I'm regularly picking a guy up for church.

Today, he needed help getting stuff from the car inside, since we'd had a potluck lunch. Right away, we're unloading the car and I'm noticing some activity off to the left, where there's a beautiful pool. The sun was beaming down and the water was shimmering, as you can tell from the undoctored photo. But that wasn't the best part!

We got to his apartment and he pulls open the curtains of the picture window. There we are, gazing down on enough bathing beauties to stock five years of fantasies. I started joking around with him, "Are these your nose prints on the glass?" Which he seemed to be embarrassed by. "How do you get anything done around here?" I could barely contain my enthusiasm. "This is like dying and going to heaven, and finding it's better than you could've ever hoped for." But he wasn't sharing any of this, waving it off and putting away his Tupperware.

I thought, OK, you go your way, I'll go mine, and left a few nose prints of my own. One of the bathing beauties was a truly modern woman, having a tattoo of something on her chest, which was peeking out of the suit. It's a hard image to shake, even though I couldn't make it out. I doubt it said "Come to Poppa." Plus, of course, I'm wondering what she's doing out there getting sun. I thought that was out. But no matter, sun cancer be damned! And of course she wasn't the only one, right there on display, sunning herself and taking up everyone's attention. Some of these ladies must work out, or eat right, or get exercise some other way -- I'll bet they do! They're definitely fit! Fit for lots of things.

And lest I be accused of being one-sided and showing gender bias, which I'd never do, there were a few rather buff young men. It seems the summer brings them out. The pool brings them together like a magnet. I was amazed at this one guy's beautiful six pack. I glanced down at my own two liter bottle and felt ashamed. Still, wouldn't it be a real treat for an old guy like me to be parading himself out there? Dipping his toe in the water and giving one of those ugly shivers, arms on the chest to get warm? That didn't happen. I'm decrepit. I don't think I could affect the look of nonchalance anymore. When you're old you remember wasting your youth.

I'm over at the window making yelping noises, and stuff like the noise of bacon sizzling in a hot skillet. And this lucky dog, my church friend, acted like, "Yeah, so what?" He's a true church mouse, that's for sure! I looked over and saw an Einstein poster on the wall. Oh, into your studies, eh? Good for you, not me. Good things come to them that wait, and I got all day. If I lived there I'd be up with my glasses cleaned, binoculars, and telescope, and a veritable feast for the senses, a buffet, particularly the sense of sight. I've probably said enough!

I sort of agree with everyone, Pastor Wadd and the white-haired elders, etc., lust is a terrible thing. (I'm honestly not quite as gung ho as them. I'm just not that open, because I know it'd mean more counseling.) But it does have some redeeming uses, such as letting you know, even if you're virtually dead in appearance, everything's still working fine inside. Whatever the evolutionary impulse is behind our instincts, it works all by itself, on autopilot. And that has something to do with the Divine.

Hiatus At The Pool

I took my hiatus on the road yesterday -- which happens once in a while -- and ended up at the pool. It was around 10 bucks for me to get in, which is money well spent when you consider the place is like the swimsuit edition of Sports Illustrated come to life.

The rippling midriff, the muscles flexing, a well-stretched bikini, the frolicking -- it's all worth seeing -- and that's just Grandma getting out of the car. Once you get to the pool you notice certain things, one, that there's a lot of people in their 30s and downward who don't have wrinkles like the rest of us ... yet.

There were a few tubolas to be seen, of course, and I'm in that category, mildly speaking. I can still pull it in if I have to, and it's not that painful to do. I start holding my breath when we get the wristbands and I don't let it out till the car's out of the parking lot. But I'm always struck by how many people there are in good shape, because I keep reading stories about the prevalence of obesity. Which can only mean most of them aren't at the pool. Or all those guys are holding their breath.

And another thing I notice: No one wears rubber swimming caps anymore, just in swimming competitions. And no one wears those old nose plugs we used to get all the time. Maybe we figured out how easy it is to just reach up and pinch your nostrils together for the three seconds you need them plugged.

Anyway, you see a lot of beauty prancing around at the pool, but, really, after a while I don't even notice. Because what's the use? They're all going to wrinkle up, get cancer from the sun and die anyway. Eventually. Why should I go around ogling a future corpse? In my mind everyone's being sized up for a casket, which is a major turnoff. Including myself, although I'm certain my mind/spirit will live on and continue somewhere on its merry way, with a complete aversion to everything in the spirit world and an undying hope for something even better.

Back to the pool. Get rid of the beauty angle for a minute. The ones I like to watch jump off the diving board are the little kids. Their parents are over on the side of the pool, maybe with a camera, trying to coax them off the board. They're trying to give the kid complete assurance they'll be OK. The kid has floaters on each wrist, and maybe a big poofed out vest. They're tiny anyway and would float on the surface like a feather, but you can't be too safe! You've got lifeguards all over the place too. But there they are, all poofed out, inching toward the end of the board... Then in they go! And they barely make a splash. The water rouses from its slumber and moves simply from a sense of duty. And certainly they don't go under. Then the parents quickly beseech them to dry safety.

There are some little kids whose parents aren't hovering over them. Maybe they should be, because some of these kids have a nasty style on the diving board. They're up there hemhawing around, taking forever to jump. They're tempted to climb back down. Then when they finally decide to jump, it looks like they're staying so close to the diving board that they might hit their head on it on the way down. I haven't seen any problems so far, but even the lifeguards look concerned, like maybe they'll have to jump in the cold water and earn their keep in a minute.

Speaking of lifeguards, these are the ones who are going to get sun damage and die young from cancer. They may look young and vital now, but just wait till they're in a nursing home at the age of 30, going, "I used to be pretty." They have some killer tans, and I mean that in more ways than one. I wouldn't take the job of lifeguard if they threw in a free casket. An urn would be more appropriate, since they're literally burning up out there. I know we need lifeguards. But this is not a job for the young. Hire senior citizens. A lifeguard's only needed about once a season anyway. We're killing our youth for those long odds? And someday their children will be burying them, asking, "Why does Mommy have leather for skin?"

I can't solve the problems of the world. So I just pull the towel up. Maybe you saw me at the pool. I was over in the shadiest part of the complex, covered in a towel, a big pith helmet on my head, and holding my breath. I'm on hiatus and don't want to die during it.

Stagnating In Hiatus

Maybe there's something to be said for working like a dog. For me it might be the thing to do.

A hiatus is nice for a while, but after a while, like now, I feel like I'm stagnating. Something stagnates when it just sits around for a while without any kind of flow, like a pond or Coke in a glass. It loses its fizz. It goes flat. All the fish come to the top and are gasping for air.

Grandma used to tell us kids not to go in that pond because it was stagnant. Then we'd go in anyway, kicking, playing, splashing each other. Somebody would get an open sore and be sidelined for a month, because bacteria apparently like these bacteria traps. Yet they're always trying to escape, like into someone's open sore, so whether they like it or not is an open question.

I myself was always fairly lucky. Either I didn't have an open sore or I just had a natural immunity to flat Coke, I was barely ever sick and also usually felt refreshed. But still, given a choice, I would've preferred a nice, pristine pond and an ice cold Coke. I feel for nature -- that's part of it -- so if I see fish gasping for air, I know that can't be good.

But now, I guess those years of avoiding stagnation are coming back to get me in full force. I wanted this time off to do whatever, just take it easy, get rid of some of my duties, responsibilities, and work. And it's been a blessing for much of it, but there have been plenty of times I've felt down, at odds with myself, flat, no fizz, and stagnant. Those times tend to pass, but then they're right back the next day. At least when I was working like a dog I was still more or less content.

What to do about it, I don't know. I was thinking about moving into full retirement, but I'm not so sure now. And I hate to leave my hiatus at this point, because I have so much time invested in it, it'd be a shame to have such a great streak going and to lose it without knowing how much longer it would've lasted.

I know everything comes to an end. And perhaps it is better to end things that have become unpleasant sooner rather than later. Since it's going to happen anyway! Alternate realities can be fun as well.

We don't swim in the old pond anymore. We've grown up and never make it out there anymore. The land was sold anyway. So that came to an end. And any Cokes that have gone flat, of course someone's emptied them out by now. And whatever fish there were gasping for air, they're dead.

As for now I'm still on hiatus. But we shall see.