Excuse me, you're standing on my rights...

I always choke up at the end of Independence Day when all the nations of the earth come together to defeat the aliens. "That's what it is going to take," I think. Until something else comes along and tries to kill us we will keep plenty busy attacking each other thank you very much.

It is because of this Charlie Brown optimism that I am going to read S'quatch's reccomendation- The Big Sort.


S'quatch says it explains how America got the way it is, a collection of myopic cultural enclaves turned inward toward their own interests and beliefs and disdainful or hostile of those who do not share those beliefs. I'm talking about the so-called culture wars, or I think I am.

I made a recent foray into the quest for bi-partisanship and civil discourse by introducing two friends by means of a popular internet-based social networking tool. One friend, whom I would characterize as quite liberal/progressive/anarchist, a true secular humanist, adept at ranting about issues of civil liberties, the green movement, and the unhealthy relationship between government and multi-national corporations.

The other friend is what I would consider a devout Christian, a man who views all things through a spritual lens, or is capable of doing so if asked. He also believes the relationship between government and multi-national corporations is unhealthy, and he may not believe that global warming is manmade exactly, but does believe the scripture commands us to be good stewards of the gift ( I think that is right.)

I'm thinking one speaks apples, one speaks oranges, but they are both fruit right? Both guys are in their way smart and eclectic, and gifted with words. I was hopeful for spirited debate and broad-ranging dialogue. It didn't happen like I pictured. I think the corporate world would call my error a "bad roll out."

What a shame I thought. So now I am about to read this book that will hopefully help explain how we got so divided that not only will we not listen to one another, but the sound of each other's voices sounds like those styrofoam peanuts rubbing together.

Here is an example.

I see a "Choose Life" license plate and I don't think to myself, that person values all life as holy and is deeply hurt by the thought of a mother choosing to end a pregnancy."

I think to myself, That person thinks they get to tell everyone what to do and how to be. They can go to hell.

You see? Lots of anger there. I know I'm not alone. We are all tired of being shouted down, but are we tired of shouting?

I'm going to read this book. I hope I find some answers. The question I have for you is, what is the point? If we have gotten to where we are by shunning those who aren't like us then why go backwards? Everbody knows that long breakups are the worst. Is there more left to say at this point other than kiss my ass?

I hope so.

Juancho

The Ascetic

What to do with a long Sunday? I can say with all confidence that I would be out riding the long miles on a hot morning, then maybe a dip in the sinks and a visit to the flea market for a bag of greens and some sweet potatoes. Now is that rumored downtime the busy long for, time unspoken for and time unscheduled.

Perhaps some light scrapbooking followed by watching the cat eat the tiget balm?

Maybe a little browsing at JoAnne's Fabrics followed by a good cry?

I know what will not be happening. There will be no bathroom painting, soccer watching, or folding of laundry. The three of those activities share a common thrill level for me.

Let's try a different approach with this particular blog post since it is going so poorly. I will propose two simple questions and see if you can help me with either.

First, it has come to my attention over the years that fruits, nuts, and vegetables that must be peeled are commonly said to grow in groves, while for those that you eat the skins right from the tree or bush are said to grow in orchards. Why?

Secondly, I accidentally listened to some baseball talk on the radio and these people mentioned someone throwing a no-hitter game although they clearly described players hitting the ball. If people hit the ball how come they call it a no-hitter? And is it a hyphenated thing or is it "no hitter?"

Thanks for any clarity on these important issues.

Juancho

Things that hurt

Based on the evidence in this picture in comparison to my injuries I am compelled to believe I performed the exact same landing as this gentleman. On the odd occasion I leave the house, the straps and contraptions I wear invite the obvious question from service personnel and passers by, "Whujja do?"

I let out a sigh, look them in the eye and tell them I was skateboarding. These are some of the things they often say...

"You (eyes sweep me up and down, lingering on midriff) were skateboarding?"

"First time?"

"Good for you!"

"How old are you?"

"Was it your kid's?"

"Were you drunk?"

"Last time?"

You go girl!"


Juancho

Licking wounds

Don't have so much to say now do you blog boy? Not so fun to tell the world about your broke down, ignoble feats of derring don't is it now hot shot? Maybe you would like to tell all of your tough bicycle friends about the little Phillipino girl on Oprah today? No? Prefer to not mention that huh? That's okay. Tell everyone about your trip to the orthopedic store. Talk about gear! Old age is going to offer lots of opportunity to obsess about equipment. Toilet seat chairs, ergonomic cane grips, varied salinity epsom salts, oxygen tank carts. Yes sir, gear, gear ,gear.

Chin up little camper. Fall is only 100 days away, and Bonanza is on twice for every one of them.

Let's go back to the Ponderosa, Pa. This isn't any of our affair.

Juancho

Rehab

Juancho is taking some sunshine therapy this week.

Healing is a sport all to itself, requiring commitment, stamina, and diversity of technique. Within its tiny little radius of movement the shoulder feels fine, like it could carry any load. It is a lie though. Beyond the arc is pain. Pain and weakness.

Not strong enough to hold a book, but strong enough to turn the page.

-Juancho

Neck Beard

I know one thing that is getting crossed off the list of new activities. Growing a neck beard. I now understand why the jihadists are so intent on killing themselves. Neck beards make you insane. I made it 12 days. This is by far the longest stretch I have ever gone without shaving my neck. I really wanted to grow in a thick under-chin pelt, but no way. Forget it.

If we shaved the necks of those guys in Guantanamo Bay they would be apologizing and saying, " I don't know what came over me. I was just so irritated. Hey, let's go get a frappucino and make amends?"

I'm going to need a new reason to live now.

Juancho

"It is going to take a year for this thing to fully heal." says the doctor. Great. There will plenty of time to let that sink in later. What does fully heal mean? I don't need it fully healed, I just need it strong enough to prop me up on a handlebar.

Four more weeks in the brace, then physical therapy. It will be nice to have some goals like, " I picked the orange up more times than Judy!" Oh, be assured. Judy is going down. I will pick that orange up six ways from Sunday.

So, other than finish the novel, which is only 32 handwritten and disjointed pages, what do I turn to for meaning in my life? Without my repuation as a mediocre cyclist who am I?

Suggestions? I suspect this activity will be both funny and sad.

Juancho

Wapner 4:30

Nights of delirium.
Days of ennui.
Pretend to enjoy watching futbol.
Nothing much happens.
Men kick each other then act surprised.
Resisting and succombing to the carnival barking of pain medication.
Dish mountain vs. laundry mountain.
Thank God for the Cartwrights.
How many times can you read the same page in a book?

-lost transmissions from the pain cave.

Juancho

Life Swap?

Wow. These Wife Swap people can't be real.

Anyway, here I sit. X-rays today showed some new bone growth (heh-heh)so that's good. Not the miracle I was hoping for, where the doctor says,"not only is your arm completely healed, but the x-ray revealed a cybernetic implant." I haven't thought far enough ahead to know what the implant will do. Something kick-ass though.

Anyway, I really really appreciate the celebrity guests who have visited, taken me to the store, folded my laundry (!) and kept me company. I admit it freely, being broken down is creepy. If the Indianhead mugger drops by the Heech' late one night I'm going to wish I had two arms.

I'll beat him down with the skateboard. It's a known killer.

Juancho

Broke Arm Boy

it feels like god put me in timeout. i can see the other kids play outside but i am not allowed to join them. it's ok though. i needed a time out. besides, i hardly have time to play. shower + dressed = 30 minutes. i'm asleep most of the time anyway. i'm busy growing some bone (that's a softball to you magnum.)

convalescing is a lot like camping. if you have the 10 essentials you're all right. big life meta plans don't matter. a few things have happened since last wednesday. mrs. moon brunged me a poultice of comfrey from down lloyd way.that counts as magic medicine right there, although not as magic as the flexerall. Chuck and Kelly took me to Publix then we watched us some Wife Swap. Them people were eating something called "high meat" but what is actually old raw meat. That was one bum swap for the wife who landed there. She was none too pleased. Surprise! You can live with the serial killer family.

Looking out of my internet window i see that big jim slade got 3rd at oak mountain. I clapped for him when i read it. Very cool. Me? i sleep sitting in a chair thank you very much.

This will all be over before i know it and i will be a better man for having done it. consensus seems to skew strongly towards, "you're too old to be riding a skateboard" and perhaps it is time to put aside childish things, but you know what? i wasn't trying to defy father time, or make the grand statement. i just liked the sound the wheels made when they rolled, and the homemade breeze. i was only trying to make it a good day, which is what most of us spend our time doing.


that's right. i typed this whole thing with one finger.
juancho

busted up

What is more cliche than a man just turned 40 crashing on a skateboard? I humbly submit that there is nothing more cliche than this predicted eventuality.

Dislocated, but now relocated shoulder with a chip of bone floating around in there. A black eye. A negligible, but well-distributed amount of road rash. 4-6 weeks in a sling.

I don't know if I learned my lesson or not. For now all sports are out. I have no choice but to retreat into the life of the mind.

Juancho

Clock in and make it happen. These rocks aren't going to break themselves.

Juancho