Friday, February 15, 2019

Snow way

The Puget Sound region is slowly recovering from a series of snow storms that dumped close to a foot of snow in an area that rarely gets any. And these storms hit in February with spring visible on the horizon.

I don't like snow. I don't like being cold. I don't like not being able to leave my house. I don't like having to shovel snow and clear patches of my lawn so the dog can poop. I don't like having to walk through snow drifts to get to the train station to get to work and then wonder if I'm going to get home again. I don't like getting two phone calls, a text and an e-mail from my kid's school district telling me school has been cancelled.

I live in the Puget Sound region partially because it rarely snows. So having to endure almost a week of this crap has made me think that moving to Costa Rica may not be a bad idea.

I won't go into to the typical B.S. about how people in Seattle can't drive in the snow. Of course they can't drive in the snow. Everything here is on a hill.  Even the morons in their monster trucks that are driving around at 45 m.p.h. in the snow can't really drive in the snow. They are even worse in ice.

Most of the snow is gone from the roads now and I did drive to the train station this morning. I hated taking my relatively new car out, but I also didn't feel like trudging through the muck and slush again this morning. I only had a brief moment of panic when I backed out of my driveway and got stuck in the six inches of slush just before the main road. My days of driving in snow in Idaho kicked in and I rocked my way out of the mess and got onto the relatively dry main road.

I learned to ski when I was a senior in high school. I never really liked it. I couldn't really afford proper ski gear so I froze when I was taking lessons. I reinforced my dislike of snow. I haven't been skiing for maybe 30 years and I don't miss it. And being 60, the odds of me ever wanting to ski again are slim to none.

I did help my children build a snow man in a local park when it first snowed.  It had been knocked over and kicked apart by the next day. I assume this was done by people who also don't like snow or snowmen.

Oh well, no use crying over melted snow or snowmen.

Tuesday, February 05, 2019

The Last Laugh

I watched a bad movie (The Last Laugh) the other night on Netflix starring a 75-year old Chevy Chase playing an even older ex-manager of comedians including one played by 71-year old Richard Dreyfuss. Dreyfuss looks like he is 85. It was your typical coming of old-age film that tries to instill faith that we still have it in us as we age. Chevy Chase hooks up with Andie MacDowell playing a swinging artist who had attended Woodstock. Thing is, actress MacDowell is the same age as me.

The film was pretty depressing. For one, it's audience demographic are people my age who know who the hell Chevy Chase, Richard Dreyfus and Andie MacDowell are and remembers what they looked like in their younger days.

I suppose I could start posting positive posts about how aging isn't really so bad. The thing is, there isn't a lot positive to say about aging except that you aren't led around by raging hormones anymore. I suppose that is something.

Aging also makes you think a great deal about your own mortality. I've touched on that in a blog post or two as well. I used to think my blog would be that thing that I left behind so I wouldn't be forgotten. Lately I've come to believe it doesn't really matter if I'm remembered or not. Because in the grand scheme of things it isn't important.

That was another thing the bad movie with Chevy Chase drove home to me. All of those actors were once household names and recognized by most people. Now they are just a vague memory in my generations fading minds.

Fame is fleeting like the rest of life. And in the digital age, fame means nothing. A million likes on a social media post means nothing 30-seconds later.  For example, my Amazon Alexa  suggested some story the other day about someone breaking the Guiness Book of World Records record for stacking cupcakes.  It occurred to me how pointless that would be to stake a claim to such a frivolous thing.

Yet someone did.

When I die, there won't be even a headstone. I'll be cremated. All of the accumulated clutter of my life, likely including my amazing collection of Elvis Christmas ornaments, will either be tossed or sold in the bargain bin at a thrift store. And my blog and all my blog posts will eventually be deleted from whatever server there is at the time.

But it doesn't matter. I'm not trying to be morbid, but I'm really coming to the conclusion that thing that really matters is what happens here and now. No one remembers yesterday. No one knows tomorrow. There is only now.

If only someone would have told me that 40 years ago.

And if only I would have listened.