Sunday, December 31, 2023

My Achey Breaky Heart

I "practiced photography" yesterday.  That's what they say you have to do.  You can't make pictures if you don't go out and shoot.  So I did.  Film.  I haven't finished the roll yet, but it was good to get out, walk around, and look.  And see?  Different things.  Look 'em up.  Sometimes, maybe, we don't "see," but we just get lucky.  Like this pic.  Hip shot.  It was with the Fuji X100V.  I didn't focus; it did.  But like a blind hog. . . when I saw this as I continued my journey through the 2019 San Fran files, I knew I'd found a truffle.  I "saw" after the fact. . . see?  I wish I didn't have the compulsion to spill the beans on this one, though.  I'd like you to think the shot was planned.  Whatever.  

It's New Year's Eve, I think.  No. . . I know.  I just don't want to or care.  The papers are full of places to celebrate.  There's a party going on all around the world.  Sort of.  Most countries around the globe have adopted the Gregorian Calendar, but curiously, it is not accurate.  It is off quite a bit from the Solar Year which is why we are heading into Leap Year in 2024.  Iran and Afghanistan, however, use the Solar Hijri Calendar which is the most accurate.  They will not be celebrating with the decadent and obviously stupid Westerners.  

Blame the Catholic Church.  They chose the Gregorian over the Julian calendar in the Middle Ages.  What's the difference?  I looked it up. 

The Julian Calendar adds a day to the calendar every 4 years. The Gregorian calendar does the same, except when the year is divisible by 100 and not divisible by 400. Then the leap year is skipped.

You're welcome.  

But I did the math.  2024 IS divisible by both, but the result is not a whole number, so I am confused.  Everything I've read says 2024 IS a leap year.  The Google has confounded me on this one.  Either that or my skill with the calculator.  

No booze for me tonight.  I'l be laying low.  I guess I'll need to go "party" with my mother so that she doesn't feel left out.  Maybe we will have a little beet juice to celebrate.  

I have found an antidote to scientific research.  YouTube.  Wow.  I see why people laugh when I say I watch YouTube.  Watch one video about exercising the aged body and you will be besieged with videos showing you how to increase you muscle size, flexibility, and stamina.  Millions of them.  By god, this morning, I'm getting busy.  There's a lot to do if you want to stay young forever.  Don't believe the science.  These people have real practical knowledge that doesn't come from studies.  There was a guy in the gym once who. . . . 

My mother is a devotee.  At least to dieting.  She's been a lifelong binge/purge style dieter.  My culinary childhood was at times miserable when the refrigerator would be full of nothing but Metrecal and Diet Tab.  Whenever I do anything like I'm doing now, she gets a tone in her voice.  I told her, for instance that I was drinking cranberry juice and water.  

"You're using unsweetened, right?"  

Tone.  I mean serious tone.  Like a drill sergeant . 


"You're using the sweetened kind?  There are a lot of calories in that.  Are you counting those?"

She's really mean, now.  There is so much disdain in her voice.  

"The way I'm cutting it, it is about 30 calories/glass."

She just grits her teeth and shakes her head.  

"You're going to have trouble losing weight that way."

Like Leonard Cohen, 

When they said repent, repent,

I wondered what they meant.

I'll try not to talk specifics about my diet with my mother.  She thinks you can lose lots of weight and keep it off no matter how many times I show her evidence that you must have a 2,500 calorie deficit to lose one pound of body fat.  It doesn't matter to her, anyway.  She thinks I should stay on a low calorie diet forever.  That's just the way "these people" are.  They are mean and want everyone to be miserable.  

"Don't put that grape in your mouth!  What are you thinking?!?!?"

My cousins are in town to visit my mother.  I went over yesterday to say hello.  My cousin's husband had a little zinger for me when I said I was doing a Dry January.  

"So, what happens February 1st?  You just go back to drinking?"

Tone . 

"I quit drinking when I had my back surgery and haven't touched alcohol since," he said.  With pride.  

I have to admit that the fucker has lost a lot of weight.  


I slept fairly well last night for the first time since I started this lousy affair.  I will get on the scale at the gym on Tuesday and see if I lost my weekly pound.  


But maybe I'll find some clarity now.  I've been in a downer funk, one of those "poor me. .  . go eat some worms" kind of thing.  "Nobody loves me, everybody hates me."  No, that was not the actual feeling.  It was more like living on a spaceship far from earth that people have simply forgotten about.  

I'm a rocket man.

Or maybe like The Hunger Artist.  You've read that, right?  Kafka.  If you haven't, there is much you do not know.  Read it.  You'll see.  


I'm just trying to cheer you up, you know.  Camus, Beckett, Kafka. . . .  

O.K.  If that's not working, let's try this.  I'll post it for Q who loves all things Cyrus.  I certainly have an Achey Breaky heart.  I just need to dance about it and make it fun.  Look at those folks.  The past was grand.  Styles were great and people were just plumb happy.  Life IS a cabaret. 

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