Dime a Million

There is a man and his name is Mr. Jones. By all conventional reasons anyone would think that Mr. Jones is a normal man. Anyone would be right for interpreting the conventional reasons in that manner. No he is not the literary image of the normal man, in the way that by reading about him you see that he is so normal in his ways that he becomes an odd conglomerate of all joe-schmo stereotypes. He is just a regular man. This man won’t be found in any story as the focus unless; of course he is acted upon by the inciting incident. Please keep in mind that this man is not so normal that he is found odd, as would be shown in any cinematic fashion. His lifestyle is stereotypical but not to a humorous degree. Some days he eats toast for breakfast some days it’s frosted mini-wheats and some days he is just too busy in the morning to eat the most important meal of the day. To put it in the clearest way possible, this is the kind of man that you would meet when you went over to a friend’s house and the dad came home from work. You’ll think, “oh Mr. Jones is home”. While he will think, “oh so we are feeding one more kid tonight”. Normal like that. The inciting incident of course happens on this man’s birthday. Some of the guys at the office bought Mr. Jones a lottery ticket. As inciting incidents go, Mr. Jones is a lucky man and wins. Mr. Jones is one of those silent types while winning 7.3 million post-taxes. Lots of pushing and shoving goes on between cubicles, as his friends rejoice in the turn of events. Those not in the vicinity only slightly raise themselves out of their roller chairs just enough to see over the cubicle wall but still bending at the knees as a personal reassurance that yes they are “still working”. As explained before Mr. Jones is the quiet type in these situations, he just can’t let these shocks sink in quick. Mr. Jones is elated as the boss in what he thinks was a very smart managerial decision sends him home for the rest of the day. Wouldn’t want the whole office going ape and losing a day’s work to one of the state Gov attempts at easing budget troubles through chance games. The guys from the office promise to call later to see how Mrs. Jones took the shock. The Misses is home already getting ready to pick up the kids from soccer, she of course lets out squeals and tears and just can’t stop hugging her lucky husband. Somewhere during the 6th or 7th go over of the bright yellow decorative winning ticket, Mrs. Jones catches the catch. Wither the winning of the lottery or the appliance of the catch to the life of Mr. Jones is the inciting incident is up to any organized and informed discussion. The catch, in fact can be caught easily in the title by which it is named. Dime a Million. Now there has to be someone or some group that makes up the themes for each lottery game. Obviously this lottery brain-trust thought it witty to change Dime a Dozen and to Dime a million. Whoever thought it would be a good marketing ploy to actually bring that phrase to a literal fruition must have a slight grudge against humanity akin to any Genocide mastermind. But yes the Jones couple caught onto the catch that the 7.3 million post-taxes they would be receiving would be completely in dimes. How the completely everyday Mr. Jones will adjust to cede inciting incident will be the topic of discussion in any future post.

Mean that Yoda did not...

One thing that I really really do not like at all is those posters that are nicely framed in a stainless steel square in all offices. You might see them when you go in for an interview or in the front office at a high school. These are the posters with a stunning panoramic view of the some awe-inspiring natural landscape. Near the bottom about 4 inches above that stainless steel frame is a confidence inducing word with a possible explanation or a famous quote by someone who historically possessed the described virtue. I am not a fan of these things one bit, it would not surprise me if the same man who came up with these “hangable” pep talks was somehow related to a high ranking propaganda official in post under Lenin. They just give off that same vibe, the hollow and devoid of roots attempt to urge the working man to new heights of productivity. It’s not someone you respect that is telling you to work harder it’s a laminated dime a dozen picture of the Grand Canyon. The Grand Canyon is respectable but hardly in the same ways. With this said I do find myself walking the same line when it comes to pep talks. I am in writing this trying to slice the pep talk in a different direction, I really just want to explore in my head the power of trying.
Yoda has been quoted and I feel slightly misinterpreted quite often whilst training the young skywalker to use the force. The X-wing is stuck in the mucky ponds of the dagoba system’s mired surface. When luke says I’ll try in response to the newly presented challenge, then Yoda throws down the big one, “No, do or do not, there is no try”. Here in lies the misinterpretation, luke tries and fails and then makes excuses and receives a guilt trip that only one strong in the force can provide, “that is why you fail”. Now anyone who says I’ll give it a try will receive this quoted line probably from one of the friends who owns three lightsabers and has a lot more free cash because he doesn’t get to take many girls out. Yoda I feel was condemning not the act of trying but the fact that there was no confidence attached to the try. There is a large difference in saying you’ll try and giving it your all just before you fall flat on your face and, saying you’ll try only because you are not confident that you’ll succeed. The difference between the two is the first is a statement of an attempt regardless of the outcome; the second is a statement of an attempt with an excuse if it fails. The beautiful nearly atoning power of all out attempt without care of failure vilifies the pathetic excusing statement that people use when they fear failure so they don’t give a definite statement.
With this said I owe everything to trying. I don’t think there has ever been one time in my life where I performed successfully on the first attempt. Failure, though it will never be a choice state of being is something so beautiful when it is seen in its true teaching form. It only requires the drive to get your broken face back above your shoulders and going at it again, and then failure becomes your teacher. To finish this off I would propose two quotes from both parental units in my life to be made into one of those inspirational socialist posters. The one from my mother will feature a picture of Chicago just after the fire, and it will read “rock bottom is a college education”. Father’s will feature Hiroshima just after big boy dropped in and just four inches above the frame it will read, “school of hardknocks”. To which I will add my own, “Try/fail = Try/succeed”.

promenade, pomade

Some may walk with jugs on top of their head others swagger. There are those who look down at their pendulum swinging feet, and those whose heads swivel from side to side trying to take everything in from both the left side and right side of their world. Strides vary in size and speed and general skeletal alignment, and quite possibly due to personality traits also. It would be so very redundant of me and not really interesting in the least to go into how our walks are just another venue for our special little selves to show their colors. It would sound too much like our late and great philosopher Forrest Gump, “you can tell a lot about people byyy what kind of shoes theeeere wearin”. The analytical itch I would like to scratch today is just the things that everyone does to keep themselves busy while they march on and on. The most obvious and popular alternative to a bleary and mundane march is graciously available to us by the great gods of Apple Inc. and Sony, which are ipods and other MP3 players. With those quite trendy and quite pathetic (as far as sound quality is concerned for me) little ear plugs you see n’importe quel person jamming to latest #5 single on the daily rotated itunes top 10. Personally I do not like making my strides with headphones on. It may come as a surprise to some that this is the truth for me since I fashion myself quite the music fiend. But it’s simple when you have headphones on you put up “walls”, I don’t need or like many walls especially while out amongst fellow crowds. I don’t like these isolating walls to such a point that my chief source of promenading entertainment is breaking the other side of these walls of surrounding walkers. It is not that I don’t think that other people are entitled to their privacy and self-imposed isolation, I have no opinion on if it’s a bad choice for them or not. I am just someone who is in need of entertainment and my needs supersede your walls in the book of figga. I love to look every passing soul right in the eyes. I need to make a good second or two of undeniable eye contact, even more than that, eye conversation. This is so true with the efforts I place in conversing with females in the few moments before she passes into non-existence again. I am not content with a quick “oh she saw me looking at her, look away” glance. I will keep looking at her till she looks up and then there will be smiles or an attempt to make the stare even sharper, more focused. Nothing huge or anything but then possibly a smile from a stranger is huge or someone not scared to look you in the eye can change the day, I don’t know but I can wax hopeful can’t I? With the guys I’ll just say that I tend to be a tad more hostile in my “wall intrusions”. By hostile I mean I try to make them feel a bit awkward to be in my presence. A time proven method is to sing a bit above “under your breath”, the absence of headphones will perplex them while your stare will make them think you are serenading them. I don’t know what I would even really honestly do if someone guy was staring me down from 20 feet away singing “lovin, touchin, squeezing”. You just can’t prepare yourself for that and that’s why I am glad I am the one singing and not receiving. To delve into this further would bring into question the way people hold their hands and arms in midst of stepping to point B. Or where they look and how do they really walk. I would like to touch on this but I have got places to walk and really and truly honestly, I would lose interest in writing more on this if I kept going. So continue the march my friends, do what you need to get there and don’t forget that you can have fun getting there